a waif of the plains

A Waif of the Plainsby Bret HarteCHAPTER IA long level of dull gray that further away became a faint blue,with here and there darker patches that looked like water. Attimes an open space, blackened and burnt in an irregular circle,with a shred of newspaper, an old rag, or broken tin can lying inthe ashes. Beyond these always a low dark line that seemed to sinkinto the ground at night, and rose again in the morning with thefirst light, but never otherwise changed its height and distance.A sense of always moving with some indefinite purpose, but ofalways returning at night to the same placewith the samesurroundings, the same people, the same bedclothes, and the same...

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