The cliffs are so undercut that unless a watcher on the coast were on their extreme edge he would not see the burnfoot sands.
Archie, the skilled tracker, was the one who all but betrayed us.

His knee slipped on the seaweed, and he rolled off a boulder, bringing down with him a clatter of small stones.

We lay as still as mice, in terror lest the man should have heard the noise and have come to look for the cause.

By-and-by when I ventured to raise my head above a flat-topped stone I saw that he was undisturbed.

The fire still burned, and he was pacing round it.