“‘I won’t endanger the lives of my men in any sech manner and fashion,’ says the boss. ‘However,’ he says, turnin’ to us, ‘if any of you men want to try it on your own hook, you can. They ain’t much work to do right now, and I’ll let you off for a few days.’ “Well, we gits our best mounts and ropes, and looks after our cinches, and sets out. We scouts around a while, and shore nuff we hears one snort right near the foot of Egg-shell Mountain. We lets out our wildest yells and fires off our six-shooters, and somehow, by luck I guess, we gits the critter buffaloed, and he goes tearin’ around the mountain and us after him. Each time he goes around the mountain he gits a little higher. We sees our hosses is goin’ to give out if we don’t figger out some way to spell ’em. We ’lows that since we got the critter on the run, two of us will be enough to go around the mountain, and the others stays put. Then on the next round, two more goes, and so on and so forth. Each time we gits a bit nearer the top. Finally, we all joins in, in order to be there when he gits to the top and can’t go no further. And purty soon there he is at the top.” “How did he escape?” asked Lanky. “Why, the brute jest turned right through his self, jest clean wrong side out like a sock, and run the other way.” “And that was the last you saw of him?” “Oh, we used to see him occasionally, as we knowed by his long legs bein’ on the other side; but when winter come, he caught cold and died. And that’s what you’ll do, Lanky, if you set there by the coals and shiver. You’d better git a little shut-eye before you stand guard.” WIND AND WEATHER The day had been blustery enough, and Lanky’s eyes were red from the sand’s having cut into his eyeballs. There was still dust in the air, but at twilight the wind had subsided, and Lanky was experiencing that feeling of intense relief that comes when the sandstorm is over. During the day there had been little talk. Lanky had most of the time ridden within normal hailing distance of Red Wallace; but conversation would have been difficult, and neither he nor Red had been in the mood for it. At noon each man swallowed his beans and bacon as rapidly as he could. Even then, he consumed a considerable quantity of sand. The old-timers were sitting expectantly around the fire. Their experience with tenderfeet told them that Lanky would open the conversation, and that the topic would be the wind. “Terrible day we had,” he observed. “How much sandstorm weather are we likely to have?” “Son,” replied Red, “what you’ve seen today is the gentle zephers of spring. You ain’t seen a real sandstorm.” “Then,” replied Lanky, “I’d like to know how I’m to know one when I meet it.” “Well, I’ll tell you, Lanky,” said Red. “I’ll tell you exactly how you can know. Do you recollect seein’ a log-chain hangin’ suspended from the big hackberry tree in front of the bunkhouse?” “That immense chain?” asked Lanky.