On the morning of the second day the oppression increased with the
wind and Red heaved a sigh of restlessness. The sand began to skip
across the plain, in grains at first and hardly noticeable. Hopalong
turned in his saddle and regarded the desert with apprehension. As he
looked he saw that where grains had shifted handfuls were now moving.
His mount evinced signs of uneasiness and was hard to control.
A gust of wind, stronger than the others, pricked his face and grains of sand
rolled down his neck. The leather of his saddle emitted strange noises
as if a fairy tattoo was being beaten upon it and he raised his hand
and pointed off toward the east. The others looked and saw what had
appeared to be a fog rise out of the desert and intervene between them
and the sun. As far as eye could reach small whirlwinds formed and
broke and one swept down and covered them with stinging sand. The day
became darkened and their horses whinnied in terror and the clumps of
mesquite twisted and turned to the gusts.
Each man knew what was to come upon them and they dismounted,
hobbled their horses and threw them bodily to the earth, wrapping a
blanket around the head of each. A rustling as of paper rubbing
together became noticeable and they threw themselves flat upon the
earth, their heads wrapped in their coats and buried in the necks of
their mounts.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210