THE BROKEN SKI 153 



mountains on the west and north, but a long way off. 

 Now the whole of that part of the horizon seemed to be 

 filled with colossal mountain masses, which were right 

 over us. What in the world was the meaning of this? 

 Was it witchcraft? I am sure I began to think so for 

 a moment. I would readily have taken my most solemn 

 oath that I had never seen that landscape before in my 

 life. We had now gone the full distance, and according 

 to the beacons we had passed, we ought to be on the 

 spot. This was very strange; in the direction in which 

 I had taken the bearing of our ascent, we now only saw 

 the side of a perfectly unknown mountain, sticking up 

 from the plain. There could be absolutely no way down 

 in that precipitous wall. Only on the north-west did 

 the ground give the impression of allowing a descent; 

 there a natural depression seemed to be formed, running 

 down towards the Barrier, which we could see far, far 

 away. 



We halted and discussed the situation. "Hullo!" 

 Hanssen suddenly exclaimed, "somebody has been 

 here before."—" Yes," broke in Wisting; " I'm hanged 

 if that isn't my broken ski that I stuck up by the depot." 

 So it was Wisting's broken ski that brought us out 

 of this unpleasant situation. It was a good thing he 

 put it there— very thoughtful, in any case. I now 

 examined the place with the glasses, and by the side of 

 a snow mound, which proved to be our depot, but 

 might easily have escaped our notice, we could see the 



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