The moon's rays fell only in
uneven streaks, and revealed a singular scene, a forest standing knee
deep, as it were, in water.
Shif'less Sol presently took one of the blankets and wrapped it around his
shoulders. A cold damp pervaded the atmosphere, and a fog began to rise
from the river. The shiftless one was a cautious man and he knew the
danger of chills and fever. His comrades were already well wrapped, but he
stepped softly over and drew Paul's blanket a little closer around his
neck. Then he resumed his seat, maintaining his silence.
Shif'less Sol did not like the rising of the river fog. It was thick and
cold, it might be unhealthy, and it hid the view. His circle of vision
steadily narrowed. Tree trunks became ghostly, and then were gone. The
water, seen through the fog, had a pallid, unpleasant color. Eye became of
little use, and it was ear upon which the sentinel must depend.
Shif'less Sol judged that it was about midnight, and he became troubled.
The sixth sense, that comes of acute natural perceptions fortified by long
habit, was giving him warning. It seemed to him that he felt the approach
of something. He raised himself up a little higher and stared anxiously
into the thick mass of white fog.
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