stayed there all night had not his cries for help brought aid.
One twilight night three weeks after the Henderson party had taken on Silversheene they found themselves marooned in the Cascade mountains in Oregon just at dusk. An important part of the automobile had broken and the chauffeur could not fix it. It was finally decided that Richard should go on foot to a small town ten miles down the mountain to get the part needed. A foot of snow had fallen and he did not expect to get back that night. The car had come to a standstill in as lonely and out-of-the-way spot as could well be imagined. White snowcapped peaks towered all about them. Between the peaks valleys stretched, deep, precipitate and silent as the tomb. Many of these deep cuts and gorges afforded a straight drop of several hundred feet.
The larger timber had disappeared as they climbed and only scrub pines survived at this altitude. It seemed to the marooned
