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212 been more desertwise, would have made him pause before he adventured farther from those hills. The sun had taken on a coppery complexion and swam low. The air was heavy, but seemingly as hot as fire.

All this was strange and terrible to him, but he never dreamed that it foreboded anything more nearly intolerable.

All at once the surface of the desert seemed to lift and shake like the top of a canvas bent in a gale. The dust enveloped man and horse. And then darkness fell, a copper-coloured pall. Nothing remained visible beyond arm's length.

The broncho swung round, back to the blast, and refused to budge another inch.

Alan dismounted and, seizing the bridle, sought to draw the horse on with him. He wasted his strength; the animal balked, stiffened its legs, and resisted with the stubbornness of a rock; then, of a sudden, jerked its head smartly, snapped the bridle from his grasp, and scuttled away before the storm.

The bridle was barely torn from his hand before Alan lost sight of the broncho. For a moment he stood rooted in consternation as in a bog, with an arm up-thrown across his face.

Then the thought of Judith recurred. …

Head bended and shoulders rounded, he began to forge a way into the teeth of the sandstorm, pos-