On the Southern plains, as with the Southern people, changes come and go with great speed. It was so in the present case; for before the sorrel pony had cantered a mile the heavens above were clouded; the sun was obscured.
A loud, swishing noise accompanied the fleecy clouds, somewhat in the rear of the advanced vapor. She reined in.
She was sufficiently versed in Southern life to feel no alarm at the approaching wind. Had it been from the north—a norther—she would have trembled; but, coming from the south, she felt no alarm; it was nothing but a “field” of drifting vapor, and in the course of an hour the sky might be clear again.
So, turning her pony’s hind quarters to the coming wind, she braced herself and waited its approach.
It came with a roar, and striking Dimple, almost took her off her feet; but the sturdy little beast spread her legs and stood like a rock. Almost as soon as told it was past, rushing toward the north, gathering strength every moment: and, beyond a steady breeze, and a few floating particles in the air, the atmosphere was quiet.
Kissie looked at her tiny watch, and sighed: in another hour the sun would sink below the horizon. What, then, would become of her if she did not succeed in finding the camp?
“I must ride somewhere,” she said, growing seriously alarmed. “If I haven’t the sun to guide me I must steer without it.”
So saying, she re-turned her pony’s head and rode away in a canter.
She had not gone far when she reined in with a very white face. Covering her eyes with her hands, she bowed her head, and her heart sunk.
“Oh, my God! what shall I do?” she moaned. “What shall I do? Where shall I go?”