Senior had plumped cleanly into
this. Luckily, it was not very deep, and he scrambled out to the other
side drenched to the skin, and showing clearly enough, where he had
broken through the snow on both sides, that all the care in the world
would not prevent them repeating the experience. The snow overhung a
yard. Acton had stopped dead when he saw Senior disappear, but in a
moment he had sprung clear, and was helping his friend up the bank. The
snow slipped silently into the stream as he jumped.
"That's number one," said Senior, "and only half an hour from the train!
Any more hereabouts?"
"I fancy so, but we may have better luck next time."
"Hope so. Set the pace, old man, please. It's b-b-beastly c-c-cold."
Acton was thoroughly upset by this mishap, and he headed up the opposite
slope of the hill with a face that showed how the incident had shaken
him. Senior's teeth chattered, and he looked blue with cold. The two
plodded on, Acton insisting on Senior keeping behind. Acton again had
the unenviable pleasure of seeing some more of those icy waters, and
their slow and deadly stealing under the snow seemed to him sinister and
fatal as he pulled himself up on the brink. The care necessary, the
cold, cutting wind, and the knee-deep snow, made their progress terribly
slow, and Acton began to notice that Senior, despite his anxiety for a
sharp pace, was already terribly fagged.
The distance widened between the two, and once, when Acton turned round
and found his friend nearly thirty yards behind, his heart almost
stopped beating.
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