The Last of the Plainsmen 



whirled and merged into one another, all the time 

 rolling on and blotting out the light. 



u We ve got to run. That storm may last two 

 days,&quot; yelled Frank to me. &quot; We ve had some bad 

 ones lately. Give your horse free rein, and cover 

 your face.&quot; 



A roar, resembling an approaching storm at sea, 

 came on puffs of wind, as the horses got into their 

 stride. Long streaks of dust whipped up in different 

 places; the silver-white grass bent to the ground; 

 round bunches of sage went rolling before us. The 

 puffs grew longer, steadier, harder. Then a shriek 

 ing blast howled on our trail, seeming to swoop 

 down on us with a yellow, blinding pall. I shut 

 my eyes and covered my face with a handkerchief. 

 The sand blew so thick that it filled my gloves, peb 

 bles struck me hard enough to sting through my 

 coat. 



Fortunately, Spot kept to an easy swinging lope, 

 which was the most comfortable motion for me. But 

 I began to get numb, and could hardly stick on the 

 saddle. Almost before I had dared to hope, Spot 

 stopped. Uncovering my face, I saw Jim in the 

 doorway of the lee side of the cabin. The yellow, 

 streaky, whistling clouds of sand split on the cabin 

 and passed on, leaving a small, dusty space of light. 



&quot; Shore Spot do hate to be beat,&quot; yelled Jim, as he 



46 



