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For whom the bell tolls
He
lay
flat
on
the
brown
,
pine
-
needled
floor
of
the
forest
,
his
chin
on
his
folded
arms
,
and
high
overhead
the
wind
blew
in
the
tops
of
the
pine
trees
.
The
mountainside
sloped
gently
where
he
lay
;
but
below
it
was
steep
and
he
could
see
the
dark
of
the
oiled
road
winding
through
the
pass
.
There
was
a
stream
alongside
the
road
and
far
down
the
pass
he
saw
a
mill
beside
the
stream
and
the
falling
water
of
the
dam
,
white
in
the
summer
sunlight
.
"
Is
that
the
mill
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Yes
.
"
"
I
do
not
remember
it
.
"
"
It
was
built
since
you
were
here
.
The
old
mill
is
farther
down
;
much
below
the
pass
.
"
He
spread
the
photostated
military
map
out
on
the
forest
floor
and
looked
at
it
carefully
.
The
old
man
looked
over
his
shoulder
.
He
was
a
short
and
solid
old
man
in
a
black
peasant
’
s
smock
and
gray
iron
-
stiff
trousers
and
he
wore
rope
-
soled
shoes
.
He
was
breathing
heavily
from
the
climb
and
his
hand
rested
on
one
of
the
two
heavy
packs
they
had
been
carrying
.
"
Then
you
cannot
see
the
bridge
from
here
.
"
"
No
,
"
the
old
man
said
.
"
This
is
the
easy
country
of
the
pass
where
the
stream
flows
gently
.
Below
,
where
the
road
turns
out
of
sight
in
the
trees
,
it
drops
suddenly
and
there
is
a
steep
gorge
—
"
"
I
remember
.
"
"
Across
this
gorge
is
the
bridge
.
"
