But two steps with the skis flung her headlong upon the snow, and while she grovelled there, struggling vainly to rise, she heard the awful blows above her like pistol-shots through the stillness.

Once she heard a curse, and once a demonical laugh, and once, thrilling her through and through, spurring her to wilder efforts, a dreadful sound that was like the cry of a stricken animal.
She gained her feet at last, and again started on her upward way.

Nap had been forced to his knees, but he was still fighting fiercely, as a rat will fight to the last.

She cried to him wildly that she was coming, was coming, made three paces, only to trip and fall again.
Then she knew that, so handicapped, she could never reach them, and with shaking, fumbling fingers she set herself to unfasten the straps that bound the skis.

It took her a long, long time--all the longer for her fevered haste.