For a moment he lay still, floating upon
his back to rest. Above him he heard the tread of a sentry along the
river front, and the sound of men's voices.
The sweet, fresh air, the star-shot void above, acted as a powerful
tonic to his shattered hopes and overwrought nerves. He lay inhaling
great lungsful of pure, invigorating air. He listened to the voices
of the Austrian soldiery above him. All the buoyancy of his inherent
Americanism returned to him.
"This is no place for a minister's son," he murmured, and turning
over struck out for the opposite shore. The river was not wide, and
Barney was soon nearing the bank along which he could see occasional
camp fires. Here, too, were Austrians. He dropped down-stream below
these, and at last approached the shore where a wood grew close to
the water's edge. The bank here was steep, and the American had some
difficulty in finding a place where he could clamber up the
precipitous wall of rock. But finally he was successful, finding
himself in a little clump of bushes on the river's brim. Here he lay
resting and listening--always listening. It seemed to Barney that
his ears ached with the constant strain of unflagging duty that his
very existence demanded of them.
Hearing nothing, he crawled at last from his hiding place with the
purpose of making his way toward the south and to the frontier as
rapidly as possible.
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