About two miles farther on Antony could not help gazing uneasily at the moorland around him. It was very far as yet from the inn where they hoped to get stabling and a good pitch, and here there was shelter of no kind. But, above all, a low wind began now to sweep moaning over the veldt, the clouds had come up, had met the sun and obscured it, and, worse still, snow had begun to fall. Moreover, Antony was a fairly good student of nature, and knew that the little pellets that were now coming down, although no bigger than grains of mustard-seed, would soon be succeeded by huge dry flakes that would cover the ground inches deep in an hour and entirely impede progress. But in far less than that time, so thick was the storm, it was impossible to see many yards ahead. A milestone had not been visible for hours, nor was there a finger-post, and the force of the wind kept increasing almost momentarily. Antony, like the good caravan-captain he was, sent his scout forward to prospect for a good place on which to draw up and form a gipsy laager. He was not long in returning. He had found just the spot, well sheltered by rocks on two sides. So Antony ordered him ahead to act as guide. Yes, the ground was hard, and was but little likely to give way under the wheels; so, in the midst of the blinding drift and wind-whirled ice-dust, he drew off the road and formed as comfortable a pitch as was possible under the trying circumstances. The large caravan was positioned close to the little one to shelter it, the wagon was located handy, a stable-tent erected under the rocks with poles and canvas, to harbour the hardy horse that dragged the 'Silver Queen.' With this horse the groom was to sleep. After things were made fairly snug, the coachman and his four good nags were sent off to fight their way to the distant hotel, the groom going along with orders to return if possible, and if it were not too dangerous, as soon as the horses were stabled and their comfort secured. Then, as the wind might change at any moment and wreck the 'Gipsy Queen,' Antony quickly got out his four strong iron pegs, and the ropes which were as thick as the painter of Lotty's yacht, and in less than an hour had the huge caravan safely anchored. She might and she would roll and toss and tug at her anchors, but hardly a hurricane itself would be strong enough to pull her from her moorings. 'Yes, Mrs Pendlebury, a good idea. We'll be glad to have dinner an hour earlier, even if we have to get some supper later on!'