For a moment no one spoke.
“I reckon I’ll just mosey over to the desert,” drawled the fidgety man. “I’d hate to have anything go wrong with Barney.”
“Guess I’ll go along myself,” said Adams.
“Boys!” said Slivers, hoarsely, “I’m going to saddle up and git him back! I didn’t mean no harm when I told him wrong. I didn’t think he’d go. I’d ride through hell for Barney—or the little Injun, either. You fellers know I didn’t mean no harm.”
He started at once to get his horse. Before he had covered half the distance to the stable, Sally suddenly rode forth, bareback, on a buckskin pony, and heading for the desert, spurred her bronco to a gallop, crying to him wildly as she went.
“Sally!—Sally—I’ll go!” yelled Slivers.
She seemed not to hear, but ran her pony out upon the white expanse, where the wreathing dust seemed to swallow both herself and the animal immediately.
Her horse, fleeing swiftly before the wind, carried Sally a mile or two out from the camp before she reined him in. Believing Barney could have come no farther than this, she began to search and to call.
At every turn of her head her eyes were blinded by the acrid dust. The stuff choked her breathing; already her throat was dry. Dust and powder and snow-of-alkali came from everywhere. It was blowing up her sleeves. It filtered into and through her clothing. Her ears were quickly coated; her hair was heavy.
She turned her head from side to side for a breath. The air was thicker than smoke with dust as heavy as flour.