Nor could they maintain a straight course,
but zig-zagged among the great plants as nature permitted. More than
once they heard the rip of silk, more than once blood sprang through
their skin. Their progress was slow and fraught with peril, their only
consolation that the end must come sooner or later.
Night came suddenly. They were near an open a few feet in circumference.
They lay down side by side, knowing that a step at night might mean
instant blindness.
The cactus never moves, not even in a storm. There was not a breath of
wind to-night. The thick dull green plant-trees looked as solid as
stone, a petrified forest. The sky had never seemed so high above, the
stars so hard and bright.
Adan moistened his lips with his tongue. "Do you feel that you can last
another day?" he asked.
"I expect to die of old age."
"Well, if you do, it won't be the fault of the Mojave desert. You have
courage, and so have I; but this is worse than all--Do you feel that?"
"I have felt it many times before, to-day. It is said that parts of the
Mojave shake all the time."
"We can swear to that. Supposing a great shake came, how could we get
out of this?"
"We are as well here as anywhere.
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