Again and again he became rigid, and then laid an ear to the ground.

His nostrils dilated like a horse's, and his eyes were restless.

We were now in a shallow vale, through which a little stream flowed among broad reed-beds.

At one point he kneeled on the ground and searched diligently.
"See," he said, "a horse's prints not two hours old--a horse going west." Presently I myself found a clue.

I picked up from a clump of wild onions a thread of coloured wool.