What a world of white it was!  The wind had increased, and a few scattered specks of snow that sped before it seemed trying to muster the force of a storm, from the sky in which the sun was still shining, between huge rents and spaces that separated scudding clouds.

It was not, however, until an hour had gone that the flakes began to swirl in fitful flurries.  By then the travellers were making better time, and Jim was convinced the blotted sun would soon again assert its mastery over clouds so abruptly accumulated in the sky.  The wind, however, had veered about.  It came directly in their faces, causing the horse to lower his head and the pup to sniff in displeasure.

Little Skeezucks, with his back to the slanting fire of small, hard flakes, nestled in comfort on the big, protecting shoulder, where he felt secure against all manner of attack.

For two more hours they rode ahead, while the snow came down somewhat thicker.

“It can’t last,” old Jim said, cheerily, to the child and horse and pup.  “Just a blowout.  Too fierce and sudden to hold.”

Yet, when they came to the great level valley beyond the second range of hills, the biting gale appeared to greet them with a fury pent up for the purpose.  Unobstructed it swept across the desert of snow, flinging not only the shotlike particles from the sky, but also the loose, roving drift, as dry as salt, that lay four inches deep upon the solider snow that floored the plain.  And such miles and miles of the frozen waste were there!  The distant mountains looked like huge windrows of snow wearing away in the rush of the gale.

Confident still it was only a flurry, Jim rode on.  The pup by now was trailing behind, his tail less high, his fuzzy coat beginning to fill with snow, his eyes so pelted that he sneezed to keep them clear.

The air was cold and piercing as it drove upon them.  Jim felt his feet begin to ache in his hard, leather boots.  Beneath his clothing the chill lay thinly against his body, save for the place where little Carson was strapped to his breast.

“It can’t last,” the man insisted.  “Never yet saw a blusterin’ storm that didn’t blow itself to nothin’ in a hurry.”

But a darkness was flung about them with the thicker snow that flew.  Indeed, the flakes were multiplying tremendously.  The wind was becoming a hurricane.  With a roar it rushed across the valley.  The world of storm suddenly closed in upon them and narrowed down the visible circle of desolation.  Like hurrying troops of incalculable units, the dots of frozen stuff went sweeping past in a blinding swarm.

The thing had become a blizzard.  Jim halted his horse, convinced that wisdom prompted them to turn their backs upon the fury and flee again to Borealis, to await a calmer day for travelling.  A fiercer buffeting of wind puffed from the west, fiercely toothed with shot of snow.  As if in fear unnamable, a gaunt coyote suddenly appeared scurrying onward before the hail and snow, and was quickly gone.