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Sometimes they heard the dry click-clock of the woodsmen's axes or the crash of falling trees deep in the wood. When they reached the first camp Ridgeley pulled up the steaming horses at the door and shouted, "Hello, the camp!" A tall old man with a long red beard came out. He held one bare red arm above his eyes. He wore an apron. "Hello, Sandy!" "Hello, Mr. Ridgeley!" "Ready for company?"
And all this time, the unconscious son of perdition was crawling nearer; not a jolt nor a click-clock came from his wagon as it pressed the yielding soil; and the faint creaking of the tackle was drowned in the rustle of a hot wind through the foliage. "I'm sorry to see you starting so late in the day, and Saturday too," continued the squatter courteously.
Sometimes they heard the dry click-clock of the woodsmen's axes, or the crash of falling trees deep in the wood. When they reached the first camp, Ridgeley pulled up the steaming horses at the door and shouted, "Hello, the camp!" A tall old man with a long red beard came out. He held one bare red arm above his eyes. He wore an apron. "Hello, Sandy!" "Hello, Mr. Ridgeley!" "Ready for company?"
He heard the merry click-clock of the swinging hansoms, then the excited whirring of the motor-buses as they charged full-tilt heavily down the road, their hearts, as it seemed, beating with trepidation; they drew up with a sigh of relief by the kerb, and stood there panting great, nervous, clumsy things. Siegmund was always amused by the headlong, floundering career of the buses.
The last echo of the click-clock of Gale's trotting horses had died away; the bush lay mysterious and motionless under the silent veil of night; no sound came to him save the heavy breathing of the wounded man asleep in the hut; but through his brain, with the deadening monotony of numbing drumbeats, there throbbed the mocking, taunting words, "Fooled! Fooled! Fooled!"
Harding stood where he left him, staring away into the night, in the direction the buggy had gone. The click-clock of the trotting horses came in a gradually diminishing clearness, beating time to the refrain which was running in his mind, the refrain of the doctor's words. If Eustace were captured there was little doubt what the sequence would be.
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