With a wild yell that would have done credit to an Indian, Hackett called attention to the fact that he was ready to make the descent.
"Hacky's all right!" laughed Nat. "Here he comes!"
With the speed of the wind, slim John Hackett came skimming down the incline. Half bent over, and balancing himself with the pole, he approached the hillock.
Eagerly the boys watched him.
"Going like an express train!" said Tom Clifton, breathlessly. "Ah—"
A half suppressed cheer came from the boys. Hackett rose from the hillock, and shot forward. It was a tremendous dash through space and the group almost held their breath.
Then a cry of dismay was heard.
Hackett, as he alighted on the level stretch, lost his balance, his feet flew from under him—wildly he swung his arms.
A cry of alarm, swelling into a confused medley of sound, came from the watchers. They saw Hackett lurch on his side, and, lying prostrate, go spinning along on the ice and snow.