swirled up around him, dashed some fine, flint-like sand against his
face and into his eyes, and then swept onward. He was blinded for an
instant, and allowed the reins to drop on his pony's neck while he
rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He sat thus through an ominous hush
and then to his ears came a low, distant rumble.

He touched his pony lightly on the flanks with his spurs and headed it
along the ridge, convinced that a storm was coming and suddenly
realizing that he was many miles from shelter.

He had traveled only a little distance when clouds of sand and dust,
wind-driven, enveloped him, blinding him again, stinging his face and
hands and blotting out the landmarks upon which he depended to guide him
to the Circle Bar. The sky had grown blacker; even the patch of blue
that he had seen in the rift between the distant mountains was now gone.
There was nothing above him--it seemed--except inky black clouds,
nothing below but chaos and wind. He could not see a foot of the trail
and so he gave the pony the rein, trusting to its instinct.

When Norton had provided him with an outfit the inevitable tarpaulin had
not been neglected. Hollis remembered that this was attached to the
cantle of the saddle, and so, after he had proceeded a little way along
the crest of the ridge, he halted the pony, dismounted, unstrapped the
tarpaulin, and folded it about him. Then he remounted and continued on
his way, mentally thanking Norton for his foresight.

The pony had negotiated the ridge; had slowly loped down its slope to a
comparatively low and level stretch of country, and was traveling
steadily forward, when Hollis noticed a change in the atmosphere. It had
grown hot again--sultry; the heat seemed to cling to him. An ominous
calm had succeeded the aerial disturbance. From a great distance came a
slight sound--a gentle sighing--gradually diminishing until it died away
entirely. Then again came the ominous, premonitory silence--an absolute
absence of life and movement. Hollis urged the pony forward, hoping the
calm would last until he had covered a goodly part of the distance to
the Circle Bar. For a quarter of an hour he went on at a good pace. But
he had scarcely reached the edge of a stretch of broken country--which
he dreaded even in the daylight--when the storm was upon him.

It did not come unheralded. A blinding flash of lightning illuminated
miles of the surrounding country, showing Hollis the naked peaks of
ridges