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Updated: May 23, 2025
Back in the pit-gloom, with a grim smile now and then relaxing the tight-set compression of his thin lips, and with eyes that stared like a night-owl's into the gloom ahead of him, Breault poled steadily on. Dripping from the bog-holes and lathered with mud, it was the mystery of Breault's noiseless presence somewhere near him in the still night that drew Peter continually deeper into the swamp.
Back in the pit-gloom, with a grim smile now and then relaxing the tight-set compression of his thin lips, and with eyes that stared like a night-owl's into the gloom ahead of him, Breault poled steadily on. Dripping from the bog-holes and lathered with mud, it was the mystery of Breault's noiseless presence somewhere near him in the still night that drew Peter continually deeper into the swamp.
She had turned, looking into the pit-gloom ahead of them, so dark that the canoe seemed about to drive against a wall. Under its bow the water gurgled like oil. "We are entering the big cedar swamp," he explained. "It is like Blind Man's Buff, isn't it? Can you see?" "Not beyond the bow of the canoe, Roger." "Work back to me," he said, "very carefully." She came, obediently.
She had turned, looking into the pit-gloom ahead of them, so dark that the canoe seemed about to drive against a wall. Under its bow the water gurgled like oil. "We are entering the big cedar swamp," he explained. "It is like Blind Man's Buff, isn't it? Can you see?" "Not beyond the bow of the canoe, Roger." "Work back to me," he said, "very carefully." She came, obediently.
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