"You go at your own pace," answered the Frenchman, with admirable spirit, "and I will keep up till I drop. I mean to be in at the death if I can." Miste never turned, but continued his painful, upward way. He was a light stepper, as his shallow footprints betokened; but I saw with grim delight that each step of mine overlapped his measure by a couple of inches. There is nothing so still as the atmosphere of a summit, and in this dead silence we hurried on. Giraud's laboured breathing alone broke it. I glanced at him, and saw that his face was of a pasty white and gleaming with perspiration. Poor Alphonse had not much more in him. I slackened pace a little. "We are gaining on him, every step tells," said I encouragingly, but it was clear that my companion would soon drop. We went on in silence for nearly half an hour and gained visibly on Miste, who never looked back or paused. At the end of the time we were within a mile of him, and only spoke in whispers, for at such an altitude sound travels far. Every moment that Miste was ignorant of the pursuit was invaluable to us. I could see clearly now that it was he and no other; the man's back was familiar to me, and his lithe springy gait. "Have you a revolver?" whispered Giraud as we stumbled on. "Not I." "Then take mine, I cannot--last--much longer." Supposing that Miste should be in better training than myself! Supposing that when he turned and saw us he should be able to increase his pace materially, he would yet escape me! I stretched out my hand and took the revolver, which was of a familiar pattern. I made up my mind to shoot Miste sooner than lose him, for the chase had been a long one, and my blood was hot. We were gaining on him still, and the heat of the day made him slacken his pace. The sun beat down on us from a cloudless sky. My lips and throat were like dry leather. Alphonse had long been cooling his with snow. We did not care to speak now. All our hearts were in our eyes; at any moment Miste might turn. Suddenly Alphonse lagged behind. I glanced at him, and he pointed upward, so I went on. It was difficult enough to breathe at such an altitude, and my heart kept making matters worse by leaping to my throat and choking me. I felt giddy at times, and shivered, though the perspiration ran off my face like rain. I was within three hundred yards of Miste now, and Alphonse was somewhere behind me, I could not pause to note how far. We were near the summit, and the world seemed to contain but three men. My breath was short, and there was clockwork going in my head. Then at length Miste turned. He took all in at a glance, probably recognising us. At all events he had no doubt of our business there; for he hurried on, and I could see his hand at his jacket pocket. Still I gained on him. "Beer against absinthe," I remember thinking. There was an unbroken snow-field ahead of us, the sheer side of a mountain with the footpath cut across it--a strip of blue shadow.