"Agreed!" cried Joe. "Ready?"
"Ready it aer."
"Then off!"
They thrust themselves over the edge and went whirling down, huge clouds of snow spurting to either side of their snowshoes. Nor did Joe find the task one of the easiest. He swerved, and with a dig of his gun recovered his position. But the movement sent him twirling the opposite way. He made a desperate effort, and wrenched his body round again till he faced downhill; then, just as is the case with skis, something seemed to go wrong with his snowshoes. They displayed an unaccountable and all-powerful tendency to separate. No amount of effort would draw them together. The result was speedy disaster. Joe rose a little, struggling to regain equilibrium, but a curious thing happened. The very raising of his body proved fatal; for suddenly the shoes stuck fast, the toes entering the surface in spite of the steep slope. Thus arrested, our hero pitched forward on to his head, doubled up into a beautiful and most elegant circle, and went speeding down the hill like a ball, this time at an infinitely quicker rate. His antics, too, from that moment forward were more than funny, for he straightened himself out, with arms and legs widespread.
"I'll have the breath knocked clean out of my body if I don't come to a stop soon," he thought. "Ah! That does it; that's better!"
However, the relief was for the moment only. The pace lessened; he began to think that presently he would find a resting-place from which he might once more put himself in position for the remainder of the descent. But alas! he was to be disappointed. Shooting into a deep drift, he found himself buried beneath the snow, and expected to stay there. But the force of his descent carried all before it. His body broke through the mass of snow, and once more he was hurtling downward, falling this way and that, sliding, rolling head first sometimes, and at others the reverse. At last, however, he was able to arrest the rapid and exciting movement.
"Gee!" he cried. "That was a doer! Where's my gun? And one shoe gone also."
It happened that the lost articles had more or less kept him company. The gun, in fact, lay within a few feet of him, while as he turned there was the lost snowshoe descending in a dignified manner towards him. He snatched at it, donned it in haste, and once more prepared for the rest of the journey.
"Better luck, I hope," he said. "Ain't Hank grinning! The little beggar made a clean run right to the bottom."
On this second occasion Joe was more fortunate. He sat his shoes like a practised hand, and went hurtling down to within a few feet of his waiting comrades.