shifting to and fro. The bull lifted his head; the others slowly
grouped together.

"Storm! Sandstorm!" exclaimed Jones, pointing desert-ward. Dark
yellow clouds like smoke were rolling, sweeping, bearing down
upon us. They expanded, blossoming out like gigantic roses, and
whirled and merged into one another, all the time rolling on and
blotting out the light.

"We've got to run. That storm may last two days," yelled Frank to
me. "We've had some bad ones lately. Give your horse free rein,
and cover your face."

A roar, resembling an approaching storm at sea, came on puffs of
wind, as the horses got into their stride. Long streaks of dust
whipped up in different places; the silver-white grass bent to
the ground; round bunches of sage went rolling before us. The
puffs grew longer, steadier, harder. Then a shrieking blast
howled on our trail, seeming to swoop down on us with a yellow,
blinding pall. I shut my eyes and covered my face with a
handkerchief. The sand blew so thick that it filled my gloves,
pebbles struck me hard enough to sting through my coat.

Fortunately, Spot kept to an easy swinging lope, which was the
most comfortable motion for me. But I began to get numb, and
could hardly stick on the saddle. Almost before I had dared to
hope, Spot stopped. Uncovering my face, I saw Jim in the doorway
of the lee side of the cabin. The yellow, streaky, whistling
clouds of sand split on the cabin and passed on, leaving a small,
dusty space of light.