in the yellow pall, and the air grew thick and dark. Warren slipped
the packs from the burros. Cameron feared the sandstorms had
arrived some weeks ahead of their usual season.

The men covered their heads and patiently waited. The long hours
dragged, and the storm increased in fury. Cameron and Warren wet
scarfs with water from their canteens, and bound them round their
faces, and then covered their heads. The steady, hollow bellow of
flying sand went on. It flew so thickly that enough sifted down
under the shelving rock to weight the blankets and almost bury
the men. They were frequently compelled to shake off the sand
to keep from being borne to the ground. And it was necessary
to keep digging out the packs. The floor of their shelter gradually
rose higher and higher. They tried to eat, and seemed to be grinding
only sand between their teeth. They lost the count of time. They
dared not sleep, for that would have meant being buried alive.
The could only crouch close to the leaning rock, shake off the sand,
blindly dig out their packs, and every moment gasp and cough and
choke to fight suffocation.

The storm finally blew itself out. It left the prospectors heavy
and stupid for want of sleep. Their burros had wandered away, or
had been buried in the sand. Far as eye could reach the desert
had marvelously changed; it was now a rippling sea of sand dunes.
Away to the north rose the peak that was their only guiding mark.
They headed toward it, carrying a shovel and part of their packs.

At noon the peak vanished in the shimmering glare of the desert.
The prospectors pushed on, guided by the sun. In every wash
they tried for water. With the forked peach branch in his