The swift change was magical.

The sharp particles of icy snow seemed to swirl upon them from every direction, sucking their very breath, bewildering them, robbing them of all sense of direction.
Within two minutes the men found it impossible to penetrate the wintry shroud except for a few feet ahead of them.
The Sergeant knew what it meant, for he had had experience of these plains storms before.
"Halt!" he cried, his voice barely audible in the blast.

"Close up, men; come here to me--lively now?
That you, Wade?
Wasson; oh, all right, Sam.

Here, pass that lariat back; now get a grip on it, every one of you, and hold to it for your lives.

Let me take the lead, Sam; we 'll have to run by compass.