patch of soft snow, left in a hollow by the wind, spilled him and he went over and over in a clashing of skis, feeling like a shot rabbit, then stuck, his legs crossed, his skis sticking straight up and his nose and ears jammed full of snow.
George stood a little further down the slope, knocking the snow from his wind jacket with big slaps.
"You took a beauty, Mike," he called to Nick. "That's lousy soft snow. It bagged me the same way."
"What's it like over the khud?" Nick kicked his skis around as he lay on his back and stood up.
"You've got to keep to your left. It's a good fast drop with a Christy at the bottom on account of a fence."
"Wait a sec and we'll take it together."
"No, you come on and go first. I like to see you take the khuds."
Nick Adams came up past George, big back and blond head still faintly snowy, then his skis started slipping at the edge and he swooped down, hissing in the crystalline powder snow and seeming to float up and drop down as he went up and down the billowing khuds. He held to his left and at the end, as he rushed toward the fence, keeping his knees locked tight together and turning his body like tightening a screw
