How slowly it moved! The air was like steam.

If there broke one of those dark, violent storms common though rare to the country, Duane believed he might slip away in the fury of wind and rain.

Hope, that seemed unquenchable in him, resurged again.

He hailed it with a bitterness that was sickening.
Then at a rustling step he froze into the old strained attention.

He heard a slow patter of soft feet.