on a battle-field.
"Follow me, lads!" shouted Joe, turning his horse
and dashing at full speed towards a rocky eminence
that offered shelter. But shelter was not needed. The
storm was clearly defined. Its limits were as distinctly
marked by its Creator as if it had been a living intelligence
sent forth to put a belt of desolation round
the world; and, although the edge of devastation was
not five hundred yards from the rock behind which the
hunters were stationed, only a few drops of ice-cold