“No, but your gun came near going,” for the food and other objects had slid around when the jolt came. “I held on to them,” went on the strange lad, who, from the association of Jack and his chums, was fast losing his odd manner.
“That’s the idea! Well, we certainly are moving now.”
And indeed they were. The sled was increasing its speed every moment, and was now whizzing along over the snow like some racing automobile, but with none of the noise. The snow, by reason of thawing and freezing, had acquired a hard, slippery surface, and the sled, the broad runners of which did not sink in, was fairly skimming along over it.
“Try the brakes!” Jack called back to Sam and Nat. “Let’s see if they work.”
“Put on brakes!” called Nat, giving vent to a couple of screeches in imitation of a whistle.
“That means let off brakes,” said Sam. “One whistle is to put ’em on.”
“What’s the odds?” inquired Nat. “Put your pole down.”
He was already shoving on his, and Sam did likewise. There was a shower of white flakes behind the sled as the sharp points of the poles bit into the snow. There followed a scratching sound, and two long depressions appeared to mark the wake of the bob. Then the speed began to slacken.