“Sit jess a little moah to de front,” was Pickles’ suggestion, and it was immediately acted upon.
“Didn’t I tell you you wasn’t in it?” shouted Pete Sully, derisively.
“There isn’t a toboggan around Rudskill can beat the Whistler!” put in Bill Dixon.
On and on went the two toboggans. The last little rise was passed and the speed began to slacken.
Suddenly the Whistler struck a snag—the dead limb of a tree, which was half-hidden in the snow.
It quickly swerved out of its course, directly in the path of the oncoming Buster.
“Get out of the way!” shouted Jack Bascoe, who was, as usual, in the front. “Turn her around, Sully!”
“Don’t run into us!” shrieked several on board of the Whistler. “To the right! To the right!”
Those on the Buster tried to do as advised, not only for the sake of their rivals, but also to save themselves. But it was too late to do much. The Buster swung around a trifle, and then came up sideways with a bang, and out into the snow flew every one of the boys on both toboggans.
Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt, although several faces and hands were scratched, and Pickles got a bruise in the shin, his one weak spot. All were soon on their feet, and the toboggans were dragged to one side, out of the way of any that might be following.