'Road rocky in places, but generally deep in the finest
floury sand.
A strong and biting wind blew dead in our
teeth, smothering us in dust, which filled every pore.
William presented such a ludicrous appearance that Samson and
I went into fits over it. An old felt hat, fastened on by a
red cotton handkerchief, tied under his chin, partly hid his
lantern-jawed visage; this, naturally of a dolorous cast, was
screwed into wrinkled contortions by its efforts to resist
the piercing gale. The dust, as white as flour, had settled
thick upon him, the extremity of his nasal organ being the
only rosy spot left; its pearly drops lodged upon a chin
almost as prominent. His shoulders were shrugged to a level
with his head, and his long legs dangled from the back of
little "Cream" till they nearly touched the ground.'
We laughed at him, it is true, but he was so good-natured, so
patient, so simple-minded, and, now and then, when he and I
were alone, so sentimental and confidential about Mary, and
the fortune he meant to bring her back, that I had a sort of
maternal liking for him; and even a vicarious affection for
Mary herself, the colour of whose eyes and hair - nay, whose
weight avoirdupois - I was now accurately acquainted with.
No, the honest fellow had not quite the grit of a
'Leatherstocking.'
One night, when we had halted after dark, he went down to a
gully (we were not then in the desert) to look for water for
our tea.
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