"It's a norther," the man said as if believing he had explained matters sufficiently. When father still hesitated, he added, "Your cattle will be stampeded when the wind comes, unless you have them corralled, and there is not time for you to get the wagons in position."
I did not understand even then, for I had never been told anything whatsoever regarding these strange storms which are called "northers" by Texans, but I noticed that father ran at full speed to give orders for John and Zeba to turn the cattle into the fort, and as he went he shouted for me to herd the sheep within the inclosure.
The man who had bidden us welcome aided me in the task, and more than that, for when the sheep were snugly inside, he ran back to tell the drivers of the wagons to get their mules unhooked and in a safe place before the wind came.
[A DRY "NORTHER"]
We were hardly more than thus housed before a distant roaring could be heard, not unlike thunder, and in a short time the wind was upon us in a perfect hurricane, cold as icy water.
At one instant the perspiration had been running down my face because of the exertion of hurrying the sheep and mules into the fort, and in the next I felt as if I had taken a plunge into a bank of snow.