Immediately a relief party of seven strong men, led by C. E. Forsyth of Castle Rock, Washington, started back over the trailless route by which the messenger had come. All night they scaled ridges, climbed into and out of canyons, waded icy streams. Before dawn they reached the wounded laborer. Mr. Riley says: It was impossible to carry the man back through the wild country around the peak. Below, the first cabin on the Lewis River lay beyond a moat of forbidding canyons. Above slanted the smooth slopes of St. Helens. Placing the injured man upon a litter of canvas and alpine stocks, they began the ascent of the mountain with their burden. The day dawned and grew old, and still these men crawled upward in frightful, body-breaking struggle. Twelve hours passed, and they had no food and no sleep, save as they fell unconscious downward in the snow, as they did many times, from fatigue and lack of nourishment. At four o'clock, Anderson was again on the summit. Then, without rest, came the descent to the north. Down precipitous cliffs of ice they lowered him, as tenderly as might be; down snow-slopes seared with crevasses, shielding him from the falling rocks; over ridges of ragged lava, until in the deepening darkness of the second night they found themselves again at timber. But in the net-work of canyons they had selected the wrong one, and were lost. Here, at three o'clock, they were found by a second relief party, and guided over a painful five-mile journey home. [Illustration: Finest of the St. Helens glaciers, north side, with Black Butte on left. It is proposed to call this "Forsyth glacier," in honor of C. E. Forsyth, leader in a memorable rescue.] It was day when camp was reached. In an improvised hospital, a young surgeon, aided by a trained nurse, both Mazamas, quickly set the broken bones. Then they sent their patient comfortably away to the railroad and a Portland hospital. Before the wagon started, Anderson, who had uttered no groan in his two days of agony, struggled to a sitting posture, and searched the faces of all in the crowd about him. "Ay don't want ever to forget how you look," he said simply; "you who have done all this yust for me." It is fitting that such an event should be commemorated. With the approval of Mr. Riley and other Mazamas who were present at the time, I would propose that the north-side glacier already described, the most beautiful of the St. Helens ice-streams, be named "Forsyth glacier," in honor of the leader of this heroic rescue. [Illustration: COPYRIGHT, ASAHEL CURTIS Road among the Douglas Firs.] [Illustration: Ships loading lumber at one of Portland's large mills.] III. THE FORESTS By HAROLD DOUGLAS LANGILLE