Suddenly Roldan pulled his wits together. "Sit down," he said. "We are
the colour now of the earth. If we keep quiet and look no taller than
weeds they will not see us and we shall not be hurt."
The boys dropped to the ground and sat in silence, staring ahead of
them. Would that rushing, heaving, bellowing mass have no end? It was
indeed a long time before the last line, curiously compact, swept by.
Occasionally the earth jumped with brief abruptness, causing hair to
crackle at the roots, and dust-laden as it was, make as if to rise on
end. The squirrels were screeching in the trees. The birds pitifully
twittered. Even the leaves rustled in response to those terrible
quivers.
The cattle were a red streak at the end of the perspective. The boys
rose, shook themselves, and walked heavily to their tethered mustangs.
The poor beasts were trembling and whinnying; they greeted their young
masters with a quavering neigh of relief. The boys mounted; but although
they rode rapidly, with ever increasing impatience, they paused every
few moments to listen; there was likely to be a return stampede at any
moment. More than once they were obliged to swerve suddenly aside from
yawning rifts, and they passed a spring of boiling water, spouting and
hissing upward, which had not been there in the morning.
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