“The lean-hearted.”
“Thick-thighed.”
“Ramshackle.”
“Muddle-headed.”
“Hog!” screamed a champion.
And he beat his fists angrily against a tree.
But the eagle-eyed watcher watched until his eyes narrowed and became pin-points, and he ceased to be a man and became an optic.
“Wait,” he breathed, “wait until I screw into one other inch of sight.”
And they waited, looking no longer on that scarcely perceptible speck in the distance, but straining upon the eye of the watcher as though they would penetrate it and look through it.
“It is the Carl,” he said, “carrying something on his back, and behind him again there is a dust.”