He appeared to be a man of thirty, superbly built, with a light, springy step, despite his ragged and weary appearance.
McKay's eyes were fastened desperately upon him, upon the strap of the Indian basket which crossed his sun-scorched forehead, upon his crystal-blue eyes of a hunter, upon his wounded left hand, upon the sinewy red fist that grasped a rifle, the make of which McKay should have known, and did know. For it was a Winchester 45-70--no chance for mistaking that typical American weapon. And McKay fell a-trembling in every limb.
Presently the man cautiously turned, scanned his back trail with that slow-stirrng wariness of a woodsman who never moves abruptly or without good reason; then he went back a little way, making no sound on the forest floor.
AND MCKAY SAW THAT HE WORE KNEE MOCCASINS.
At the same time Evelyn Erith drew her little length noiselessly along his, and he felt her mouth warm against his ear: "Gray?" He nodded.
"I think so, too. His left hand is injured. He wears American moccasins. But in God's name be careful, Kay. It may be a trap."
He nodded almost imperceptibly, keeping his eyes on the figure which now stood within the shade of the trees in an attitude which might suggest listening, or perhaps merely a posture of alert repose.
Evelyn's mouth still rested against his ear and her light breath fell warmly on him. Then presently her lips moved again: "Kay! He LOOKS safe."
McKay turned his head with infinite caution and she inclined hers to his lips: "I think it is Gray. But we've got to be certain, Eve." She nodded.
"He does look right," whispered McKay. "No Boche cradles a rifle in the hollow of his left arm so naturally. It is HABIT, because he does it in spite of a crippled left hand."
She nodded again.
"Also," whispered McKay, "everything else about him is convincing--the pack, tump-line, moccasins, Winchester: and his manner of moving.... I know deer-stalkers in Scotland and in the Alps. I know the hunters of ibex and chamois, of roe-deer and red stag, of auerhahn and eagle. This man is DIFFERENT. He moves and behaves like our own woodsmen--like one of our own hunters."
She asked with dumb lips touching his ear: "Shall we chance it?"
"No. It must be a certainty."
"Yes. We must not offer him a chance."
"Not a ghost of a chance to do us harm," nodded McKay. "Listen attentively, Eve; when he moves on, rise when I do; take the pigeon and the little sack because I want both hands free. Do you understand, dear?"