minds did not react normally to the suggestion of Healy. They stared around in fear» and once more the cold racked them as the sun poised like a ball of molten copper on the far western edge of the plateau and then slowly sank, seeming to drag the darkness down after it. The prints faded into the dusk while they gazed at them, sharp stars came but above them, and the silence seemed tangibly to press in upon them, crushing their souls.
Stone was the first to shake off the oppression. A vague idea came to him that this American Sahara, part of the Great American Desert, might harbour some relic of antediluvian days. It was absurd, this thought. He dimly realized this and his will slowly crystallized to the prime fact that here was danger and that they must prepare to meet it. It might come on them in the darkness, soft-padding under the stars, but they had weapons. Also it seemed to him that they were safest where the thing had once passed, unless—unless—his fagged brain refused to coördinate. With an effort he took his revolver from its holster and nodded at Harvey and Larkin, who nodded back and copied his action. Healy had squatted on the sand, trying to trace the outlines of the imprints. The dark settled swiftly as they sank down and shared the fragments of food that Harvey had preserved, washing them down with tepid water. Healy took his in the palm of his hand, and then tossed them away, like a petulant child.
Larkin tried to find the precious crumbs but it was
