The weather had been intensely cold for the last two days, so that the benumbed animals could scarcely walk in the early morning, but now the air felt warmer.
“I fear it is going to rain. We must try to reach the desert and leave the storm behind us,” said Don Mariano to his mayordomo.
A good day's journey was made that day, and night overtook them as they descended into a small valley, which seemed to invite them to rest within its pretty circumference of well-wooded mountain slopes, from which merry little brooks ran singing and went to hide their music among the tall grasses that grew in rank solitude.
The bellowing of cattle and shouts of the vaqueros soon awoke the mountain echoes, and the silent little valley was noisy and crowded with busy life. Camp-fires were quickly lighted, from which arose blue columns of smoke, making the lonely spot seem well populated.
“With a good supper and good night's rest, we will make a long march to-morrow,” said the mayordomo to Don Mariano. “There is plenty of feed here for our cattle.”
“But the weather looks so threatening. I wish we were out of this,” said Don Mariano.
“And I, too. We are going to get a wetting,” added Tano.
About midnight Don Mariano awoke, startled; he had heard nothing, and yet he awoke with a sense of having been summoned to arise. He sat up and looked around, but saw nothing. The darkness of the sky had changed from inky black to a leaden hue, and the clouds hung down among the tall trees like curtains of ashy gray, draping them entirely out of view. The fires were out, and yet he did not feel cold. He thought it strange that all the fires should have burned out, when they had put on such heavy logs before going to sleep. He struck a light to look at his watch, for he had no idea what the hour might be. By the light he saw that his blankets seemed covered with flour. He brushed off the white dust, and found that snowflakes had invaded even their retreat under the shelter of oak trees.
“There must have been some wind to blow this snow under the thick foliage of these oaks,” said he, hurriedly putting his coat and shoes on, these being the only articles of his dress he had removed, “and I did not hear it. How stealthily this enemy came upon us. I fear it will be a winding-sheet for my poor cattle.” He now proceeded to awake everybody, and a hard task it was, for the treacherous drowsiness spread over them with that snow-white coverlet was hard to shake off. But he persisted, and when he made believe he was losing his patience, then all arose, slowly, reluctantly, but they were on their feet.
“Come on, boys, let us build fires, fires! Fires under every tree, if we have to put up barricades to keep off snow-drifts. Come on; we must drink coffee all night to keep us awake.”