By and by a few large drops beat upon his hat, there was a roar in the distance, and a cool draught touched his face.
It died away, but the next puff was icy cold, and the roar got louder.
He looked up, for he knew what was coming, but there was not a bluff in sight that would shield him from the wind.
Turning down his hat-brim against the increasing rain, he let the horses go.

He need not try to hold them; the storm would stop them soon.

It broke upon him with a scream and a shower of sand and withered grass.

He staggered as if he had got a blow, and then leaned forward to resist the pressure.

The horses swerved, and he had trouble to keep them on the trail, but their speed slackened and they fell into a labored trot.