Now the river ran close to the track and they could hear the sound of water against the rocks. As their eyes grew accustomed to the starlight they saw dashes of white where the river flowed by little islands and around the rocks. They passed through thickets of dark undergrowth and crossed little streams that trickled and bubbled on the way to the river’s edge. The air seemed incredibly clear and the landscape fresh and sweet. They mounted a hill and stood for a moment at the top, looking back. The lights of the city winked in the distance, but there was no sign of pursuit. They rolled their blankets and tied them around the tops of their haversacks. As they turned to go forward again the sound of a church bell came to their ears--a sound they had heard through the silent, sultry nights of summer, the cool nights of fall. It carried with it the memory of months of imprisonment. Tim drew in his breath, and Red spun around and led the way down the hill as if his house was in view, his wife and son waiting in the doorway. They walked on level ground beside the track for an hour or so, then down a gentle slope. At a point where the river cut close to the track the ground grew soft, and they stepped across the rails and walked from tie to tie. The ties were spaced so that walking was difficult, and they were thinking of trying the ground again when they found themselves on a rickety trestle that shook as they walked. Red went more slowly now. He stumbled and caught himself. “Watch that one, it’s rotten,” he said in an unsteady voice. “Take it slow. This trestle can’t be long. There’s no sound of water. There’s nothing but swamp down there.” “We can thank our stars the trains are few and far between.” Ahead of them the track disappeared into the gloom. The trestle stretched on and on, and they walked until they lost all sense of time. Red stopped from time to time to test a tie that he imagined might be weaker than the rest. It was clear he didn’t like the work. Once he tried to look at his watch, but he couldn’t see the hands and the matches were in one of the haversacks. They must have broken out of jail at six thirty or seven. Tim couldn’t imagine what time it might be now. It seemed they had walked this trestle since the dawn of creation. Tim noticed the signs of exhaustion in himself. He felt inclined to stagger, and he knew he might fall headlong into the gulf below. “Stop a moment,” he said. “Let’s rest.” Red’s shoulders slumped. He turned slowly and sat on one of the rails, with one boot on a tie and the other dangling. “How soft we are.” “Walking these ties would tire a coolie.” Tim ached in every joint and muscle. He wanted to stretch out on a tie and go to sleep. “We’d better move on soon,” he said. “We have to find cover by dawn.” Red laughed dryly. “It all seemed such a lark when we sat in the jail and made the plans.”