And as for himself, he was shirtless and grimy with soot; he was almost
without food, and dead tired. To make matters worse, just as though they
were not bad enough, the drizzle of rain, which had been an implacable
enemy since that night on the road to Wartrace, gave no signs of ending.
Evening was approaching.
Tom got to his feet. First, he decided, he would put a greater distance
between himself and the railroad. He walked through the forest and came to
a road. It was deserted. Regardless of the danger of being seen so near to
the spot where they had burned the bridge, he followed the road to the
north. His ears were straining for the least sound of people approaching,
and he dived into the bushes several times when he thought he heard
someone. Then, since no one came, he took to the road again. He had his
cape fastened around his neck to hide his shirtlessness, and he dabbed at
his face with his handkerchief, wiping away the soot. But the idea of
getting clean without soap and warm water was hopeless.
He heard the unmistakable creak of wheels behind him, and sprang into the
bushes. Presently a heavy wagon, drawn by two tired-looking, emaciated
horses, appeared on the road. In the wagon were two men and a woman.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154