el Fortescue lay
stark upon the ground. Broussard ran to him; he was lying upon his back
and said as coolly as if on dress parade:

"I had a pretty close shave, but I don't think I'm hurt, except my ankle."

Broussard, having had experience with injured men, thumped and punched
the Colonel only to find that he was not injured in any way except the
broken ankle; but a man with a broken ankle, six miles away from the
fort, with night coming on, and the thermometer below zero, presents
problems.

"What a pity neither of us has a pistol," said Colonel Fortescue, when
Broussard had got him up from the frozen earth and arranged a rude seat
from the branches of the fir tree for him. "We could kill my poor horse
and end his sufferings."

"He's already dead, thank God," replied Broussard, going over and looking
at the horse, lying as still and helpless as the rock that lay upon his
neck. Gamechick, the broken rein hanging upon his neck, stood trembling
and snorting with terror.

"I think you had better ride back to the post and get help," said Colonel
Fortescue.

Broussard walked toward Gamechick, but the horse, stricken with panic,
backed away and before Broussard could catch him, he whirled about wildly
and galloped down the mountain road at breakneck speed. The sound of his
iron hoofs pounding the icy road as he fled, driven by fear and anguish,
cut the silence like a knife. The two men listened to the clear metallic
sound borne upon the clear atmosphere by the winter wind.

"He's a good messenger," said Broussard, "he is making straight for the
post."

"If he gets there before he breaks his neck," replied the Colonel coolly,
taking out his cigar case and striking a light.

Broussard listened attentively until the last echo had died away in the
distance.

"He has got down all right and is now on the open road, and will get to
the fort in thirty minutes," he said.

Then Broussard, gathering the broken branches of the fir tree, made a
fire which not only warmed them, but the blue smoke curling upward was a
signal for those who would come to search for them. He took the saddle
and blanket from the dead horse and arranged a comfortable seat for the
Colonel, who declared that a broken ankle was nothing; but his face was
growing pale as he spoke.

"You remember," he said to Broussard, "that story about General Moreau,
something more than a hundred years ago, who smoked a cigar while the
surgeons were cutting o