He spoke something to the old greyhead, who ordered the party to turn about. I now saw a body of men about thirty strong approaching, some of them bearing litters. How they had come to know they were wanted I couldn't fathom. The body of our comrade must soon come to light now, if only by reason of the melting of the snow, which was happening so fast that the lower slopes of the mountain already ran brisk with runnels of water. And yet the search was a long one. From the way the snow lay it had plainly been deflected this way and that by the varying slant; Philipson's body had no doubt been carried far to one side. It was a shout from one of the newcomers that announced he had been found. I hobbled towards him, looking, yet fearing to look; but at this moment there was a most queer and unexpected diversion. Several of the valley men had run up and were on the spot before I could get near. I heard a cry go up from among them. They drew back, one and all, and _fell to their faces in the snow_. The sight pulled me up standing, but only for a moment. In my own excitement I didn't stop to wonder what it could mean, but pushed eagerly to the front and knelt beside our leader. To my unutterable joy he was alive. The face was white and drawn, the lips an ugly blue, but I wanted only a glance to tell me the breath was still in his body. Then, suddenly, I felt myself grasped by the shoulder. The tall greyhead stood over me and pulled me angrily away. There was no arguing the point. I was dragged back to a spot some distance off, whither the whole party, with the exception of greyhead and two men I took to be physicians, followed. Poyning had now arrived, and he too was sternly motioned not to approach. He faced the stranger nearest him and put an indignant query. The man appeared to be, like all the rest, in a state of excitement barely controllable, but he muttered something in answer to Poyning, and I knew by Poyning's face that the hearing was good. 'Philipson will live, according to this fellow,' he said, 'but we are forbidden to go near.' We clasped hands in silence. Never till then had either of us realised to the full, I fancy, what Saunders Philipson meant to us--how we little short of worshipped the man, and what an irreparable calamity his death would have been. For myself, I felt at the same time a sort of vague, unreasoning jealousy against these strangers who seemed determined to take him from us. Something similar was clearly passing through Poyning's mind. 'These people, Mirlees,' he said to me after we had been kept standing there a matter of five minutes, 'are behaving with a coolness that comes perilously near to cheek. Damn it all, whose friend _is_ Philipson?'