Beyond this earth-riven
line lay something vast and illimitable, a far-reaching vision of white
wastes, of purple plains, of low mesas lost in distance. It was the
shimmering dust-veiled desert.
"Here we come to the real thing," explained Naab. "This is Windy Slope;
that black line is the Grand Canyon of Arizona; on the other side is the
Painted Desert where the Navajos live; Coconina Mountain shows his flat
head there to the right, and the wall on our left rises to the Vermillion
Cliffs. Now, look while you can, for presently you'll not be able to
see."
"Why?"
"Wind, sand, dust, gravel, pebbles--watch out for your eyes!"
Naab had not ceased speaking when Hare saw that the train of Indians
trailing down the slope was enveloped in red clouds. Then the white
wagons disappeared. Soon he was struck in the back by a gust which
justified Naab's warning. It swept by; the air grew clear again; once
more he could see. But presently a puff, taking him unawares, filled his
eyes with dust difficult of removal. Whereupon he turned his back to the
wind.
The afternoon grew apace; the sun glistened on the white patches of
Coconina Mountain; it set; and the wind died.
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