An apprehensive night crawled slowly bylike a wounded snake, and sleep did not visitRainsford, although the silence of a dead worldwas on the jungle.
Something was comingthrough the bush, coming slowly, carefully,coming by the same winding way Rainsford hadcome. He flattened himself down on the limb,and through a screen of leaves almost as thickas tapestry, he watched. Thething that was approaching was a man.
It was General Zaroff . Hemade his way along with hiseyes fixed in utmost concentration on the ground beforehim. He paused, almostbeneath the tree, droppedto his knees and studied theground.
The hunter shook his head several times, asif he were puzzled. Then he straightened up andtook from his case one of his black cigarettes;its pungent incense like smoke floated up toRainsford’s nostrils.Rainsford held his breath.
The general’seyes had left the ground and were travelinginch by inch up the tree. Rainsford froze there,every muscle tensed for a spring. But the sharpeyes of the hunter stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay; a smile spreadover his brown face.
then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away, back along the trail he had come. The swish ofthe underbrush against his hunting boots grewfainter and fainter.