This blew over at midnight, and a colder wind, penetrating to the very marrow of the sleepless men, made their condition worse.

In the after part of the night, the wolves howled mournfully.
With a gray, misty light appearing in the east, Jones threw off his stiff, ice-incased blanket, and crawled out.

A gaunt gray wolf, the color of the day and the sand and the lake, sneaked away, looking back.
While moving and threshing about to warm his frozen blood, Jones munched another biscuit.

Five men crawled from under the wagon, and made an unfruitful search for the whisky.

Fearing it, Jones had thrown the bottle away.