He obeyed the call, sleep was lifted from him and he opened his eyes.
But with inherited caution he did not move. He still lay flat in his
covert, trusting to his ears, and did not make a leaf move about him.
His ears told him that leaves were rustling not very far away, not more
than a hundred feet. His power of hearing was great, and the forest
seemed to make it uncommonly sensitive and delicate.
He knew that the rustling of the leaves was made by a man walking.
By and by he heard his footfalls, and he knew that he wore heavy boots,
or his feet would not have crushed down in such a decisive manner.
He was looking for something, too, because the footfalls did not go
straight on, but veered about.
Harry was well aware that it was a Union soldier, and that he was the
object of his search. He was a clumsy man, not used to forests, because
Harry heard him stumble twice, when his feet caught on vines. Nor
was any comrade near, or he would have called to him for the sake of
companionship. Harry judged that he was originally a mill hand, and
he did not feel the least alarm about him, laughing a little at his
clumsiness and awkwardness, as he trod heavily among the bushes, tripped
again on the vines, and came so near falling that he could hear the rifle
rattle when it struck a tree.
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