Argosy (UK), January 1955 — page 43: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

NORTH OF MIDNIGHT 4! But before long he could see a solid cloud-bank being drawn slowly over the sky like a great shutter, and it gave him the feeling that comes over every man on winter evenings when the night closes down in storms—a sense of being frightened without knowing why, a longing to be inside a house with other people. He pressed on faster, through another long hour of tightening cold and failing light, then came out at the head of a long incline, which gave him the chance to put another quarter of a mile behind him without effort. He gave a good shove off with his sticks, leaned forward into his knees, and went whizzing down. Near the bottom, running slightly off the track, he hit an obstruction and was flung over in a somersault, to land spread- eagled in the snow. As his legs whirled above his head Garrod felt a blow on one of his feet and heard a crack. When, after a moment or two, he sorted himself out, he found that one of his skis had snapped against atree. ‘The turned-up end and about twelve inches from the front were missing. For a minute or two he rummaged about in the snow for the missing piece—not that it would have been the least use to him if he had found it—then struggled back to the track. Such a thing had never happened in his small experience of ski-ing, and he didn’t at first realize the extent of his disaster. He guessed it would be awkward to travel with a broken ski, but had no idea that for someone unskilful, in deep snow, it would be impossible. , Every few steps the front of the ski simply nose-dived into the drift and stopped him dead: after he’d wrenched his ankle twice, he took both skis off and began to try to walk, humping the skis on his shoulder. The snow was an icy powder that engulfed each leg to well above the knee: it was like wading through a quicksand. After plunging about till his clothes were soaked and he was trembling with exhaustion, Garrod looked back. ‘The spot where he’d left the track was still plainly visible. At this rate—which he couldn’t hope to maintain—he reckoned it would take him about twenty hours to make Ivalo. ° Laying the skis on a patch of harder snow, he sat down on them to consider. ‘The moon had vanished. He could see only a short way ahead. ‘The cold was hardening almost visibly. Gar- rod remembered stories of Napoleon’s invasion, when the frost in Moscow was so fierce that crows dropped dead out of the trees, and were wheeled from the Imperial Gardens by the barrow-load. ‘There were no crows here, but from far away came a thin howl. comiclooks.comn)