Marcus Horton
'It was high noon in the desert, but there was no dazzling sunlight. Over the earth hung a twilight, a yellow-pink softness that flushed across the sky like the approach of a shadow, covering everything yet concealing nothing, creeping steadily onward, yet seemingly still, until, pressing low over the earth, it took on changing color, from pink to gray, from gray to black-gloom that precedes tropical showers. Then the wind came-a breeze rising as it were from the hot earth-forcing the Spanish dagger to dipping acknowledgment, sending dust-devils swirling across the slow curves of the desert-and then the storm burst in all its might. For this was a storm-a sand-storm of the Southwest.'
