He was running swiftly as if to some arranged place of
meeting.
The sight put all doubts out of his head. An attack on Forza was
imminent, and this was the side from which least danger would be
expected. If the enemy got there before him they would find an easy
entrance. The thought made him quicken his pace. These scattered
tribesmen must meet before they attacked, and there might still be time
for him to get in front. His ears were sharp as a deer's to the
slightest sound. A great joy in the game possessed him. When he
crouched in the shelter of a granite boulder or sprawled among the scrub
while the light footsteps of a tribesman passed on the road he felt that
one point was scored to him in a game in which he had no advantages. He
blessed his senses trained by years of sport to a keenness beyond a
townsman's; his eye, which could see distances clear even in the misty
moonlight; his ear, which could judge the proximity of sounds with a
nice exactness. Twice he was on the brink of discovery. A twig snapped
as he lay in cover, and he heard footsteps pause, and he knew that a
pair of very keen eyes were scanning the brushwood. He blessed his
lucky choice in clothes which had made him bring a suit so near the hue
of his hiding-place. Then he felt that the eyes were averted, the
footsteps died away, and he was safe. Again, as he turned a corner
swiftly, he almost came on the back of a man who was stepping along
leisurely before him.
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