“Yes, we did!” Phil piped up, and went into his knapsack, taking out a tissue-papered package, which he tossed to the man. “Here you are.”
Ravenously, the stranger tore the paper from the sandwiches and divided the food between his two companions.
“Thanks, Buddy!” he cried, amid a mouthful. “That just about saves our lives!”
“You goof!” whispered Bill, as the men attacked the food. “These birds are robbers! See those money bags in the corner?”
“Sure,” returned Phil. “I just did that to give us a chance to beat it. Come on—right down over the hillside!”
Taking advantage of the trio’s hunger for food, the three chums made a sudden, unexpected break for it. They whirled about on their skis, glided to the edge of the ledge and took-off down the slope, a hazardous venture.
“Hey! Stop! Come back here!” the ringleader yelled after them.
Bang! Bang! ... Bang! Bang! ... Bang!
Bullets sung past their ears, spotted tiny holes in the crusted snow, clipped branches off trees. Phil, losing his balance, toppled over and broke through the snow. Max, wavering in a wild attempt to avoid underbrush, crashed into a tree. Bill alone avoided mishap and continued on down the steep hillside.
“Go on Bill! Go on!” Max shrieked.