During the day the terrors of the march were intensified. Even some of the Arabs--hardy sons of the desert--had to fall out, although in every case a camel-man would chivalrously give up his beast to the sufferer and trudge patiently on foot. Many of the camels also sank upon the burning sand, never again to rise, while in the rear of the column gaunt vultures hovered in dreadful expectancy of a feast. The sheep and cattle, too, died in large quantities, till the Sheikh Wadherim began to think that he would arrive at his journey's end far poorer than when he set out for the seacoast to enrich himself with the spoils of the Kafir invaders. Strangely enough, the horses came off best. They were thoroughly seasoned, and could stand the hardships of a day's journey better than the camels, although had the distance been greater the conditions would have been reversed. Before the sun was low in the heavens, the camel that the lads had been provided with was taken to assist a helpless Arab, and the Englishmen had perforce to complete the journey afoot--if they could. Mile after mile they trudged despairingly, without the heart to speak a word. To them there seemed no end to their trials. Ahead was the gently undulating desert, with its gruesome monuments of sun-bleached bones, but nothing to indicate the oasis for which the caravan was making. Suddenly a warning shout came from the head of the column. Men began to dismount from their lofty steeds, and to run towards the baggage animals and the camels on which the women and children were seated. Others, with frantic cries, urged the already quivering animals to their knees. "Cover your faces, boys!" gasped the correspondent, as he led them to the side of a prostrate hierie. "It's a sandstorm!" The lads had barely time to grasp the situation. The air around them, almost motionless, was hot and oppressive; but less than three hundred yards away, and momentarily drawing nearer, was a dark-brown pillar of sand, trailing away into a seething, ill-defined cloud. Already the Arabs, drawing their _haiks_ over their faces, were kneeling beside their steeds. The deathly silence was broken only by the startled cries of some of the younger children and the ever-increasing hiss of the wind. Then the sandstorm burst. If one has ever had the experience of standing in the midst of a continuous shower of spray, and gasping salt-laden air into the lungs, the sensation can be faintly realized--only instead of spray it was sand-laden, burning, suffocating vapour. For just half a minute the lads stood the terrible ordeal; then, in their desperation, they rose to their feet, only to be forced to the ground by the strong grasp of Arthur Reeves. There they lay, gasping like stranded fishes, for a space of nearly five minutes, till the correspondent's detaining grip was relaxed. When the mist cleared from before their throbbing, blood-shot eyes, a strange sight met their gaze.