shouted a warning, "Hi! Look out!"

But the Scab was off like the wind: and the rest, startled by a voice
from nowhere, hurriedly followed suit.

Roy, raising himself on his hands, gave a convulsive wriggle of
joy--that changed midway, into a backward jerk ... too late!

The crumbling edge was giving way under his hands, under his body. No
time for terror. His jerk gave the finishing touch....

Down he went--over and over; his Sunday hat bouncing gaily on before;
nothing to clutch anywhere; but by good luck, no stones----

The thought flashed through him, "I'm killed!" And five seconds later he
rolled--breathless and sputtering--to the feet of the two remaining
boys, who had sprung back just in time to escape the dusty avalanche.

There he lay--shaken and stupefied--his eyes and mouth full of sand; and
his pockets and boots and the inside of his shirt. Nothing seemed to be
broken. And he wasn't killed!

Some one was flicking the sand from his face; and he opened his eyes to
find the deliverer kneeling beside him, amazed and concerned.

"I say, that was a pretty average tumble! What sort of a lark were you
up to? Are you hurt?"

"Only bumped a bit," Roy panted, still out of breath. "I spec' it
startled you. I'm sorry."