Just a sand-storm, that was all,--a common sand-storm, without which
New Mexico might be almost any other place on earth. David's Bible had
been whirled from the window-ledge, and fine sand was piling in through
the screens.
Carol withdrew from the covers most courageously when she heard the
comforting click of the electric switch, and the reassuring squeak of
David's feet on the floor of the room.
"Everything's all right," he called to her. "Don't get scared. Will
you help me put these flaps down?"
Carol leaped from her bed at that, and ran to lower the windows. Then
she sat by David's side while the storm raged outside, roaring and
piling sand against the little tent.
After that, to bed once more, still determinedly in love with the land
of health, and praying fervently for morning.
Soon David's heavy breathing proclaimed him sound asleep. But sleep
would not come to Carol. She gazed as one hypnotized into the starry
brightness of the black sky as she could see it through the window
beside her. How ominously dark it was. Softly she slipped out of bed
and lowered the flaps of the window. She did not like that darkness.
After the storm, David had insisted the windows must be opened
again,--that was the first law of lungers and chasers.
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