"The pits, the pits!" he shrieked, and again deep sleep had him, as Smith smiled wanly and drifted into dreamland.
And in his dream he saw the desert, and under the desert the sunken riven which, for long generations had eaten away the foundations of the desert until the flat rocks and baked earth under the sand was supported by little columns that melted day by day. And he heard the columns give, and then the ruptured rocks cracked. There were distant sounds of thunder, and the huge tilted slabs threw sand into the air. Down each rift, as through horrible funnel-holes, the sand fell which measured human lives. He saw himself slip; he heard the others cry. And then there was loud thunder in his dream, and the blown sand filled his mouth. He heard an awful scream, and woke with it in his ears.
"Help, Smith, help!"
He sprang to his feet, and saw a dark body, which was Kitty, sliding on the flat in front of him towards a great cup, whose edge was within six feet. He threw himself down, and grasped the girl by her ankles, and, digging his toes into the sand, he wrenched her back.
But as he did so, she screamed dreadfully, and on her scream there came another further cry, half-choked, half dream-like—such a cry as a man would make in a nightmare, if he could free his chest form the horrible squat beast that chokes him. And Kitty, whom he had saved, writhed round on him, and struck at him.
"Let me go!" she screamed.
"Where's Baker?" he said.
And she writhed and shrieked terribly.
"The pit—in the pit!"
And rising, he saw the big, black cup which held death. Kitty rose, too, and half escaped him. In another moment she would have been beyond help. He caught hold of her, and they fought upon the increasing verge of the slipping sand, which was like quicksand, and seemed to cling to them. But Smith lifted her desperately, and ran ten yards, and, throwing her down, held her till the mad fit passed.