The Mist of the Marshes

The soldiers were in front of us, extending in a pretty wide line with an interval between man and man. With my heart thumping like a blacksmith at joe's broad shoulder, i looked all about for any sign of the convicts. But except these things, ad the shudder of the dying day in every blade of grass, there was no break in the bleak stillness of the marshes. I got a dreadful start when i thought i heard the file still going, but it was only a sheep bell. And the cattle, their heads turned from the wind and sleet, stared angrily, as if they held us responsible for both annoyances.

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