The windstorm blew over as suddenly as it came, and the moment the going was safe, Tally led the horses from their drifts of sand and saddled them again. The riders crawled out, also, and shook themselves free of the clinging sand, then got back in their saddles, ready to ride onward.
The guides had not gone far, however, before they realized that the sandstorm had played greater havoc with the faint trail than with the riders. Such was the menace they now had to face: Night coming on apace, the scouts with cramps from alkali water, horses thirsty and sore from the beating of the simoon, and still an endless waste to cross, and no pathway to guide them.
“Oh, why did we ever come this way?” wailed Mrs. Vernon.
“We mos’ over him,” soothed Tally.
“Why, we’ve been riding for hours, and still there is nothing but sand to be seen,” complained Julie.
“All same, us fin’ end pooty soon,” returned Omney.
They rode on without much conversation after that, as no one felt cheerful enough to talk. The sun had set beyond the rolling sea of sand, and yet no welcome sight of trees or dwellings could be seen before them. Nothing but sand, sand, sand!
After the sun had completely disappeared, a chill crept into the air and in ten minutes time every one was shivering with cold. Tally spoke in undertones to Mr. Gilroy, and he in turn said to his companions, “Let every one get the guide-rope out and tie it to the saddle in front of you.”
“Why,” called Joan.
“Anything left in Pandora’s box for us poor creatures?” asked Julie sorrowfully.