CHAPTER XXIV
A BLIZZARD OF DUST
At daylight Beth was dressed as a man and surveying herself in themirror. She had passed a sleepless night. She was fevered, excited,and nervous.
Her work had been admirably done. She looked no more rawly new oryouthful than scores of young tenderfeet, daily in the streets of thecamp. The stain on her face had furnished an astonishing disguise,supported as it was by male attire. Her hair was all up in the crownof her hat, which was set on the back of her head. It was fastened,moreover, with pins concealed beneath the leather band. Altogether thedisguise was most successful. Beth had disappeared: a handsome youngman had been conjured in her place.
Her mare, which Billy had ordered, came promptly to the door. Sheheard her arrive--and her heart stroked more madly than before.Trembling in every limb, and treading as softly as a thief, she madeher way downstairs.
On the dining-room table was the package of lunch that Mrs. Dick hadagreed to prepare. Beth had told her she meant to take an earlymorning ride and might not be back in time for breakfast. With thisbundle in hand she went out at the door, her courage all but failing atthought of the man with the horse at the threshold. She shrank frombeing seen in such an outfit.
It was too late now to retreat, however, she told herself bravely, andout she went.
"Say, git a move, young feller," said the hostler with her pony. "Iain't got time to play horse-post here all day."
"Thank you for being so prompt," said Beth, in a voice that was faint,despite her efforts to be masculine, and she gave him a coin.
"I'll tie that there bundle on behind," he volunteered, less gruffly,and Beth was glad of his assistance.
A moment later she took a gasp of breath and mounted to the seat.Collapse of all the project had seemed imminent, but an actual feelingof relief and security ensued when she was settled in the saddle.
"So long," said the hostler, and Beth responded manfully, "So long."
She rode out slowly, towards the one main road. A feeling of themorning's chill assailed her, making her shiver. The noise of herpony's hoof-beats seemed alarmingly resonant.
But nothing happened. The streets were deserted, save for a fewhalf-drunken wanderers, headed for the nearest saloon. On the far-offpeaks of the mountains the rosy light of sunrise faintly appeared. Inthe calm of the great barren spaces, even Goldite was beautiful at last.
A sense of exhilaration pervaded Beth's youthful being. She was gladof what she had done. It was joyous, it was splendid, this absolutefreedom in all this stern old world!
The road wound crookedly up a hill, as it left the streets of the townbehind. The scattered tents extended for a mile in this direction, thesquares of silent canvas, like so many dice, cast on the slopes by acareless fate that had cast man with them in the struggle.
Beth and her pony finally topped the hill, to be met by a sea ofmountains out beyond. Up and down these mighty billows of the earththe highway meandered, leading onward and southward through the desert.
The mare was urged to a gallop, down an easy slope, then once more shewalked as before. All the mountains in the west were rosy now, tillpresently the sun was up, a golden coin, struck hot from the very mintsof God, giving one more day with its glory.
Its very first rays seemed a comfort, suggesting a welcome warmth.Beth could have called out songs of gladness well nigh uncontainable.She had all the big world to herself. Even the strangely twistedclouds in the sky seemed made for her delight. They were rare in thiswonderful dome of blue and therefore things of beauty.
For an hour or more her way was plain, and to ride was a god-likeprivilege. Her ease of mind was thoroughly established. What had beenthe necessity for all those qualms of fear? The matter was simple,after all.
It was ten o'clock before she ate her breakfast. She had come to theso-called river, the only one in perhaps a hundred miles. It was quitea respectable stream at this particular season, but spread very thinlyand widely at the ford.
By noon she was half way of her distance. The sun was hot; summerbaking of the desert had begun. Her mare was sweating profusely. Shehad urged her to the top of her strength. Nevertheless she was stillin excellent condition. To the westward the sky was overcast in amanner such as Beth had never seen, with a dark, copperous storm-headthat massed itself prodigiously above the range.
Already she had come to three branchings of the road and chosen her wayin confidence, according to Billy Stiff's directions. When she came toa fourth, where none had been indicated, she was sure, either inBilly's instructions, or upon his drawing, she confessed herselfsomewhat uncertain. She halted and felt for the map.
