The highway was about three hundred yards to the left.
That was where it should be. He saw no sentries, so he slid down
from the tree and resumed his journey. The chestnuts, oaks, and
firs were growing thicker and denser. A dead branch cracked with
a loud report beneath his feet. With his heart almost in his
throat, he lay down and listened. A minute passed; he listened
in vain for an answering noise. He got up and went on.
Presently he came upon a cluster of trees which was capable of
affording a hiding place for three or four men. He stood still
and surveyed it. The moon cast moving shadows on either side of
it, but these had no human shape. He laughed silently at his
fear, and as he was about to pass the cluster a man stepped out
from behind it, his eyes gleaming and his hand extended. He was
rather a handsome fellow, but pale and emaciated. He wore a
trooper's uniform, and Maurice, swearing softly, concluded that
his dash for liberty had come to naught. He, too, held a
revolver in his hand, but he dared not raise it. There was a
certain expression on the trooper's face which precluded any
arguing.
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