None of them looked toward us; all of them looked toward those mounting walls of smoke.
Now, too, we became aware of something else--aware of a procession that advanced toward us.

It was the head of a two-mile long line of refugees, fleeing from destroyed or threatened districts on beyond.

At first, in scattered, straggling groups, and then in solid columns, they passed us unendingly, we going one way, they going the other.

Mainly they were afoot, though now and then a farm wagon would bulk above the weaving ranks; and it would be loaded with bedding and furniture and packed to overflowing with old women and babies.

One wagon lacked horses to draw it, and six men pulled in front while two men pushed at the back to propel it.