The midday sun
But these moments soon passed : the instinct of self-preservation was quick to assert itself . Each time , he took a fresh grip on the slack reins and kept his horse plodding onward , ever onward , through the heavy sand and blistering alkali dust , and always to the northeast , where somewhere there was relief which somehow he must reach . Mile after mile crept under his horse 's lagging feet . The midday sun beat down upon him , drying the very blood in his veins , scorching him , shrivelling him , and yet there seemed no end to the waterless gulches , to the sand , the cactuses , the stunted sage-brush . His horse was stumbling oftener , but he felt no pity -- only irritation that it had not more stamina . A sort of numbness , the lethargy of great weakness , was creeping over him ; his heart was sagging with a dull despair . He believed that he must be lost , yet he was past cursing or complaining aloud .