Tunis stood and stared up the slope. There shot into view, carried
rapidly upon the forefront of the avalanche, a white-haired old man
who waved a stick in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other,
while from his mouth came shrill cries of excitement, if not of
alarm.
But it was what followed Cap'n Ira Ball--whom Tunis immediately
recognized--that caused the captain of the _Seamew_ such utter
surprise. Sitting on her rump, pawing at the sliding sand with her
front hoofs, and whistling her terror and amazement, the Queen of
Sheba appeared flying after the harassed old man.
It was a scene to surprise more than to entertain the beholder. The
avalanche promised disaster to the participants in it. Tons upon
tons of sand, undulating and sinuous in appearance, traveled faster
and yet faster behind the old gray mare and the gray old sea
captain. The smoke of the slide hid all that lay behind them, and
these wreaths of sand dust threatened a higher wave that might, at
any moment, entirely overwhelm both the equine and the human victim
of the catastrophe.
Tunis dropped his clam hoe and started for the dyke of sand on the
crest of which the old man and the old mare were sliding like
naughty children down a woodshed roof.
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