"I slid," said the Baker, "and I saw the sand trickle and trickle. And we was on an 'ill when we lay down, but when I slid, we was in a sort of cup, Smith. What was it, Smith?"
But Smith shook his head.
"Let's come on," he said.
"Where?" asked the Baker. "Smith, old man, I'm scared."
His shaking hands and his loosed lips bore witness to the truth of that.
"Where?" said Smith. "Why, out of this, and as soon as we can. I'll go first."
And then he heard again the sound of distant thunder. Or perhaps it was subterranean, for, once more in the hot morning light, they saw ahead of them big jets and spurts of dun sand thrown up against the sun, as though some strange beast blew blasts like the spouting of a whale in that dry sea. And with each dust spout the ground was shaken, and the sound was heard.
Smith caught the Baker muttering mixed prayers, half child-like entreaty to an anthropomorphous god, half savage blasphemy against a treacherous fetish. He remembered, with a smile, the old story of the sailor who prayed for help, and, as an inducement for the deity to assist him, said that he had never asked before, and wouldn't again. He turned and looked at Kitty, who walked like one dazed. It had taken the courage out of her too.
They walked slowly towards the west, where the tall pine was now visible. Beyond it was a low range of hills. But their progress was slow. They avoided every sand hollow, and wound in and out across the little ridges. If some sand went sliding from under him, the Baker whimpered like a dreaming hound. And then they stopped again.
"A pit, a pit!" cried Mandeville, with staring eyes, and they saw an open, black hole before them, crater-shaped and crumbling.