The sun was gone and in the far north banks of mists and vapor were gathering.

A dreary moaning came over the plain.
Ned Fulton, tried and brave though he was, beheld the omens with alarm.
He knew what they portended, and in all that vast wilderness he was alone.

Not a human being to share the danger with him! Not a hand to help! He looked for chaparral, something that might serve as a sort of shelter, but he had left the last clump of it behind, and now he turned and rode directly north, hoping that he might find some deep depression between the swells where he and his horse, in a fashion, could hide.
Meanwhile the Norther came down with astonishing speed.

The temperature fell like a plummet.

The moan of the wind rose to a shriek, and cold clouds of dust were swept against Ned and his horse.