the bridle of Sylvia's horse. His own animal he
could trust in such an emergency; but the other had seemed to lose in
height and he knew that it was trembling. It might make a bolt for it at
any moment.

"Keep your seat," he shouted to Sylvia, and she realized that he was
leading both horses away from the road. She caught glimpses of his
wraith-like figure as the whirling dust-cloud that enveloped them thinned
occasionally.

She knew that he had found a clump of mesquite after a faltering progress
of perhaps fifty yards. Their progress was checked, then, and she knew he
was at the hitching straps, and that he was tethering the animals to the
trees. The powdered dust and sand were stinging her face, and the cold
wind was chilling her; yet she felt a strange elation as she realized that
she was here alone with Runyon, and that he was managing the situation
with deftness and assurance.

She felt his hand groping for her then, and, leaning forward, she was
borne to the ground. He guided her to a little depression and made her
understand that she was to sit down. He had removed his saddle-blanket and
spread it on the earth, forming a rug for her. "The _rebozo_?" he cried in
her ear.

"It's fastened to the pommel," she called back.

She could neither see nor hear him; but soon he was touching her on the
shoulders. The _rebozo_ was flung out on the wind so that it unfolded, and
he was spreading it about her.

She caught his hand and drew him close so that she could make herself
heard. "There's room under it for two," she said. She did not release his
hand until he had sat down by her. Together they drew the _rebozo_ about
them like a little tent.

Immediately they were transformed into two sheltered and undismayed Arabs.
The _rebozo_ was pinioned behind them and under their feet. The finest
dust could not penetrate its warp and woof. The wind was as a mighty hand,
intent upon bearing them to earth, but it could not harm them.

Sylvia heard Runyon's musical laugh. He bent his head close to hers.
"We're all right now," he said.

He had his arm across her shoulder and was drawing her close. "It's going
to be cold," he said, as if in explanation. He seemed as joyous as a
boy--as innocent as a boy. She inclined her head until it rested on his
shoulder, so that both occupied little more than the space of one. The
storm made this intimacy seem almost natural; it made it advantageous,
too.

And so the infinite sands swarm