At last, after repeated efforts with his benumbed fingers, Jones got the girths tight.

He tied a bunch of soft cords to the saddle and mounted.
"Follow as fast as you can," he called to his surly men.

"The buffs will run north against the wind.

This is the right direction for us; we'll soon leave the sand.

Stick to my trail and come a-humming." From the ridge he met the red sun, rising bright, and a keen northeasterly wind that lashed like a whip.