In the morning, when Samson was sent for, the guard-house was found to
be empty. The huge Breton had broken his bonds as did Samson of old. He
had pushed out a log of wood from the wall, and had squeezed himself
through to the bank of the stream. There all trace of him was lost. If
he had fallen in, then of course he had sentenced and executed himself,
but in the mud near the water were great footprints which no boot but
that of Samson could have made; so if he were in the stream it must
have been because he threw himself there. The trend of the footprints,
however, indicated that he had climbed on the rocks, and there, of
course, it was impossible to trace him. The sentries who guarded the
pass maintained that no one had gone through during the night, but to
make sure several men were sent down the path to overtake the runaway.
Even if he reached a town or a village far below, so huge a man could
not escape notice. The searchers were instructed to telegraph his
description and his crime as soon as they reached a telegraph wire. It
was impossible to hide in the valley, and a rapid search speedily
convinced the officers that the delinquent was not there.

As the sun rose higher and higher, until it began to shine even on the
northward-facing snow fields, a sharp-eyed private reported that he saw
a black speck moving high up on the great white slope south of the
valley. The officer called for a field-glass, and placing it to his
eyes, examined the snow carefully.

"Call out a detachment," he said, "that is Samson on the mountain."

There was a great stir in the camp when the truth became known.
Emissaries were sent after the searchers down the pass, calling them to
return.