It was not to be found. She had left it behind at Mrs. Dick's. Dimlyshe fancied she remembered that Billy had said on the fourth branch,keep to the right. There could be no doubt that this branch was thefourth, howsoever out of place it appeared. She rode to the right,and, having passed a little valley, found herself enfolded in a rollingbarrier of hills where it seemed as if the sun and rocks were of almostequal heat.
At mid-afternoon Beth abruptly halted her pony and stared at the worldof desert mountains in confusion not unmixed with alarm. She was outat the center of a vast level place, almost entirely devoid ofvegetation--and the road had all but disappeared. It branched oncemore, and neither fork was at all well defined, despite the fact thattravel to Starlight was supposed to be reasonably heavy. She had madesome mistake. She suddenly remembered something that Billy had saidconcerning a table mountain she should have passed no later thanhalf-past one. It had not been seen along her way. She was tired.Weariness and the heat had broken down a little of the bright, joyousspirit of the morning. A heart-sinking came upon her. She must turnand ride back to--she knew not which of the branches of the road, anyone of which might have been wrongly selected.
Her mare could not be hurried now; she must last to get her toStarlight. To add to other trifles of the moment, the bank of cloud,so long hung motionless above the western summits, moved out across thepath of the sun and blotted out its glory with a density that wouldhave seemed impossible.
Scarcely had Beth fairly turned her back to the west when a wind stormswooped upon the desert. It came as a good stiff breeze, at first,flecking up but little of the dust. Then a sudden, ominous changeoccurred. All the blue of the sky was overwhelmed, under a suddenexpansion of the copperous clouds. An eclipse-like darkness envelopedthe world, till the farthest mountains disappeared and the near-byranges seemed to magnify themselves as they blended with the sky.
With a sound as of an on-rushing cataclysm the actual storm, cyclonicin all but the rotary motion, came beating down upon the startled earthlike a falling wall of air.
In less than two minutes the world, the atmosphere, everything hadceased to be. It was a universe of dust and sand, hurtling--God knewwhither.
In the suddenness of the storm's descent upon her, Beth becamespeechless with dismay. Her mare dropped her head and slowly continuedto walk. Road, hills, desert--all had disappeared. To go onward wasmadness; to remain seemed certain death. Despair and horror togethergripped Beth by the heart. There was nothing in the world she could dobut to close her eyes and double low above the saddle, her hat bentdown to shield her face.
At the end of a few minutes only the frightfulness of the thing couldno longer be endured. Beth had been all but torn from her seat by thesheer weight and impact of the wind. All the world was roaringprodigiously. The sand and dust, driving with unimaginable velocity,smoked past in blinding fury.
The mare had ceased to move. Beth was aware of her inertia, dimly.She remembered at last to dismount and stand in the animal's shelter.At length on the raging and roaring of the air-sea, crashing onward inits tidal might, came a fearful additional sound. It was rushingonward towards the girl with a speed incredible--a sound of shrieking,or whistling, that changed to a swishing as if of pinions, Titanic insize, where some monstrous winged god was blown agains
t, his will in aheadlong course through the tumult.
Then the something went by--the whole roof of a house--from twentymiles away. It scraped in the earth, not ten feet off from where thepony stood--and she bolted and ran for her life.
Down went Beth, knocked over by the mare. With a hideous crash theflying roof was hurled against a nearby pinnacle of rock. The woodenwings split upon the immovable obstruction, and on they went as before.
The pony had disappeared, in panic that nothing could have allayed.The storm-pall swallowed her instantly, Beth could not have seen herhad she halted a rod away. Her eyes had been opened for half a momentonly before she was flung to the earth. She was rolling now, and forthe moment was utterly powerless to rise or to halt her locomotion.
When she presently grasped at a little gray shrub, came to a halt, andtried to stand erect, she was buffeted bodily along by the wind with nostrength in her limbs to resist.
She was blown to the big rock pinnacle on which the roof had beendivided. An eddy twisted her rudely around to the shelter, and sheflung herself down upon the earth.