Meanwhile, he must head as directly north as possible, trusting the horses to find footing.
It was plains instinct, or rather long training in the open, which enabled him to retain any true sense of direction, for beyond the narrow fringe of cotton-woods along the stream, nothing was visible, the eyes scarcely able even to distinguish where earth and sky met.

They advanced across a bare level, without elevation or depression, yet the sand appeared sufficiently solid, so that their horses were forced into a swinging lope, and they seemed to fairly press aside the black curtain, which as instantly swung shut once more, and closed them in.

The pounding hoofs made little noise, and they pressed steadily onward, closely bunched together, so as not to lose each other, dim, spectral shadows flitting through the night, a very part of that grim desolation surrounding them.

No one of the three felt like speaking; the gloomy, brooding desert oppressed them, their vagrant thoughts assuming the tinge of their surroundings; their hope centred on escape.

Keith rode, grasping the rein of the woman's horse in his left hand, and bending low in vain effort at picking a path.