The warmth had vanished; a cutting cold, as if striking direct from arctic ice, minute by minute drove the mercury in the thermometer on Bryant's wall downward with unbelievable swiftness.

If anything, the fury of the storm seemed to increase as time passed, swelling to such terrible violence that one imagined nothing could withstand its force, its mad blasts, its deadliness.
"Those mess tents and horse tents," Lee said to Carrigan, anxiously.
"They're safer under their lee of hay than is this little paper box we're sitting in," the contractor replied.

"I've been through blizzards before, and know how to meet them." From by the stove one of the engineers spoke.
"But we'll never see some of those little tents any more.

There are several travelling toward Mexico by now." "And my new flannel shirt!" cried another, suddenly.

"Washed it this noon and hung it out on a line and forgot all about it.