the hour of six
Snow had been falling softly earlier in the afternoon , but as the day advanced the storm grew in violence . A cold , bleak wind was blowing from the north , and by reason of the weather and because of the ill condition of the roads , the progress of the coach was so slow that darkness overtook us before we had finished half of our journey to Rowsley . Upon the fall of night the storm increased in violence , and the snow came in piercing , horizontal shafts which stung like the prick of a needle . At the hour of six -- I but guessed the time -- John and I , who were riding at the rear of the coach , heard close on our heels the trampling of horses . I rode forward to Dawson , who was in the coach box , and told him to drive with all the speed he could make . I informed him that some one was following us , and that I feared highwaymen were on our track . Hardly had I finished speaking to Dawson when I heard the report of a hand-fusil , back of the coach , near the spot where I had left John .