Most of us had experienced such storms a dozen times or more in the foot-hills of our Himalayas, and all of us knew the signs.

As evening fell the sky to our rear grew blacker than night itself and a chill swept down the defile like the finger of death.
"Repack the camp," commanded Ranjoor Singh.

"Stow everything in the cave." There was grumbling, for we had all looked forward to a warm night's rest.
"To-night your hearts must warm you!" he said, striding to and fro to make sure his orders were obeyed.

It was dark by the time we had finished, Then he made us fall in, in our ragged overcoats--aye, ragged, for those German overcoats had served as coats and tents and what-not, and were not made to stand the wear of British ones in any case--unmounted he made us fall in, at which there was grumbling again.
"Ye shall prove to-night," he said, "whether ye can endure what mules and horses never could! Warmth ye shall have, if your hearts are true, but the man who can keep dry shall be branded for a wizard! Imagine yourselves back in Flanders!" Most of us shuddered.

I know I did.