She expected the soldiers to come out of the woods every minute,
and every second she was looking up to see if they were in sight.
What would Darby think? What would happen if she failed?
She sprang up to look around: the old rail of the bridge caught her eye;
it was rotted, but what remained was heart and would burn like light-wood.
She tore a piece of it down and stuck one end in the fire:
it caught and sputtered and suddenly flamed up; the next second
she was tearing the rail down all along and piling it on the blaze,
and as it caught she dashed back through the water and up the hill,
and brought another armful of rails. Back and forth she waded several times
and piled on rails until she got a stack of them -- two stacks,
and the bridge floor dried and caught and began to blaze;
and when she brought her last armful it was burning all across.
She had been so busy bringing wood that she had forgotten
to look across to the other side for some time, and was only reminded of it
as she was wading back with her last armful of rails by something buzzing
by her ear, and the second after the crack of a half-dozen guns followed
from the edge of the wood the other side. She could not see them well
for the burden in her arms, but she made out a number of horses
dashing into the water on the little flat, and saw some puffs of smoke
about their heads.
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