Northwoods Nightmare (21 page)

Rolling onto his stomach, he jammed both arms and both legs into the snow.

It didn't work. The snow was too deep. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach the ground. He couldn't find purchase. All there was was snow and more snow.

Fargo had lost sight of the Ovaro. It could be lying above him with a broken leg. Or maybe it was sliding down the mountain, too. He vowed to go look for it. Provided he survived.

Another mound loomed. Fargo threw himself to one side but the snow had other ideas. His other shoulder slammed hard. The pain was worse than the first time. Now both of his arms were numb. He had to struggle to move them even a little.

And he was still sliding.

His hat was gone, too. That made him mad. A hat was as necessary as footwear. It shielded a man from the heat of the sun and the wind-whipped dust and falling rain. He'd had that hat for a couple of years now and managed to keep it in fairly good shape.

Fargo peered ahead, seeking some sign he was near the bottom. He had the illusion he'd slid half a mile but it couldn't have been more than a few hundred feet.

Suddenly he shot off into space. He looked down but saw only snow. Flakes got into his eyes, and his vision blurred. He tried to twist so he wouldn't land on his head and neck but he was only partway around when he smashed down with a bone-jarring impact. If he counted on the snow to cushion him, he was wrong. It felt like his chest caved in. He slid he knew not how many more feet and crashed against a boulder.

God, the pain! Fargo hurt all over. He thought half his bones must be broken. He marveled he was still conscious, and attempted to sit up. The attempt blacked him out. For how long, he couldn't say, but when the stinging lash of falling snow revived him, the sky was darker.

Night was falling.

Fargo had to get up. He had to keep moving. If he stayed there he would freeze. His days of wanderlust, of roaming the frontier wherever his whims took him, would be done. He got his hands under and pushed but his strength had deserted him. He rose only as high as his elbows and then fell back.

“Not like this, damn it.”

Again Fargo sought to rise. Again his body betrayed him. He lay, staring up into an ocean of falling flakes, his consciousness swirling like the eddies in a whirlpool. He felt himself being sucked into a black abyss and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Nothing at all.