TIBERIUS SMITH
I were a sled. There was a ridge of iron up and down my back that made a nice keel.
"We now made terrific headway, as Tib in leaning against my feet could steady himself and put all his strength into his kicks. I'll admit the sensation was odd and slightly disagreeable at first, but after a while I began to enjoy it and pity Tib for having to stay out there in the cold and work.
"‘Hear 'em screech,' he telephoned down my insulated form. 'How near? I can't turn my head.'
"Aroused from my reverie I slightly elevated my weighty casque, and through the weaving in and out of his sturdy legs caught occasional glimpses of a dark, unwholesome throng behind us. They certainly knew how to run on ice, but as we made a turn I got a wider view and joyfully cried that only half of the tribe was in pursuit.
"‘Cheer up!' gasped Tib. 'We haven't lost any of 'em. Ah, I thought so!' And he gave a mighty lunge against my heels that caused my overcoat to grow warm with the friction.
"‘Waiting for us at the bend!' he cried, holding me dead ahead and picking up extra speed with every stroke. 'Steady!' he yelled.
"And snap! snap! bang! we'd gathered in two videttes and like a stamping-mill had struck the close-pressed pack fair in the centre. We bored a
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