At the end of that long diagonal run, I found him waiting for me, a solitary figure in that blur of white and grey, the track of his skis running right up to him like a little railway. I stepped out of his tracks just before I reached him and stopped by running uphill. I looked at him and saw that he had brought himself up standing by a Christi. A wide arc of ploughed-up snow showed where he had made the turn.
'Just wanted to find out whether you were all right on a Christi,' he called to me.
I shook my head. 'Sorry!' I shouted back.
'All right. Just wanted to know. We'll soon be in the pass now. That'll give us some shelter. I'll go easy and stick to diagonals.'
He turned and started off again. I joined his ski tracks and followed on. We reached a steeper part, made two diagonals down it, with standing turns at the end of each. Then followed a long clear run across a sloping field of snow.
It was like a plateau — like a white sloping desk-top. As I came to the edge of it, I realised suddenly that it was going to drop away sharply. I remember noticing how the edges of Mayne's ski tracks stood out against the grey void of falling snow beyond the lip. Then I was over the edge, plunging, head well down, along tracks that ran straight as a die down a long, very steep hillside of snow.
I should have fallen before my speed became too great. But I had confidence in Mayne's judgement. I felt sure that the steep descent must end in a rise. Mayne would never have taken it straight otherwise. The wind pressed in an icy blanket against my face. Already I was travelling at a tremendous pace. The snow was thick and I could not see more than forty or fifty yards ahead. I kept my legs braced and supple at the knees and let myself go. It was exhilarating, like going downhill on the Giant Racer.
Then suddenly the snow lifted a little. Mayne's tracks ran down into the bottom of a steep-sided little valley of snow. The opposite slope of that valley seemed to rise almost sheer. It was like a wall of snow, and I was hurtling towards it. And at the bottom I could see the flurry of churned-up snow where Mayne had been forced to do a Christi. His tracks ran away to the right along the floor of the valley.
My heart leaped in my throat. There was nothing I could do about it but hope that my skis would make the opposite side and not dig their points in. I dared not fall now. I was going too fast.
The snow slope of the opposite side of the valley rose to meet me with incredible speed. It seemed to pounce at me. I braced my legs for the upward thrust of my skis. My ski points lifted as I hit the floor of the valley. Then the snow slope beyond flung itself at me. A cold, wet world closed about me in an icy smother.