There was nothing to guide them, no mark of identification; merely lorn barrenness in the midst of which they wandered, dragging their half-frozen horses.

The dead body of Wade had stiffened into grotesque shape, head and feet dangling, shrouded in clinging snow, Carroll had fallen forward across his saddle pommel, too weak to sit erect, but held by the taut blanket, and gripping his horse's ice-covered mane.

Wasson was ahead now, doggedly crunching a path with his feet, and Hamlin staggered along behind.
Suddenly some awakened instinct in the numbed brain of the scout told him of a change in their surroundings.

He felt rather than saw the difference.

They had crossed the sand belt, and the contour of the prairie was rising.