They would know whether or not there was smoke.
But in less than two hours on that morning of deceit the sun was lost again.

The winds piped up, the cold continued, and again there came the blinding snow, wrapping all things in its dancing, dizzy mist.
In spite of the falling of the storm, Franklin and his companion pushed on, trusting to the instinct of the plains horses, which should lead them over a trail that they had travelled so often before.

Soon the robes and coats were driven full of snow; the horses were anxious, restless, and excited.

But always the runners creaked on, and always the two felt sure they were nearing the place they sought.

Exposed so long in this bitter air, they were cut through with the chill, in spite of all the clothing they could wear, for the norther of the plains has quality of its own to make its victims helpless.