it had seemed, they would have to drink in Redrock that
night or not drink at all.
As for the nature of the menace, that began to manifest
itself as they ran.
It was evening, and still no sign of the city, nor of the
caravan, which had far outdistanced them. The sand was
moving rapidly now, threatening to engulf their feet every
time they paused to catch their breath.
At first he thought he was sinking. A quick glance
revealed the truth. The ground behind them was rising. It
was as. if they were running inland from a beach and the
beach was pursuing, a steadily mounting tidal wave of
sand. He thought about turning and trying to scramble to
the crest of the granular wave. What stopped him was the
possibility that on the other side they might find only
another, even higher surge.
So they ran on, their lungs heaving, legs aching. Once
Mudge stumbled and they had to pull him to his feet while
the sand clutched eagerly at his legs.
When he fell a second time, he tried to wave them off. It
was as if his seemingly inexhaustible energy had finally
given out.
” ‘Tis no use, lad. I can’t go on anymore. Save your-
selves.” He fluttered weakly with a paw.
Jon-Tom used the pause to catch his wind. “You’re
right, Mudge,” he finally declared. “That’s the practical
thing to do. I’ll always remember how nobly you died.”
He turned to go on. Roseroar gave him a questioning look
but decided not to comment.
A handful of sand struck Jon-Tom on the back of the
neck. “Noble, me arse! You would’ve left me ‘ere, wouldn’t
you? Left poor old Mudge to die in the sand!”