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Page 35
"Do--do you think those men will come back to-night?" questioned
Emma, half fearfully.
The guide shook his head.
"Not to-night. We'll probably meet up with them again one of these
days, and I hope we do," he replied, looking thoughtfully up at
the sky. His survey took in all quarters of the compass, and when
he turned to the Overlanders again, Grace thought he looked a
little disturbed.
"What is it, Mr. Lang?" she asked.
"I reckon it's the desert this time," he replied.
"A storm?"
"Yes."
"Rain?" questioned Grace innocently.
The guide grinned. "Nothing like that in these parts. Wind, Mrs.
Gray. I reckon you'll meet one enemy that you can't drive off,
before this night comes to an end. We better have chow now, then
make the camp as secure as possible. Shall you tell the others?"
he asked, nodding toward the Overland girls, who, after their
exciting battle, were chattering and laughing as they assisted
Ping Wing to prepare the supper.
"Yes. After we eat. They should know," replied Grace. "You see
they are not at all upset over what occurred."
By the time they had finished supper, which had been eaten amid
much teasing and laughter, some one discovered that the stars,
before so near and brilliant, were now only faintly discernible, a
veil of thin mist having intervened between them and the baking
desert.
Elfreda Briggs regarded the overcast sky for a moment, then turned
inquiringly to the guide.
"Fog?" she asked.
"No. Bad storm. Better go to bed with your clothes on to-night,"
advised the guide.
"Is it so serious as that, Mr. Lang?"
"It may be. Nobody can figure on anything on this desert--storms,
water, everything here is as contrary as an outlaw bronco. Better
turn in soon and have the others do the same, for you may not have
long to sleep to-night."
"I would suggest that you do the same," advised Elfreda. "You need
sleep and rest even more than we do. I hear Mrs. Gray telling our
friends to prepare for bad weather, so I will run along and
listen. Good-night, Mr. Lang."
The Overland girls, requested by Grace to turn in, after being
told that a storm was in prospect, did so, but Hippy still
remained up talking with Ping, who was scouring the cooking
equipment and carefully stowing it in the packs so that it might
all be in one place in the event that the storm was a severe one.
Ping Wing had had experience with desert wind storms; he had
learned to respect their tremendous force, and he too had read the
danger signs in the heavens that night.
The guide being nowhere in sight, Hippy finally crawled into his
tent and lay down with his clothes on, first, however, placing his
revolver where it might be quickly reached in an emergency, but
there was to be no use for his weapon that night. The enemy that
he was to face later on would be proof against bullets, an enemy
that no human courage, skill or ingenuity could stay.
Out by the water hole, Hi Lang sat keeping silent vigil, narrowly
watching those film-mists overhead, his nerves on the alert to
catch the first cooling breath, which he knew from past experience
would be the vanguard of what he fully expected was in store for
them.
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