He raised himself up a little, and he heard along with the patter the breathing of his four comrades.

But it was pitch dark in the hut, and, rolling over to the doorway, he pulled aside a few inches the stout buffalo hide that covered it.

Something hard and white struck him in the face and stung like shot.
It was hailing, pouring hard and driven fiercely by the wind.

Moreover, it was bitterly cold, and Paul quickly shut down the buffalo flap, fastening it tightly.

"We're snowed in and hailed in, too," he murmured to himself.
Then he drew his buffalo robe around his body more closely than ever, and went back to sleep.