Here, in the shadow
of the wood, she lingered. Slowly, but with infinite patience, she broke
one strand after another of the barbed-wire fencing, watching, the
while, the sun grow great and crimson, and die at last in mighty
splendor behind the dimmer westward forests.
The voices of the hands and hostlers grew fainter and thinner in the
distance of purple twilight until the last of them disappeared. Silence
fell, deep and soft; the silence of a day sinking to sleep. Not until
then did Zora steal forth from her hiding-place.
She had chosen her mule long before--a big, black beast, snorting over
his pile of corn,--and gliding up to him, she gathered his supper into
her skirt, found a stout halter, and fed him sparingly as he followed
her. Quickly she unfastened the pieces of the fence, led the animal
through, and spliced them again; and then, with fox-like caution, she
guided her prize through the labyrinthine windings of the swamp. It was
dark and haunting, and ever and again rose lonely night cries. The girl
trembled a little, but plodded resolutely on until the dim silver disk
of the half-moon began to glimmer through the trees. Then she pressed on
more swiftly, and fed more scantily, until finally, with the moonlight
pouring over them at the black lagoon, Zora attempted to drive the
animal into the still waters; but he gave a loud protesting snort and
balked.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97