The presence of the storm was awful, colossal, terrifying.

Sometimes they were confused, seeing dark, looming bulks in the vague air, though a moment later they noted it to be but the packing of the drift in the atmosphere.
Sometimes they were gloomy, not hoping for escape, though still the horses went gallantly on, driven for the most part down a wind which they never would have faced.
"The wind's just on my right cheek," said Sam, putting up a mitten.
"But where's it gone ?" "You're frozen, man!" cried Franklin.

"Pull up, and let me rub your face." "No, no, we can't stop," said Sam, catching up some snow and rubbing his white cheek as he drove.
"Keep the wind on your right cheek--we're over the Sand Run now, I think, and on the long ridge, back of the White Woman.

It can't be over two mile more .-- Git along, boys.

Whoa! What's the matter there ?" The horses had stopped, plunging at something which they could not pass.