This time, the frightening roar came from inside Travis. He heard Muck’s words and instantly the pieces of a terrible picture fell into place: Nish finally figuring out how to snowboard; Nish deciding to work on his carves alone; Nish heading farther up the practice hill to be out of the way until he was ready to show everyone. Nish, smothered by the avalanche.

“NNNNNOOOOOOOO!”

The Owls all turned at once toward the hill where the avalanche had lapped over onto the ski runs. Several trees were broken. Snow was piled up as if ploughs had just cleared the world’s largest parking lot. Huge banks of snow had risen out of nowhere, it seemed, the flying powder still in the air and now glittering in the sun that had just broken through.

Already rescue crews were out. Vast snowmobiles like army tanks were rolling out across the hills, and rescue workers in bright-yellow ski jackets were racing toward the trees.

Travis reacted without thinking. He kicked off his board and began running toward the area where he had last seen Nish.

“Travis!” Muck called from behind.

Travis didn’t stop. He ran farther and then looked back. The rest of the Owls, Muck included, were following, Muck hobbling over the snow on his bad leg.

The Owls were a team, and a teammate was in trouble.

Travis was sweating heavily now. His heart was pounding, his throat burning. He knew he was half crying but didn’t care. Nish was his greatest friend in the world.

He blamed himself for what had happened. He should have stayed with Nish. But Travis had abandoned him to show off with his other friends.

And now Nish was gone.

Travis tried to keep what might have happened out of his head, but couldn’t. He could see Nish turning, screaming, and the great wall of sliding snow burying him, crushing him.

Right now, Nish might be trying to scream for help–gagging on snow and slowly losing the fight to stay alive.

The rescue workers were out on the avalanche section now. They were crawling on their hands and knees and pulling behind them thin hollow rods that looked like gigantic long straws. Several of the rescuers were already working with the rods, inserting them into the snow and prodding deep below the surface. If somehow Nish was still alive, he would be able to breathe through one of them until they dug him out!

Travis felt his heart skip with hope. The rescuers obviously felt there was a chance. A million tonnes of snow wasn’t like a million tonnes of rocks. Nish might still be alive!

Travis found himself praying. He was crying and praying and creeping along on his hands and knees as if he half expected to see Nish’s Screech Owls’ tuque sticking out of the snow, or hear his muffled voice complaining about sushi or something.

“What the hell is everybody looking for?” A voice behind him asked.

“Nish!” Travis called back impatiently.

“What?” the voice asked stupidly.

“We’re looking for Nish!” Travis repeated, anger in his voice.

“What?” the voice repeated.

And then it struck Travis: he knew that voice as well as his own!

Still down on his hands and knees, Travis turned his head.

Nish was standing there, his mouth full and his hand stuck deep in a bag of potato chips.

“What’s up?” Nish asked.

“Where did you come from?”

“The tuck shop. Look, they got real chips there–just like at home.”

Travis stood up, now, and did what only minutes before he’d thought himself incapable of–he hugged Nish.

“Hey!” Nish protested. “Back off. You’ll crush my chips!”

Now everyone noticed him. The Owls came flying at Nish as if he’d just scored the winning goal in overtime. Even Muck came racing over, his bad leg in pain but his face laughing as he reached into the crush and rubbed a big, snow-covered glove in Nish’s face.

“C’mon!” Nish shouted. “You’re crushing my chips!”

But no one was listening to him. They piled on, and soon the bag of chips was as flat as if the avalanche itself had rolled over it, Nish’s protests growing increasingly muffled as more and more Owls leapt onto the pile.

“It’s a miracle,” said Mr. Dillinger. “An absolute miracle.”

The Owls had gathered just outside the tuck shop at the lodge. Everyone, it seemed, had bought a new bag of chips for Nish, who was in his glory now. Between mouthfuls he held court, as if he had, in fact, been swept away by the avalanche, but was such a superior snowboarder that he had simply ridden the wave of snow like a surfer to the safety of the tuck shop.

Everyone had been accounted for. Not just every Screech Owl, but all the hundreds of skiers and boarders who had been on the hill that day. Mr. Ikura, the owner–his face drawn with concern–had gone around and apologized to everyone who had been here. As if all this, somehow, had been his fault.

“A miracle,” Mr. Dillinger kept saying.

Eventually, word came up the mountain that the roads were once again open. The Screech Owls were tired and cranky and just wanted to get back to their rooms and rest up for the game against Sapporo.

The bus was loaded and warming up when Muck and Mr. Lindsay came back from the area where the rescuers were still investigating the slide. A watch would be kept throughout the night in case there was any more movement.

For the time being, Mount Yakebitai was closed for business.

Travis was sitting close enough to the front of the bus to overhear Muck talking to Mr. Dillinger.

“Apparently they’ve never had an avalanche at this time of the year before,” Muck was saying. “Mr. Ikura says it doesn’t make any sense to him.”

How could it make sense? thought Travis.

The mayor murdered…Now an avalanche…

What was going on in Nagano?