With their hands and feet they made a slight wind-break, dragging the struggling ponies into its protection, and burrowed themselves there, the clouds of sand skurrying over them so thick as to obscure the sky, and rapidly burying them altogether as though in a grave.

Within an hour they were compelled to dig themselves out, yet it proved partial escape from the pitiless lashing.

The wind howled like unloosed demons, and the air grew cold, adding to the sting of the grit, when some sudden eddy hurled it into their hiding place.

To endeavor further travel would mean certain death, for no one could have guided a course for a hundred feet through the tempest, which seemed to suck the very breath away.

To the fugitives came this comfort--if they could not advance, then no one else could follow, and the storm was completely blotting out their trail.
It was three o'clock before it died sufficiently down for them to venture out.