It sifts through everything, fills your eyes, nose and mouth and then goes down under your collar and gives you a neat and continuous dust bath." "You mustn't judge us by this phenomenon," said Dick.

"It has not happened before since the white man came, and it won't happen again in a hundred years." "You may speak with certainty of the past, Dickie, my lad, but I don't think we can tell much about the next century.

I'll grant the fact, however, that fifty or a hundred thousand men marching through a dry country anywhere are likely to raise a lot of dust.

Still, Dickie, my boy, I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but if I live through this, as I mean to do, I intend to call it the Dusty Campaign." "Call it what you like if in the end you call it victory." "The dust doesn't hurt me," said Pennington.

"I've seen it as dry as a bone on the plains with great clouds of it rolling away behind the buffalo herds.