For all that, he pushed on, with a bitter wind in his face, and by and by cold rain began to fall.

It changed to sleet and the night had got very dark when they crossed the shoulder of a stony fell.

One could not see fifty yards, but the steepness of the slope and the click of little hoofs on the wet rock told Kit where they were.
Two hours afterwards, he stopped for breath at the bottom of a narrow valley.

The sleet had turned to driving snow, the wind howled in the rocks above, and a swollen beck brawled angrily among the stones.

Tom was hardly distinguishable a few yards ahead and Kit could not see the sheep, but the barking of the dogs came faintly down the steep white slope.