Even the dogs were buried in their wallows of sand, and the last red spark of the fires had died out.

The hour passed, and another hour followed, and the lids of Jolly Roger's eyes grew heavier as the fading stars seemed to be sinking deeper into infinity.

At last he slept, with his back leaning against a sand-dune the children had made.

He dreamed, and was flying through the air with Yellow Bird.

She was traveling swift and straight, like an arrow, and he had difficulty in keeping up with her, and at last he cried out for her to wait--that he could go no farther.
The cry roused him.