THE SHAPE WAS A MAN.

WILL GRASPED HIS LEFT ARM AND

TRIED TO HAUL HIM UP ONTO THE RIVERBANK.

THE BALD HEAD, THROWN BACK, TRAILED GRAY,

WISPY STRAGGLES OF HAIR.

THE DEAD MOUTH HUNG OPEN,

A BLACK GAP IN THE PALE BLUR OF FACE,

AND THE EYES SEEMED TO BE OPEN TOO.

EVEN IN THE DARKNESS I KNEW THAT TERRIBLE FACE,

FOR I HAD SEEN IT EARLIER THAT DAY

AS IT WRITHED IN ANGER.

IT WAS THE FACE OF OLD FARMER SPEIGHT,

AND HE WAS DEAD.