distance, and from their crests flung forth long and broad streamers that glinted in the sun, like to the banners of an advancing army. That, Slade knew, meant wind, and getting caught in a wind storm out on the desert was nothing to joke about. However, he decided to risk it. Giving Shadow another drink, andtaking a couple of swallows himself, he mounted and turned east through the blaze of the sunshine, the sands whispering under his mount’s hoofs, the only sound to break the deathly silence of the wastelands.
“Yes,” he concluded for Shadow’s benefi t, who didn’t appear particularly interested, “some day there will be garden spots where now is only desolation, the desert lands will blossom and folks yet unborn will find prosperity and happiness. Worth working for, horse. Let’s go, the sun’s crawling west and it’ll be a bit cooler after a while, I hope.”
Chapter Ten
Shadow stepped out briskly, despite the heat, knowing very well he was homeward bound to his comfortable stall and oats. His rider kept casting anxious glances toward the southwest. Now the far distant sand hills had vanished and there the desert was a strange purplish-blue, an unearthly and sinister shade. The wind was strengthening and lifting the sands to form a smoky veil shot with lurid flickers like to lightning behind a cloud. Slade began to regret that he had left the comparative safety of the sheltering overhang in the dry wash. Looked very much like they were going to be caught by a desert storm. The heat seemed to be, if anything, increasing and the air had a creamy feel that made breathing a labored effort.
On and on forged the tall black horse, pitting his superb strength and endurance against the grim, imponderable forces of nature at its worst. From time to time, Slade halted to give him a little water and a chance to catch his breath, then on and on toward where the hospitable rangeland lay somewhere beyond the ever retreating horizon.
Everything considered, they were making good time, but that threatening dust cloud in the southwest was traveling just a little faster. Slade figured they had covered perhaps two-thirds the distance they had to go and the sun was low in the west when the storm struck.
Instantly the heat increased. The air was filled with flying yellow shadows, the wind-driven sand beat against horse and rider like a living thing of utter malevolence. Unsuspected flecks of gravel were raised from the desert floor to sting the flesh like spent bullets. One minute the sky was utterly shrouded, then the sun was visible, a weird magenta color, like to the full moon seen through haze, to vanish again as the dust cloud thickened and the eerie yellow shadows swooped down.
Leaning forward in the saddle, his hatbrim drawn low, his neckerchief over his nose and mouth, Slade endured the torment as best he could. He knew his horse’s struggle was exhausting, but there was nothing to do but keep going and hope to outdistance the storm. To halt would be fatal.
His mind began to cloud, crawling with spectral elements that gnawed at his brain like illusive maggots, vanished but to return again to their ghostly attack. Then gradually their torture was replaced by a deep and drowsy happiness that stole over him on treacherous little cat-feet. The forerunner to the dark borderland of desert madness that would quickly deliver him to death. Barely in time he sensed his deadly danger. He fl ung back his head, slapped his cheeks with one hand after the other, hard, stinging blows that jolted him back to normalcy. He straightened in the saddle, grimly faced the beat of the wind; he’d whip the damned thing yet.
But now Shadow was blowing hard, lurching, his steady gait changed to a weaving shamble; did he fall, he would never rise again.
Slade swung down from the saddle, looped the reins over his arm and talked soothingly to the exhausted horse, who, relieved of his weight, pickedup a bit. And responsibility revived El
“Yes,” he concluded for Shadow’s benefi t, who didn’t appear particularly interested, “some day there will be garden spots where now is only desolation, the desert lands will blossom and folks yet unborn will find prosperity and happiness. Worth working for, horse. Let’s go, the sun’s crawling west and it’ll be a bit cooler after a while, I hope.”
Chapter Ten
Shadow stepped out briskly, despite the heat, knowing very well he was homeward bound to his comfortable stall and oats. His rider kept casting anxious glances toward the southwest. Now the far distant sand hills had vanished and there the desert was a strange purplish-blue, an unearthly and sinister shade. The wind was strengthening and lifting the sands to form a smoky veil shot with lurid flickers like to lightning behind a cloud. Slade began to regret that he had left the comparative safety of the sheltering overhang in the dry wash. Looked very much like they were going to be caught by a desert storm. The heat seemed to be, if anything, increasing and the air had a creamy feel that made breathing a labored effort.
On and on forged the tall black horse, pitting his superb strength and endurance against the grim, imponderable forces of nature at its worst. From time to time, Slade halted to give him a little water and a chance to catch his breath, then on and on toward where the hospitable rangeland lay somewhere beyond the ever retreating horizon.
Everything considered, they were making good time, but that threatening dust cloud in the southwest was traveling just a little faster. Slade figured they had covered perhaps two-thirds the distance they had to go and the sun was low in the west when the storm struck.
Instantly the heat increased. The air was filled with flying yellow shadows, the wind-driven sand beat against horse and rider like a living thing of utter malevolence. Unsuspected flecks of gravel were raised from the desert floor to sting the flesh like spent bullets. One minute the sky was utterly shrouded, then the sun was visible, a weird magenta color, like to the full moon seen through haze, to vanish again as the dust cloud thickened and the eerie yellow shadows swooped down.
Leaning forward in the saddle, his hatbrim drawn low, his neckerchief over his nose and mouth, Slade endured the torment as best he could. He knew his horse’s struggle was exhausting, but there was nothing to do but keep going and hope to outdistance the storm. To halt would be fatal.
His mind began to cloud, crawling with spectral elements that gnawed at his brain like illusive maggots, vanished but to return again to their ghostly attack. Then gradually their torture was replaced by a deep and drowsy happiness that stole over him on treacherous little cat-feet. The forerunner to the dark borderland of desert madness that would quickly deliver him to death. Barely in time he sensed his deadly danger. He fl ung back his head, slapped his cheeks with one hand after the other, hard, stinging blows that jolted him back to normalcy. He straightened in the saddle, grimly faced the beat of the wind; he’d whip the damned thing yet.
But now Shadow was blowing hard, lurching, his steady gait changed to a weaving shamble; did he fall, he would never rise again.
Slade swung down from the saddle, looped the reins over his arm and talked soothingly to the exhausted horse, who, relieved of his weight, pickedup a bit. And responsibility revived El
Similar Books
