Читать книгу With Sam Houston in Texas онлайн

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Hurrah! He guessed that he was reaching the edge, at last. The bogginess was not so deep, and the jungle not so high. His head began to stick above the rushes; his shoulders followed, and he could see about him.

The trees were plain: a large timber-patch, across a short stretch of level prairie. Out of the swamp and upon the hard prairie Ernest staggered; and down he sank, in the hot sun, gasping. A sorry sight he was, too: a bare-headed boy (he had lost his hat, of course), in blue flannel shirt and gray jeans trousers and coarse cowhide shoes, soaked to the skin and muddy to the waist. He was glad to drop the haversack and wipe his face with his wet bandanna handkerchief. Then he took off his shoes and socks, wrung his socks as free as he could of mud and water, emptied his shoes, put socks and shoes on again; and after a breathing space decided to try for the shade of the trees.

With a grunt he picked up the haversack (which he would investigate later), and plodded on. It was another long pull to the trees, for he was pretty weak in the knees. But he made it, without a stop; and as he crossed the border, from sun to shade, how good the coolness felt!