“How can that be?” exclaimed Hamp. “We didn’t see any marks branching off.”
He was startled by his companion’s assertion. He tried to stop, but, unluckily, one foot slipped. He came forcibly down on the snow-crust in a sitting posture.
With a yell of dismay he shot down the slope and plunged through the fringe of bushes. A brief glimpse showed what was below—a circular depression of glistening snow screwing downward like a funnel, until it ended in a jagged black hole of extreme narrowness. The same glimpse made clear to Hamp that some one had created the depression by breaking through the crust of snow and gliding into an underlying cavity of unknown depth. For a fraction of a second Hamp stuck on the brink. He clutched vainly at air and snow. Then he shot down the abyss, feet first, and vanished through the black fissure at the bottom!
Jerry heard his companion’s horrified cries. He knew that some catastrophe must have happened. He forgot all about his recent discovery, and plunged recklessly forward. The natural result was that the sleds banged him violently from the rear. Then came a dizzy drop through space, and a collision with something soft, that yelled lustily in Hamp’s familiar tones.
“I—I couldn’t help it,” grasped Jerry, as he rolled to one side.
A second later it was his turn to sing out. A rifle, a haunch of venison, and half-a-dozen tin dishes pelted him in quick succession on the head and shoulders. He looked up with blinking eyes. Then he understood what the avalanche meant.
Ten feet overhead was the gap through which he had fallen. Both sleds had stuck there, and blocked it so completely that only a slim crevice of light was visible. The straps on one of the sleds had broken, allowing part of the contents to fall through.
Jerry held his breath for an instant, expecting another avalanche. When nothing more fell, he recovered his presence of mind.
“That you, Hamp?” he whispered. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. I fell on a pile of snow.”