Rolf was bound to know what it was that had moved. So he stood
still and waited. A minute passed; another; many; a long time;
and still he waited, but got no further sign of life from the
bush. Then he began to think he was mistaken; yet it was good
huntercraft to find out what that was. He tried the wind several
times, first by wetting his finger, which test said "southwest";
second, by tossing up some handfuls of dried grass, which said
"yes, southwest, but veering southerly in this glade." So he knew
he might crawl silentlv to the north side of that bush. He
looked to the priming of his gun and began a slow and stealthy
stalk, selecting such openings as might be passed without effort
or movement of bushes or likelihood of sound. He worked his way
step by step; each time his foot was lifted he set it down again
only after trying the footing. At each step he paused to look
and listen. It was only one hundred yards to the interesting
spot, but Rolf was fifteen minutes in covering the distance, and
more than once, he got a great start as a chicadee flew out or a
woodpecker tapped. His heart beat louder and louder, so it
seemed everything near must hear; but he kept on his careful
stalk, and at last had reached the thicket that had given him
such thrills and hopes.
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