The tempest was upon him.
He shielded his eyes with his arm; but the stinging, heated particles sought out every inch of his body, and his clothing afforded but little protection.
The sand penetrated his ears and nostrils, and burned his lips until they bled.
He had heard it said that to remain motionless in such a tempest means death; for wherever the wind meets with an obstruction, there it piles the sand in huge mounds, and his father had told of more than one hunter who had thus been buried alive.
It was death to remain motionless, and yet to move seemed impossible.
Whether he turned to the right or the left the whirlwind struck him with a fury which it was difficult to withstand. It was as if the wind swept in upon him from every point of the compass—as if he was the centre of this whirling, dancing, blinding, murderous onrush of sand.
The boy's throat was dry. He was burning with thirst.
The dust-laden air seemed to have literally filled his lungs, and it was with difficulty he could breathe.
Despite the protection he sought to give, his eyes were inflamed, and the lids cruelly swollen.
He sank ankle-deep at every step, and above him and around him the wild blasts shrieked, until there were times when he feared lest he should be thrown from his feet.