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He made his way along with his eyes fixed in utmost concentration on the ground before him.

He paused, almost beneath the tree, dropped to his knees and studied the ground.

Rainsford's impulse was to hurl himself down like a panther, but he saw that the general's right hand held something metallic-a small automatic pistol.

The hunter shook his head several times, as if he were puzzled. Then he straightened up and took from his case one of his black cigarettes; its pungent incenselike smoke floated up to Rainsford's nostrils.

Rainsford held his breath.

The general's eyes had left the ground and were traveling inch by inch up the tree.

Rainsford froze there, every muscle tensed for a spring.

But the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay; a smile spread over his brown face.

Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring into the air; then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away, back along the trail he had come.

The swish of the underbrush against his hunting boots grew fainter and fainter.

The pent-up air burst hotly from Rainsford's lungs.

His first thought made him feel sick and numb.

The general could follow a trail through the woods at night; he could follow an extremely difficult trail; he must have uncanny powers; only by the merest chance had the Cossack failed to see his quarry.

Rainsford's second thought was even more terrible. It sent a shudder of cold horror through his whole being. Why had the general smiled? Why had he turned back?

Rainsford did not want to believe what his reason told him was true, but the truth was as evident as the sun that had by now pushed through the morning mists.

The general was playing with him! The general was saving him for another day's sport! The Cossack was the cat; he was the mouse.

Then it was that Rainsford knew the full meaning of terror.

"I will not lose my nerve. I will not."

He slid down from the tree, and struck off again into the woods.

His face was set and he forced the machinery of his mind to function.

Three hundred yards from his hiding place he stopped where a huge dead tree leaned precariously on a smaller, living one.

Throwing off his sack of food, Rainsford took his knife from its sheath and began to work with all his energy.

The job was finished at last, and he threw himself down behind a fallen log a hundred feet away. He did not have to wait long. The cat was coming again to play with the mouse.

Following the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came General Zaroff.

Nothing escaped those searching black eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark, no matter how faint, in the moss.

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