The transfer of the petrol accomplished, Schneider and Henri were left in sole possession of the camp in the woods, after a last strained look at the departing biplane, a little blot on the sky, finally dissolving in the mist of the mountain top. "Let's knock about a bit," said Schneider, suiting action to the words by starting up the nearest slope, where the gloomy pines were farther apart than in the dense growth below. "Ah! Here's where the Russians must have gotten a severe jolt. See here, my young friend"--Schneider pointing at a scattered ground array of discarded rifles, knapsacks, sheepskin coats, and many caisson shells in baskets. "Not so very long ago, either, for you will notice that all this is on the top of the snow and not under it. You can safely wager that here, and at this season, it is not very long between snows." Here and there were other objects, stiff and stark, that sent a shudder up Henri's spine. Picking their way still higher to the apex of the ridge, the man and boy had view of a land depression, bowl shaped, almost cleared of snow by exposure to the sun, being free of shade or shadow. Something on the far side of the bowl, catching a golden ray from above, glittered like a big diamond. Henri called Schneider's attention to the flashing point. "Worth a walk across," conceded the soldier-aviator, moving that way. Henri, interest aroused, made it a point to outpace his companion. Drawing nearer, the investigators saw, in half-sitting posture, back against a blanket roll, a soldier--in dark-blue uniform, Austrian infantry--marked by emblems of rank, including a sparkling decoration on the breast. A silver flask lay close by, alongside of sword and belt. Schneider dropped to his knees, seized one of the nerveless hands of the officer, and fingered the pulse of the lifted wrist. The old campaigner had noted that the blood curdle in a tunic fold was yet unfrozen. "Hand me that flask." Henri quickly complied with his comrade's request, first unscrewing the metal top. Schneider tenderly moved the head of the officer to his own shoulder and poured the contents of the flask through the livid lips. "He lives!" cried Schneider. The evidence was a faint flutter of the eyelids, a twitching of fingers and labored breathing. Henri unrolled the blanket that served as a backrest, made a pillow of the wounded soldier's knapsack, and Schneider shifted his burden to this new resting place. It was not long until the vigorous first aid rendered by the aviators found a more marked response--the heretofore unconscious officer looked up at the anxious faces of the workers, and perceptibly smiled through the beard that concealed his mouth. He had comprehended that he did not owe a Russian for the help that had come to him in this extremity.