Before he could clear his throat or wet his lips his eye caught something lighter than the night--two things--ten--twelve paces off--two things that glowed or sheened as though there were light inside them--too big and too far apart to be owl's eyes, but singularly like them.

They moved, a little sideways and toward him; and again he heard the heavy, stealthy footfall.
They stayed still then for what may have been a minute, and another sense--smell--warned him and stirred up the man in him.

He had never smelled it in his life; it must have been instinct that assured him of an enemy behind the strange, unpleasant, rather musky reek that filled the room.

His right hand brought the rifle to his shoulder without sound, and almost without conscious effort on his part.
He forgot the heat now and the silence and discomfort.

He lay still on his side, squinting down the rifle barrel at a spot he judged was midway between a pair of eyes that glowed, and wondering where his foresight might be.