wind before his face, and a rush of stinging snow against closed
eyelids--and then he dropped through empty space. Speed took sight from
him. It seemed he flew off the surface of the world.

* * * * *

Indistinctly he recalls the murmur of men's voices, the touch of strong
arms that lifted him, and the shooting pains as the ski were unfastened
from the twisted ankle ... for when he opened his eyes again to normal
life he found himself lying in his bed at the post office with the
doctor at his side. But for years to come the story of "mad Hibbert's"
ski-ing at night is recounted in that mountain village. He went, it
seems, up slopes, and to a height that no man in his senses ever tried
before. The tourists were agog about it for the rest of the season, and
the very same day two of the bolder men went over the actual ground and
photographed the slopes. Later Hibbert saw these photographs. He noticed
one curious thing about them--though he did not mention it to any one:

There was only a single track.



* * * * *




_Sand_

I