midday
He must go right . A hundred yards onward through the wilderness of rocks , trees , and scrub ; and he stopped short again , grasping his gun nervously , for he fancied he had heard the crack as of a trampled-on piece of dead wood . But there was no sound now save the hum of insects . The birds were silent in that torrid midday . `` Fancy ! '' thought Nic , as he crept on again , stooping low and keeping a watchful eye in every direction , till once more a chill of apprehension ran through him , for there was a crackling , rustling noise . He knew what it was : a twig bent back had sprung to its natural position ; but who had bent back that twig ?