to oppose Peter.
It wouldn’t be the last time his warnings were ignored.
Disaster struck about halfway up the pass.
It had started to rain heavily again, and swollen brown streams flooded across the path in regular intervals, rushing down into the gorge and making progress difficult. Peter and Salome were up in front with the horse, while Emilio, Johann, and Mustafa pushed from behind; Archibaldus followed with his staff. By the time Peter’s cry of warning rang out, it was too late.
There was a low rumble, and then an avalanche of snow and debris came sliding down the mountain and into the caravan. The noise was tremendous, as if the entire mountain were exploding. All around them people screamed, horses neighed, and wood splintered as the avalanche poured across the narrow track. Johann watched in horror as the wagon in front of them, heavily laden with bales and crates, was pushed toward the edge by an enormous force. The driver tried to jump off his seat, but then the wagon plunged into the depths. The man’s piercing scream was cut off abruptly when he hit the raging brown floodwaters of the Inn.
A smaller arm of the landslide struck the troupe’s wagon at the rear. Emilio, Johann, and Mustafa managed to jump aside at the last moment. The wagon’s back axle hovered dangerously above the abyss, the wheels spinning in the air.
“Over here!” shouted Peter. “Help me!”
The horse, trapped in its harness, whinnied in fear and reared up while Peter desperately hung on to the reins. But as much as he pulled on the leather straps, he couldn’t manage to soothe the panicked horse. Inch by inch the wagon slid over the edge while Johann just stood there, unable to move. He watched as Mustafa rushed to the horse, grabbed the reins, and yanked them down hard. The horse regained its footing, and Mustafa and Peter dragged it away from the cliff step by step.
At that moment, a second landslide hit the travelers.
Like the first one, it consisted of mud, rocks, and brown lumps of snow and ice, and it came rushing down the mountainside like a huge tongue, swallowing everything in its way with a hungry and awe-inspiring force. Another wagon not far from the jugglers plunged into the gorge, but this time, the avalanche came to a halt just before the troupe’s wagon.
Johann was standing with his back against the rock wall when he heard a high-pitched scream. Through the veil of rain he spotted Salome clinging desperately to a splintered tree trunk. She had sought shelter a little farther up the path and had been sucked off her feet by the second avalanche. Her legs were already over the edge, and the trunk steadily pushed her down, moved by a mound of mud and debris. Archibaldus and Emilio were closest to her. The young juggler was about to rush to Salome’s aid when another shower of small stones came down the mountainside. Emilio stopped dead in his tracks, his face twisted in a grimace of fear. Then he turned around and sought shelter underneath a ledge.
Johann woke from his daze. He stormed across the mud and debris, fell to his knees, and reached down to Salome, who was struggling to cling to the tree trunk.
“Take my hand!” he shouted, his voice almost completely drowned out by the rain. “Quickly! Take it!”
For a brief moment she looked at him almost defiantly, her lips pinched, her eyes fearless—then she grasped his hand.
Johann immediately felt her weight. He pulled as hard as he could while his feet slipped on the muddy ground. He could feel himself sliding closer to the abyss. Desperately, he dug his toes into the ground and kept pulling, his hands clasped around Salome’s as if they were one. With an angry cry he reared up, fell backward, and caught her body in his arms. Her clothes were soaked with water and mud, and she was panting heavily. He could smell her sweat. For a while they remained there, lying on the ground without moving, while all around them people were screaming, praying, and crying for help.
Eventually, Salome sat up and then tried to stand on her shaking legs.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Not everyone would have done that for me.”
Visibly shaken, but with her head held high, she walked over to the others. They were standing around the wagon, exhausted but happy to be alive. Archibaldus looked deathly pale leaning against one of the wagon wheels, but none of