But she started down this afternoon in the hope of meeting Joel.

She had a hazy idea of telling him she was sorry for what she had done, and of asking him to forget it and pay no more heed to the riders.
The sheep raised a dust-cloud in the sandy wash where the road wound down, and Lucy hung back to let them get farther ahead.

Gradually the tiny roar of pattering hoofs and the blended bleating and baaing died away.

The dust-cloud, however, hung over the head of the ravine, and Lucy had to force Sarchedon through it.

Sarchedon did not mind sand and dust, but he surely hated the smell of sheep.