The predicted cold weather came, bringing winter in earnest.

The frost went deeper into the ground and construction grew slower, but the days continued fine and without gales, those fierce and implacable winds that sometimes rage over the frozen mesa hours at a time under a dull, saffron sun, sharp as knives, shrieking like demons, and driving man and beast to cover.

They had not yet been unleashed.
Night work was begun, amid a flare of gasolene torches that gave a weird aspect to the plain.

The yellow lights; the moving, shadowy forms of the workmen and horses; the cries and shouts--all made a scene gnome-like in character.

Frost gleamed upon the earth in a silvery sheen under the torches' smoky flames.