picketed out on a grassy cienega, which offered them pretty good feed.
We got our supper, made camp and went to bed.

During the night a wind began to blow from the northwest, and in a few
hours it had become a hurricane. Small stones were carried by it like
grains of sand. They would pelt us on the head as we lay in our
blankets. We could hear the stones clicking against the spokes of the
wagon wheels. Great clouds, of dust would obscure the sky. By morning
the velocity of the wind was terrific. Our horses, driven frantic, had
broken loose and disappeared. We could not make a fire, nor if we had
had one could we have cooked anything, for the dirt that filled the air.
For breakfast we ate such things as we had prepared. The roustabout
started off trailing the horses. Chauvin and I sat around under a bank,
blue and disconsolate.

About 11 o'clock we saw a great band of antelope going to water. They
were coming up against the wind, straight to us. When fully half a mile
away they scented us and started off in a circle to strike the creek
above us. We put off after them, following up the creek bed. They beat
us to it, watered and started back to their feeding ground, passing us
in easy range. We shot at them, but without effect. The wind blew so
hard that accurate shooting was an impossibility. We went back to camp.
Not far from it we found quite a hole under the bank, which the winter
waters had burrowed out. It afforded shelter enough from the wind, which
was still blowing, to allow us to build a fire of dry sage brush. We
then prepared a good, warm meal, which we at with great relish. By
1 o'clock in the afternoon the wind began to abate, and it died away
almost as suddenly as it came up. It left the atmosphere dry and full of
dust.