But whenever the
undergrowth grew dense he stopped to look and listen. He did not see
the shadow and he heard nothing save the ordinary sounds of the woods,
but either instinct or imagination told him that the stranger still
followed.
The sun was far down the westward slope, but it was still very hot in the
woods. There was no breeze. Not a leaf, nor a blade of grass stirred.
Dick heard his heart still pounding. The unseen pursuit--he had no
doubt it was there--was becoming a terrible strain upon his nerves. The
perspiration ran down his face, and he sought with angry eyes for a sight
of the fellow who presumed to hang upon his tracks.
He began to wonder what he would do when the night came. There would be
no rest, no sleep for him, even in the darkness. Twice he curved from
his course and hid in the undergrowth to see his pursuer come up, but
there was nothing. Then he reasoned with himself. He had not really
seen the flitting figure of a man. It was merely the effect of an
alarmed imagination, and he told himself to ride straight on, looking
ahead, not back.
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