The daily Alaskan., 1922-03-30

tie great tree trunk lying twenty reet below him. wedged ln between the young pines.
 He was surrounded hy broken frae- ments of limbs. and it was evident that the tree had not struck him @ full hlOw. The limbs had protected him to some extent No man is Of such mold as to be crushed under the solid weight of The trunk and live to remember It. He wondered fl this were the frontier Of death-the gray ness that fingered over him. He seemed to be soaring.
 He brought himself back to earth and tried again 10 remember. or course. the twilight had fallen. IL had been late afternoon when he had cut the tree. His hand stole along his body: and then. for the first time. a hideous sickness came upon him. Ills hand was warm and wet when he brought it up. The other hand he couldn't stretch at all.
 The forest was silent around him, except a bird calling somewhere near the house-a full voice, rich and clear, and 1t seemed to him that lt had quality Of distress. Then he recognized fl. Ii was the voice of his own daugh- ter. Snowhird. calling for him. Re tried to answer her.
 Ii was only a whisper, al drst Yet she was coming nearer; and her own voice sounded louder. Here, Snow bird" he called again. She heard him then: he could tell by the startled tone of her reply. The next instant she was al hIs side. her tears drop ping on his face.
 With a tremendous effort of VIII he recalled his speeding faculties. "l don't think I'm badly hurt" he told her very quietly. "A few ribs broken and leg. But we'll have 10 winter here on the Divide. Snowbird mine" "what does 1t matter. if you liveT she cried. She crawled along The pine
 needles beside him. and tore his shirt from his breast. He was rapidly sink Ing into unconscIouSnesS. The thing she dreaded mOSt-that his hack might
 be hroEen-was evidently not true.
 There were. as he said. broken ribs and evidently one severe fracture Of
 the leg hone. Whether he had SuS- inined internal injuries that would end his life before the morning, she had no way or knowing.
 Al this point the problem of saving
 her fathers life fell wholly Into her hands. His broken hody could no' be carried over the mountain road to physicians in the valleys. They must
 he transported 10 the ranch. It would
 take them a full day to mnke the trip. 1 even if she could get word to them at once: and rweny-four hours without medical attention would probably cost
 her father his life. The nearest tele- phone was ut thr ranger station.
 twelve miles distant over a mountain . trail. The telephone line to Bald mountain. four miles ofl. had been dis connected when the rains had ended
 inc peril of the forest fire
 II all depended upon her Bill was
 driving cattle into the valleys, and he | and his men had iD use an the horses
 on the ranch with one exception. The ] remaining horse had been ridden hy l Dan 10 some distant marshes. and as
 Dan would shoot until sunset that | meant he would not return until ten o'clock. There was no road for a car l 10 the ranger station. only a rough 1 steep trail. and she remembered, with
 a sinking heart. that one of Bill's mis- | <fnns In the valley was 10 procure a
 new lighting system. By no COnceiv- able possibility could she drive down l that mountain road in the darkness ! But she was somewhat relieved by the i thought that In all probability she could walk twelve miles across the ! mountains 10 the ranger station in much less time than she could drive, 1 nv automobile. seventy miles down to , the ranches at the foothills about the ! valley.