"Seemed to have had some trouble in pulling out again.

I don't like those footsteps.

You and I don't walk like that." "Get on," said Weston, sharply, and, turning, struck the horse.
The sun was overhead when they scrambled, gasping, over the crest of the divide and looked down into another long, winding hollow.

Then they stopped again and looked hard at each other, for the hollow seemed filled with forest, and there was nowhere any shimmer of shining water.
"He can't be far ahead.

Went through those vines in front of you," said Devine.
Then ensued an hour's wild scramble through undergrowth in shade, until they broke out, dripping with perspiration, from the gloom among the pines into a comparatively open space on the edge of a wide belt of willows.