I haven't seen anybody, and nobody has answered my shouts.

What's to be done next ?" He pondered a moment, then, looking at the license plate of the machine--its enamel now half cracked off, but the numbers still legible--drew out his note-book and pencil and made a memo of the figures.
"Four-six-two-two, N.Y.," he read, again verifying his numbers.

"That will identify things.

And now--the quicker I get back on the road again, and reach a telephone at West Point, the better." Accordingly, after a brief search through the bushes near at hand, for any other victim--a search which brought no results--he set to work once more to climb the cliff above him.
The fire, though still raging, was obviously dying down.

In half an hour, he knew, it would be dead.