He groped his way stumblingly along, walking in the edge of the water, making such progress as he could; slipping, falling full length once or twice, but rising again and pressing forward. His teeth were chattering, for the icy water had chilled him to the bone, but he seemed not to be conscious of the cold; his hands and face were cut and bleeding, scratched by brambles and by the sharp edges of rocks and slate, but he did not feel the sting of the wounds. He was thinking only of one thing—he must get out of this trap—he must flag the train! There must be some way out! He could not fail now! Then, suddenly, he remembered. Just below the trestle, a little stream, rushing down the hillside to join the torrent below, had cut for itself a miniature ravine in the side of the larger one. He had noticed it one day not long before—had noticed its rocky bed, which rose steeply to the fields above, but not so steeply as the sides of the ravine itself. Here was a way up which he might escape, if he could only find it. It must be somewhere near,—and he groped his way along, faltering, stumbling,—and at last he found the cut. Yet it was not so easy of ascent as he had thought it would be; for the water was rushing headlong down it, threatening to sweep him back at every moment. Still he clambered on, digging knees and elbows into the mud, holding with desperate strength to the bushes that grew by the way, using every rock for foothold, up and up, until, at last, wet to the skin, with clothing torn and body cut, covered with mud, bruised and aching, but glowing with triumphant excitement, he reached the top. He knew the railroad was somewhere to the right, and he stumbled forward as fast as his trembling legs would carry him. More than once he tripped and fell heavily over a log or stone, but always he held tight his precious lantern, not minding his own bruises so that it was safe. And at last, with a great joy at his heart, he saw, stretching dimly ahead of him, the high embankment upon which rested the track. He sat down for a moment to take breath, then reached into his trousers pocket and drew out his match-safe. It was a company safe, and waterproof, for often the fate of a train depended on whether a watchman’s matches were wet or dry, and for this, at least, the company had the foresight to provide. Crouching in the shelter of the embankment, he found a little rock, and, holding it under his coat, struck a match against it. A gust of wind caught it instantly and blew it out. With trembling fingers, he struck another match, which sputtered feebly for a second, flared up and was extinguished; but the third match burned for a moment, and he applied it quickly to the wick of the lantern. How the red glare warmed and cheered him as he snapped the globe back into place! He was in time to save the train!