marched him slowly down in the starlight on the comparatively smooth,
unassured surface of the little glacier to the terminal moraine, a
distance of perhaps a mile, crossed the moraine, bathed his head at
one of the outlet streams, and after many rests reached a dry place
and made a brush fire. I then went ahead looking for an open way
through the bushes to where larger wood could be had, made a good
lasting fire of resiny silver-fir roots, and a leafy bed beside it. I
now told him I would run down the mountain, hasten back with help
from the boat, and carry him down in comfort. But he would not hear
of my leaving him.

"No, no," he said, "I can walk down. Don't leave me."

I reminded him of the roughness of the way, his nerve-shaken
condition, and assured him I would not be gone long. But he insisted
on trying, saying on no account whatever must I leave him. I
therefore concluded to try to get him to the ship by short walks from
one fire and resting-place to another. While he was resting I went
ahead, looking for the best way through the brush and rocks, then
returning, got him on his feet and made him lean on my shoulder while
I steadied him to prevent his falling. This slow, staggering struggle
from fire to fire lasted until long after sunrise. When at last we
reached the ship and stood at the foot of the narrow single plank
without side rails that reached from the bank to the deck at a
considerable angle, I briefly explained to Mr. Young's companions,
who stood looking down at us, that he had been hurt in an accident,
and requested one of them to assist me in getting him aboard. But
strange to say, instead of coming down to help, they made haste to
reproach him for having gone on a "wild-goose chase" with Muir.