Controlling his agitation with some difficulty, he moved cautiously towards the spot whence the cry had come; but, though he searched long and well, he could see no sign of the creature he had shot, save in one place, where the green of the moss was disfigured by a dark, red stain.
At length he moved on again, with that fearful cry still ringing through his ears, and his heart throbbing madly with a nameless fear.
What creature was it, he wondered, that could give voice to a cry like that? What animal could it be that tracked him with such devilish cunning? Doubtless when he discovered that, he would have found the key to the mysterious fate of the inventor. He shuddered still at the mere thought of the cry.
Then, of a sudden, his heart seemed to stand still. Behind him, tireless as ever, came the pad-pad of feet upon the moss!
So there were more than one of these creatures, and they meant to track him down to the end. A cold sweat broke out upon Seymour.
If he could only see the Thing which menaced him; if he but knew the extent, the nature of his danger!
Against visible foes he would have fought with the bull-dog courage which was his chief characteristic, but against the phantom inhabitants of this land of shadows he was helpless.
The jungle, hitherto silent and lifeless, seemed, to his excited fancy, to be full of strange, ghostly sounds. Weird rustlings sounded amid the gleaming vegetation, but above all these noises came the sound of the relentless footsteps of his invisible pursuers.
A choking sob rose in Seymour’s throat, but he crushed it down with a strong effort of will. It seemed so terrible that he, who had come scatheless through so many dangers, should meet his death amid these wilds, at the hands of the terrible creatures that inhabited the jungles.
Yet, in spite of all, he was determined to sell his life dearly if the chance of a fight came to him, and with that intention he swung round suddenly, rifle at shoulder, and for the second time the report of his weapon broke the silence.