They came, Dunn so close and so noiseless behind his quarry he might
well have seemed the other's shadow, to the outskirts of the wood,
and as they entered it Dunn made his first fault, his first failure
in an exhibition of woodcraft that a North American Indian or an
Australian "black-fellow" might have equalled, but could not have
surpassed.

For he trod heavily on a dry twig that snapped with a very loud,
sharp retort, clearly audible for some distance in the quiet night,
and, as dry twigs only snap like that under the pressure of
considerable weight, the presence of some living creature in the
wood other than the small things that run to and fro beneath the
trees, stood revealed to all ears that could hear.

Dunn stood instantly perfectly still, rigid as a statue, listening
intently, and he noted with satisfaction and keen relief that the
regular heavy tread of the man in front did not alter or change.

"Good," he thought to himself. "What luck, he hasn't heard it."

He moved on again, as silently as before, perhaps a little inclined
to be contemptuous of any one who could fail to notice so plain a
warning, and he supposed that the man he was following must be some
townsman who knew nothing at all of the life of the country and was,
like so many of the dwellers in cities, blind and deaf outside the
range of the noises of the streets and the clamour of passing traffic.

This thought was still in his mind when all at once the steady sound
of footsteps he had been following ceased suddenly and abruptly, cut