I tossed a coin⁠—heads right, tails left⁠—and it fell heads, so I turned to the north. In a little I came to the brow of the ridge which was the containing wall of the pass. I saw the high road for maybe ten miles, and far down it something that was moving, and that I took to be a motorcar. Beyond the ridge I looked on a rolling green moor, which fell away into wooded glens.

Now my life on the veld has given me the eyes of a kite, and I can see things for which most men need a telescope⁠ ⁠… Away down the slope, a couple of miles away, several men were advancing, like a row of beaters at a shoot⁠ ⁠…

I dropped out of sight behind the skyline. That way was shut to me, and I must try the bigger hills to the south beyond the highway. The car I had noticed was getting nearer, but it was still a long way off with some very steep gradients before it. I ran hard, crouching low except in the hollows, and as I ran I kept scanning the brow of the hill before me. Was it imagination, or did I see figures⁠—one, two, perhaps more⁠—moving in a glen beyond the stream?