swept by, and the band of his hat sagged heavier, and the load on his shoulders had to be continually shaken off, and the weighty trap round his feet crept upward.  When the light, fine touch ceased he removed the covering from his face to see himself standing nearly to his knees in sand, and Silvermane’s back and the saddle burdened with it.  The storm was moving eastward, a dull red now with the sun faintly showing through it like a ball of fire.

“Well, Wolf, old boy, how many storms like that will we have to weather?” asked Hare, in a cheery tone which he had to force.  He knew these sand-storms were but vagaries of the desert-wind.  Before the hour closed he had to seek the cover of a stone and wait for another to pass.  Then he was caught in the open, with not a shelter in sight.  He was compelled to turn his back to a third storm, the worst of all, and to bear as best he could the heavy impact of the first blow, and the succeeding rush and flow of sand.  After that his head drooped and he wearily trudged beside Silvermane, dreading the interminable distance he must cover before once more gaining hard ground.  But he discovered that it was useless to try to judge distance on the desert.  What had appeared miles at his last look turned out to be only rods.

It was good to get into the saddle again and face clear air.  Far away the black spur again loomed up, now surrounded by groups of mesas with sage-slopes tinged with green.  That surely meant the end of this long trail; the faint spots of green lent suggestion of a desert waterhole; there Mescal must be, hidden in some shady canyon.  Hare built his hopes anew.

So he pressed on down a plain of bare rock dotted by huge bowlders; and out upon a level floor of scant sage and greasewood where a few living creatures, a desert-hawk sailing low, lizards darting into holes, and a swiftly running ground-bird, emphasized the lack of life in the waste.  He entered a zone of clay-dunes of violet and heliotrope hues; and then a belt of lava and cactus.  Reddish points studded the desert, and here and there were meagre patches of white grass.  Far away myriads of cactus plants showed like a troop of distorted horsemen.  As he went on the grass failed, and streams of jagged lava flowed downward.  Beds of cinders told of the fury of a volcanic fire.  Soon Hare had to dismount to make moccasins for Wolf’s hind feet; and to lead Silvermane carefully over the cracked lava.  For a while there were strips of ground bare of lava and harboring only an occasional bunch of cactus, but soon every foot free of the reddish iron bore a projecting mass of fierce spikes and thorns.  The huge barrel-shaped cacti, and thickets of slender dark-green rods with bayonet points, and broad leaves with yellow spines, drove Hare and his sore-footed fellow-travellers to the lava.