Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders on the Great American Desert Part 15

"It is rolling like the surf," exclaimed Hippy.

"Yes, and in that cloud are tons upon tons of sand that the cloud is carrying along with it. We'll lose a stretch of our desert here in a few moments."

"Is there nothing that we can do to protect ourselves, Hi?"

"Not a thing. The equipment has been securely packed. I had Ping put the rifles in a sack and stand them upright in a hole in the ground so we may find them after the storm. Without weapons we should be in a bad way, especially if our friends, the pirates, return, but I reckon that what's left of that crowd will be pretty well sanded. This storm is going to pile right up on the range that we left behind us."

A distant, menacing roar now became audible to the two men, such a roar as one can hear by placing an ear to the opening of a conch sh.e.l.l, but magnified perhaps a million times.

The cool breeze, that had shortly before warned Hi Lang, now became a chill blast, moderate, but plainly thrust ahead by a mighty force behind it.

"Good night!" exclaimed Lieutenant Wingate. "That breeze must have been born up in Iceland. Talk about your heat on the desert!

Perhaps we shall have some cool weather here after the storm pa.s.ses."

Hi Lang laughed.

"Don't fool yourself, Lieutenant. It will be hotter than ever to- morrow, blistering, sizzling hot; and the water courses probably will dive deeper into the earth and give us no end of trouble to find them. I---"

"It is coming, isn't it?" questioned Graces who had been awakened by the breeze and had come up behind Hippy and Mr. Lang without their hearing her.

"It's well on the way, Mrs. Gray. Perhaps it might be well to awaken the young ladies. Knock down your tents and sit on them or you won't have any tents left. Reckon we'd better do the same, Lieutenant."

It was plain that the storm soon would be upon them and all haste was made to prepare for the blow. The tents were laid flat, weighted with such equipment as might be expected to hold them there, and the Overland Riders stood or crouched a little fearful in this new mystery of the desert.

"Getting closer!" announced the guide.

"What shall we do?" asked Hippy.

"Lie down when you can no longer stand up, and take pot luck."

"Any orders, Mr. Lang?" called Grace Harlowe.

"Yes. Lie down facing the storm and wind your blankets about you.

Be sure to keep your heads covered. If you find that the sand is piling up on your backs, shake it off."

"If you get buried perhaps you may find a tank down there,"

suggested Hippy, but no one laughed at his sally. "There goes that crazy Chinaman again. I hope he chokes."

"He will if he keeps his mouth open much longer."

Ping had broken out in song, which the wind was not yet strong enough to smother.

"Sometim' you look-see piece sand he walkee mountain high, Jist t'hen wind knock top-side off an' blow 'um up to sky. Jist so my heart walk up inside--befo' he sinkee down--"

That was the last heard of Ping Wing for some time, the concluding words of his song having been lost in a burst of wind that drowned out every other sound.

"Down! Everybody down!" yelled the guide just before the blast struck them.

The sandstorm swooped down on them suddenly, bringing with it black night, a roaring, booming, hideous thing. Sand rained on the blankets, covering the girls of the Overland Riders, and now and then some heavier object, they knew not what, struck one or more of them, adding to the terror of the moment.

Emma Dean struggled and moaned in her fright. Her blanket, loosened by her movements, was whisked into the air and out of sight in a twinkling. She screamed for help, but no one heard her, and Emma threw herself down in the sand, or was blown over when she struggled to a sitting position. There she lay, her face buried in the sand, sobbing and moaning.

Not a sound had been uttered by any of the other girls. They were listening, listening, wondering how much longer they would be able to endure the terrific strain under which they were laboring.

Such wind no person there, except Hi Lang, had ever dreamed could be possible. Grace found herself wondering if the Arabian simoon, of which she had read, could possibly be deadlier. She doubted it.

By now the girls were fighting to keep from being buried alive, and in their choking, suffocating condition they tried to sit up for air. All lost their blankets instantly. The sand beat on their faces and heads like sharp-pointed tiny hailstones. Their eyes were blinded by it, and their bodies burned as if they had been rubbed with sandpaper, but there was nothing that could be done to relieve their suffering because no person could stand up against the mighty force of the wind.

The storm, it seemed to them, lasted for hours, though as a matter of fact it had blown itself out within fifteen minutes from the time it struck them.

"Backbone of the storm is broken," yelled the guide in Hippy's ear, both being under the same blanket.

"So is mine," Hippy howled back. "There's a ton of sand, if there is a pound on it, this very minute. Hope the girls are safe. Can we get out?"

"No. The wind is too strong. It will die out in a few moments.

I'll go out the minute I can crawl."

The men waited several minutes, during which the gale was steadily decreasing. The guide finally poked his head from under the blanket, shading his eyes with a hand to keep the blowing sand out, before opening them.

"Cover your eyes and come on," he said, crawling out and starting to beat his way against the gale toward the spot where the Overland girls were supposed to be.

They were huddled together, with their arms about each other to keep from being blown away, every head resting on an arm as they lay face down on the ground.

"Stand up, but protect your eyes," shouted Hi. "Gale's almost over and done for."

"So--o--o are we," gasped Grace, staggering to her feet, and almost instantly landing on her back on the ground where the wind had hurled her.

Hi a.s.sisted her to her feet, Grace laughing and choking at the same time. The others, in turn, were lifted up by Hi and Hippy, all leaning against the wind, clinging to each other, and, with handkerchiefs in their mouths, breathing what air they could get in this way without taking in any more sand than they could help.

The wind stopped with a suddenness that left every one of the party unprepared. The result was that they fell forward on their faces, and for a few moments there was a mixup that, in ordinary circ.u.mstances, would have brought merry peals of laughter, but there was no laughter this time.

The eyes of the Overland Riders were so filled with sand that they were too blinded to see the stars that once more were s.h.i.+ning "just above them."

"Wet your handkerchiefs with water from your canteens and wipe your eyes," suggested Grace.

"Go easy on the water," commanded the guide. "Let's see where we are at before we use water."

"You are right, sir. I had not thought of that," agreed Grace.

"Our buckets are full, aren't they?" questioned Anne.

"Yes--of sand," spoke up Elfreda.

"The first thing to do is to settle the water question. Ping!"

Ping Wing came running up, his white suit the color of the landscape, for Ping had been rolled in the sand to his utter undoing.

"Go see how many horses we have left."