ugh the low tangle of undergrowth.
And Amaryllis, fear cast out by trust, and her physical prostration for
the moment counteracted by the intensity of her interest in him, and by
her curiosity to see how next his versatility of resource would show
itself, watched Dick's face as he listened to the feet of his enemy.
Each step, she thought, had a different shade of meaning for him. His
left ear seemed to follow, and his eyes seemed to see each stride of the
hunter, and at last he spoke:

"He's working along this side of the embankment. Now he's in the track
that cuts through this copse. We're close to it here--see, through
there, between the beech and the young oak. Hear his feet: stones,
puddle, soft rut," he said rhythmically. "Caught his foot. He's
following the path--going slower--walking, and trying to look both sides
at once in the undergrowth."

A pause, and then he said, with a jerk:

"Take that coat off."

Amaryllis obeyed, and lay still.

Beside the rutted cart-track, a few yards from where they lay, was a
pile of brushwood, cut and stacked for fuel. From this, with a cautious
eye and ear on the bend where the track twisted out of sight in the
direction of the high road, he took an armful of sticks and twigs and
buttoned round it the Norfolk jacket. He tore grass in great handfuls
and stuffed the ends of the sleeves, Amaryllis helping eagerly as she
seized his purpose.

He next took the Dutchwoman's knife from the dummy's pocket and dragged
the rude torso to the side of the woodstack furthest from the expected
approach, pushing it out across the track, so that, buttons downward,
with left arm extended beyond the head which was not there, the right
doubled beneath the breast, and the thrice-perforated cap, with a bunch
of grass beneath it, dropped within the bend of the supposed left elbow,
and the non-existence of legs concealed by the wood-pile, it might well
be mistaken, by one coming down the wheel-track from the road, for a man
stricken or sleeping.

Behind them was a small, deep hollow, where the ancient stump of some
great tree had rotted.

"Get down there," said Dick. "Don't stand, roll in and curl up."

And the last she saw of him as she obeyed, was the back of the black
head and the blue shirt, rising erect some ten yards up the track from
the wood-pile, making themselves small behind the largest tree-trunk in
sight, and the gently swaying right hand poising in its palm Dutch
Fridji's knife.