“We ought to be able to cross here,” said Boxy.
“Dat am so,” put in Pickles. “Why, I kin jump it, suah! See here!”
And he made a wild leap over, and disappeared into a hollow filled with snow on the other side.
“He’s gone!” shouted Boxy.
“He’s all right,” returned Harry, as he saw Pickles’ woolly head slowly emerging from the drift.
“By golly, I didn’t fink dat was so slopy heah!” sputtered the colored youth, as he stood up in snow to his waist. “If I hadn’t jumped so fah I’se dun reckon I would hab gone an’ rolled down to de bottom ob de crack suah!”
“That settles it; we can’t cross here,” said Harry. “Let us go on a bit further.”
They continued along the edge of the ravine, Pickles keeping up with them on the other side. Fifty feet further on the cut closed up almost entirely, and they easily stepped across.
“This beats running any risk jumping,” said Harry, and Pickles readily agreed with him.
All three of the boys set up a shout for the others, and it was not long before Jack and Andy appeared with the sled. The latter was lifted over the narrow opening, and then the club continued on its way, Pickles again bursting out into a song, this time singing about “Forms in White, a-Floating in de Sky.”