But his nerves were drawn to too high a pitch.

After a quarter of an hour's vain effort he got out of the wagon and stood by the wheel.

The sky was still black, and the heavy clouds of fog and vapor rolled steadily past him.

It seemed to him that everything was closing on them, even the skies, and the air was so heavy that he found it hard to breathe.
He would have returned to work, but he knew that he would overtask his worn frame, and he wanted to be in condition for the battle that he believed was coming with the morrow.

They had not tried to cut out at night, then they must do it by day, or die where they stood of thirst.
He sat down at last on the ground, and leaned against a wagon wheel, drawing a blanket over his shoulders for warmth.