“Some of us might have been killed,” groaned Skeets, gingerly soothing an injured knee.
“And it’s only a bit of luck that we weren’t,” growled Fred.
“My shins are barked for fair,” moaned Pee Wee, “and that’s no joke this time either.”
“Whoever did it was a low-down skunk,” burst out Howell angrily.
“He might have been a murderer,” added Skeets.
“I’d like to have my hands on him for a minute,” declared Fred.
“Well, our fun is over for this night anyway,” said Bobby sadly.
“And for a whole lot of other nights,” put in Pee Wee. “Those ashes will get ground in and there’s no sweeping ’em off.”
“We’ll have to wait for another snow storm before we can do any more coasting,” wailed Sparrow.
It was a sorely disgruntled band of boys who gathered up their sleds and limped slowly to the top of the hill. One of the sleds was smashed and all had been more or less scratched and bruised.