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Updated: June 15, 2025
A red haze of fine sand eddied about the toiling sheep and shepherds. Piute trudged ahead leading the king-ram, old Socker, the leader of the flock; Mescal and Hare rode at the right, turning their faces from the sand-filled puffs of wind; August and Dave drove behind; Wolf, as always, took care of the stragglers.
"No time, now, for killing! Lucky if we get back ourselves, alive, to the beach! My Captain!" "What now?" the Master flung at him, shielding mouth and eyes with cupped hands. "To the wady, all of us! That may give protection till this blast of Hell passes!" A startled cry from Rrisa forestalled any answer. The Arab's voice rose in a wild hail from the sand-filled dark: "O M'almé, M'almé!"
John caught up with him and also halted for a rest. At last they started again, but it was no light-hearted, carefree, return trip for the "Tigers." The sand-filled buckets weighed too much to be used as drums, and they retraced their steps slowly, dropping them every few minutes to ease their aching wrists. In front of Neighborhood Hall, Skinny found a blister on one of his hands.
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