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Page 37
"It is coming, isn't it?" questioned Graces who had been awakened
by the breeze and had come up behind Hippy and Mr. Lang without
their hearing her.
"It's well on the way, Mrs. Gray. Perhaps it might be well to
awaken the young ladies. Knock down your tents and sit on them or
you won't have any tents left. Reckon we'd better do the same,
Lieutenant."
It was plain that the storm soon would be upon them and all haste
was made to prepare for the blow. The tents were laid flat,
weighted with such equipment as might be expected to hold them
there, and the Overland Riders stood or crouched a little fearful
in this new mystery of the desert.
"Getting closer!" announced the guide.
"What shall we do?" asked Hippy.
"Lie down when you can no longer stand up, and take pot luck."
"Any orders, Mr. Lang?" called Grace Harlowe.
"Yes. Lie down facing the storm and wind your blankets about you.
Be sure to keep your heads covered. If you find that the sand is
piling up on your backs, shake it off."
"If you get buried perhaps you may find a tank down there,"
suggested Hippy, but no one laughed at his sally. "There goes that
crazy Chinaman again. I hope he chokes."
"He will if he keeps his mouth open much longer."
Ping had broken out in song, which the wind was not yet strong
enough to smother.
"Sometim' you look-see piece sand he walkee mountain high, Jist
t'hen wind knock top-side off an' blow 'um up to sky. Jist so my
heart walk up inside--befo' he sinkee down--"
That was the last heard of Ping Wing for some time, the concluding
words of his song having been lost in a burst of wind that drowned
out every other sound.
"Down! Everybody down!" yelled the guide just before the blast
struck them.
The sandstorm swooped down on them suddenly, bringing with it
black night, a roaring, booming, hideous thing. Sand rained on the
blankets, covering the girls of the Overland Riders, and now and
then some heavier object, they knew not what, struck one or more
of them, adding to the terror of the moment.
Emma Dean struggled and moaned in her fright. Her blanket,
loosened by her movements, was whisked into the air and out of
sight in a twinkling. She screamed for help, but no one heard her,
and Emma threw herself down in the sand, or was blown over when
she struggled to a sitting position. There she lay, her face
buried in the sand, sobbing and moaning.
Not a sound had been uttered by any of the other girls. They were
listening, listening, wondering how much longer they would be able
to endure the terrific strain under which they were laboring.
Such wind no person there, except Hi Lang, had ever dreamed could
be possible. Grace found herself wondering if the Arabian simoon,
of which she had read, could possibly be deadlier. She doubted it.
By now the girls were fighting to keep from being buried alive,
and in their choking, suffocating condition they tried to sit up
for air. All lost their blankets instantly. The sand beat on their
faces and heads like sharp-pointed tiny hailstones. Their eyes
were blinded by it, and their bodies burned as if they had been
rubbed with sandpaper, but there was nothing that could be done to
relieve their suffering because no person could stand up against
the mighty force of the wind.
The storm, it seemed to them, lasted for hours, though as a matter
of fact it had blown itself out within fifteen minutes from the
time it struck them.
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