in the forest, perhaps within a hundred yards.

Felix looked carefully round, but could see nothing; there were the
trees, not one of them large enough to hide a man behind it, the furze
branches were small and scattered, and there was not sufficient fern to
conceal anything. The keenest glance could discern nothing more. There
were no footmarks on the ground, indeed, the dry, dead leaves and fir
needles could hardly have received any impression, and up in the firs
the branches were thin, and the sky could be seen through them. Whether
the Bushman was lying in some slight depression of the ground, or
whether he had covered himself with dead leaves and fir needles, or
whether he had gone on and was miles away, there was nothing to show.
But of the fact that he had been there Felix was perfectly certain.

He returned towards Oliver, thoughtful and not without some anxiety, for
he did not like the idea (though there was really little or no danger)
of these human wild beasts being so near Aurora, while he should so soon
be far away. Thus occupied he did not heed his steps, and suddenly felt
something soft under his feet, which struggled. Instantaneously he
sprang as far as he could, shuddering, for he had crushed an adder, and
but just escaped, by his involuntary and mechanical leap, from its
venom.

In the warm sunshine the viper, in its gravid state, had not cared to
move as usual on hearing his approach; he had stepped full upon it. He
hastened from the spot, and rejoined Oliver in a somewhat shaken state
of mind. Common as such an incident was in the woods, where sandy soil
warned the hunter to be careful, it seemed ominous that particular
morning, and, joined with the discovery of Bushman traces, quite
destroyed his sense of the beauty of the day.