He had grown used to dusk and he could see just a little.

The sergeant, buried all but his head among the corn shucks, was breathing deeply and peacefully.
He looked out at one of the cracks, but he saw only rain sweeping by in misty sheets.

The road that ran by the field was invisible.

He gave devout thanks that this tight little corn crib had put itself in their way.

Then he returned to his slumbers, and when he awoke again the sergeant was sitting by one of the cracks smoothing his thick hair with a small comb.
"I always try to keep as neat as I can, Mr.Mason," he said, apologizing for such weakness.