“Jump on, Brick!” he yelled. “Jump, quick!”
The command was hardly spoken when Brick threw himself flat on the long sled, and clung tightly to the sides. Hamp dropped instantly on top of his companion. There was ample space for them, since the amount of luggage was small.
Just as Sparwick uttered an angry yell, Hamp sent the sled forward by a shove of his foot. The fore end scraped on a hidden chunk of rock that half checked it for an instant. The delay was brief but fatal.
Sparwick dashed forward with a tremendous stride. He grabbed at the sled, but missed it. Then he made a desperate spring, and landed on top of the lads.
The next instant there was a wild, giddy rush—a roaring of wind and a sprinkling of fine snow. The sled, freighted with its living burden, was dashing like a meteor down the mountain side!
It was almost a miracle that the top-heavy sled did not upset. Had the course been less smooth and even, it must have done so at the start.
“Hold tight, lads,” shouted Sparwick. “If we upset, we’ll be smashed ter pieces.”
The sled plunged on in its mad, careening course. Now it was two-thirds down the mountain.
Suddenly Hamp uttered a startled cry, and Brick chimed in lustily. Through the flying cloud of fine snow tossed up by the runners, both lads had made a frightful discovery. Just ahead was a chasm of unknown depth—a treacherously-projecting knob on the slope of the mountain. The white blanket of snow had kept its existence hid until now.
“Scrape your feet,” yelled Hamp. “Swing the sled to one side. Quick! quick!”