They had planned a quick relief with a small party, for every hour of

exposure lessened the missing man's chances. Glover chose for his

companions two men: Dancing--far and away the best climber in the

telegraph corps, and Smith Young, roadmaster, a chainman of Glover's

when he ran the Pilot line. Dancing and Glover were large men of

unusual strength, and Young, lighter and smaller, had been known in a

pinch to handle an ordinary steel rail. But above everything

each--even Glover, the youngest--was a man of resource and experience

in mountain craft.

They left the track near the twin bridges with only ropes and picks and

skis, and carrying stimulants and food. Without any attempt to catch

his trail from where they knew Blood must have started they made their

way as directly as possible down the side of the mountain and in the

direction of the gap. The stupendous difficulties of making headway

across the eastern slope did not become apparent until the rescuing

party was out of sight of those they had left, but from where they

floundered in ragged washouts or spread in line over glassy escarpments

they could see far up the mountain the rotary throwing a white cloud

into the sunshine and hear the far-off clamor of the engines on the

hill.

Below the snow-field which they crossed they found the superintendent's

trail, and saw that his effort had been to cross the gap at that point

and make his way out toward the western grade, where an easy climb

would have brought him to the track; or where by walking some distance

he could reach the track without climbing a foot, the grade there being

nearly four per cent.

They saw, too, why he had been forced to give up that hope, for what

would have been difficult for three fresh men with shoes was an

impossibility for a spent man in the snow alone. They knew that what

they had covered in two hours had probably cost him ten, for before

they had followed him a dozen feet they saw that he was dragging a leg;

farther, the snow showed stains and they crossed a field where he had

sat down and bandaged his leg after it had bled for a hundred yards.

The trail began, as they went on, to lose its character. Whether from

weakness or uncertainty Blood's steps had become wandering, and they

noticed that he paid less attention to directness, but shunned every

obstacle that called for climbing, struggling great distances around

rough places to avoid them. They knew it meant that he was husbanding

failing strength and was striving to avoid reopening his wound.

Twice they marked places in which he had sat to adjust his bandages,

and the strain of what they read in the snow quickened their anxiety.

Since that day Smith Young, superintendent now of the mountain

division, has never hunted, because he could never afterward follow the

trail of a wounded animal.




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