The snow lay deep here, but they floundered ahead, barely able to surmount the drifts, until suddenly they emerged upon an open space, sheltered somewhat by the low hills and swept clean by the wind.
Directly beneath, down a wide cleft in the bank, dimly visible, appeared the welcome waters of the Cimarron.

The stream was but partly frozen over, the dark current flowing in odd contrast between the banks of ice and snow.
The Sergeant halted, examining his surroundings cautiously, expecting every instant to be fired upon by some unseen foe.

The violence of the storm prevented his seeing beyond a few yards, and the whirling snow crystals blinded him as he faced the fury of the wind sweeping down the valley.

Nothing met his gaze; no sound reached his ears; about him was desolation, unbroken whiteness.

Apparently they were alone in all that intense dreariness of snow.