The air about them remained
motionless--dead. Suddenly it trembled, swirled, and rushed forward to
meet the oncoming dust-cloud as though drawn toward it by the suck of a
mighty vortex.
"Dat better we gon' for hont de hole. Dat dust sto'm she raise hell."
"Hole up, nothin'!" cried the Texan; "How are we goin' to hole up--four
of us an' five horses, on a pint of water an' three cans of tomatoes?
When that storm hits it's goin' to be hot. We've just naturally got to
make that water-hole! Come on, ride like the devil before she hits,
because we're goin' to slack up considerable, directly."
The cowboy led the way and the others followed, urging their horses at
top speed. The air was still cool, and as she rode, Alice glanced over
her shoulder toward the dust cloud, nearer now, by many miles. The roar
of the wind increased in volume. "It's like the roar of the falls at
Niagara," she thought, and spurred her horse close beside the Texan's.
"Only seventeen or eighteen miles," she heard him say, as her horse drew
abreast. "The wind's almost at our back, an' that'll help some." He
jerked the silk scarf from his neck and extended it toward her. "Cover
your mouth an' nose with that when she hits. An' keep your eyes shut.
We'll make it all right, but it's goin' to be tough.
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