A sketch in Gothic style It was a dark damp night and the cold wind whistled in the trees and the grass echoed to it, as it seemed to a traveler. The fain rain falling from the heaven added a charm to this picture and if the traveler were an artist he could be remembered it to paint afterwards. But he wasn’t any artist, he was only a tramp. He was on his own, choosing a way he liked better and not had any duty in the world. He was crossing the meadow in the bottom of a valley surrounding by mountains and cutting by a river which seemed black in the night. "The spot is fine maybe in the daylight," he thought as he cross the river which got him to the chest. He didn’t fear to be drawn, he swum very well, or he thought so. The stream was not strong and soon he got the other bank and had a look around. The plain valley stretched out before him to the mountains where as he knew a village or a town was, there he could be dry out and rest. But now there was no sight of light, so he went on. The grass was taller here and his legs tired soon through he didn’t find any of a cubby hole he decided to camp out right here in the fresh air under the fain rain. He had a coat big enough to hide him from the rain but not from the wet. He could take cold but it was usually for him, so he didn’t afraid for his health. "In the morning I’ll dry out my clothes and myself before set off to the village," he thought. He was nearly slept when he heard a sound of riding horses approaching him. He peeped out to look what it was but saw nothing. The sound became loudly as it approached. He stood up to be seen and when saw a few riders going towards him. They looked like an apocalypse’s riders or some like this, so he just like this was afraid although he knew there was nothing to fear.