IN THE DARKNESS JUST BEFORE dawn, we set off on our perilous journey into the unknown.
The rucksacks on our backs held climbing gear, and coils of rope were slung around us. Cheerful Swiss bearers carried the really heavy loads.
Singing Alpine songs, we trudged along narrow streets, crossed a wooden footbridge, and then took a twisting pathway upward through the woods.
We halted on the shores of a lake with shimmering blue waters. The view was breathtaking!
Ringed around the lake was a range of mountains. On the far shore loomed the proudest peak of all—snow-capped Mount Emmentaler.
This mighty pyramid, towering skyward, was our opponent. It was dotted with cliffs and crevasses, and great overhanging glaciers on its upper slopes.
Splashing sounds told me my companions were frolicking in the lake. I joined them. Basil was wading around, informally greeting his expeditioneers.
Tillary Quinn, who wrote crime stories as a hobby, was a New Zealander who excelled in ice-climbing.
“Tillary, you were first choice!” said Basil.
He waved to Starretti, Cherbou, and the Maharajah of Bengistan, superb climbers all. The ruler, once Basil’s roommate at Ratcliffe, had invited us to his palace in Asia. His private zoo featured small monkeys he himself had captured.
Lord Adrian, world explorer, had finished his swim. He stood on shore, wearing the usual red carnation.
“Basil,” he said, “I should have gone home on matters pertaining to my father’s estate. But I postponed it—couldn’t pass up a chance like this.”
Basil nodded. “Wisely decided. You are equally at home on ocean floor or mountaintop, and I appoint you Historian.”
Young Richard, the American mathematician from Iowa, had already won fame for his rock-climbing.
“I appoint you Surveyor,” said Basil. “By the way, do you hail from your state’s capital, Des Moines?”
“From Davenport, Basil. And glad I came!”
The scientist-climbers were welcomed—Howard the Geologist, Gifford the Archeologist, and a Swiss, Wolff the Physiologist, plus Photographer Jamaldi.
Last but not least, Basil greeted the twenty Swiss mountaineers who had volunteered as bearers.
We continued the climb, crossing rushing streams, linked to one another by ropes around our waists. We climbed sheer rock walls by finding pawholds and footholds where less expert climbers might have seen none.
Along our way were scenes of startling beauty. Truly, there is nothing like mountain-climbing to impress one with the grandeurs of Nature and the littleness of mice.
Late one afternoon we stood admiring a flaming sunset. Suddenly a gigantic paw was set down on the ground beside us!
We looked up in terror, but the face of a friend beamed down upon us. It was Elmo the Great, a brave St. Bernard we had met on our last trip abroad.
“Basil,” said Elmo, “I had an odd experience high on the mountain, and something is caught in my fur, something I cannot reach, near my shoulders. Will you and Dr. Dawson be good enough to remove it?”
We scrambled up the big dog’s body, and soon saw the tiny thing matted in his fur—a Turkish arrow!
Once the arrow was removed, Basil questioned Elmo. The dog told us he had met a strange, mouselike animal above the snowline.
Basil’s eyes gleamed. “Tell me, Elmo—was he a shaggy mouse with white fur, about seven inches high?”
Elmo nodded. “I barked, and was sorry I did, for the sound—and the size of me—frightened the creature terribly! He ran away, but stumbled in the snow. I followed, thinking to help him to his feet, but he thought I meant to harm him. He got up and ran away again. Soon afterward, something dropped on my back from an overhanging ledge. A weapon, I suppose.”
“A Turkish arrow, to be exact,” said Basil. “You were attacked by the Adorable Snowmouse, a good-hearted sort. He restores lost little mouselings to their parents, but is too shy to stay and be thanked. You must tell us just where this encounter took place, for this entire expedition is on his trail.”
Elmo listened with interest as Basil told of our mission, and the trouble the Professor had made.
He growled. “If ever I see the rascally Ratigan, I’ll take him by the scruff of his scurvy neck and trot him off to the Käsedorf jail! Well, I’d best be going. Be sure to yodel if you should ever need my help. I roam about a lot, and this clear mountain air carries sounds for miles. Auf Wiedersehen!”
Great strides took him from our sight in seconds.
“Let’s make camp for the night,” said Basil.
We began pitching our tents. There were twelve two-mouse tents and two twelve-mouse tents.
I looked at the lovely woodland scene.
“It’s so peaceful here,” I said.
Had I known what lay ahead, I would never have uttered those words.
We were to have still another encounter that day, one that was far from peaceful!