through some mysterious sixth sense, of the hidden hostile eyes regarding him from the myrtle thicket in front of him and from the broom grass clump in front and a little to his left, he would not have betrayed his knowledge by any hasty movement.
Probably his own small, gray-blue eyes, which were now rather dull and heavy because he was drowsy, would have brightened suddenly. Probably his brown, leathery, hawk-like face beneath its thatch of white hair would have become even more hawk-like, because in moments of excitement the old hunter had a trick of contracting his nostrils in a way which made his thin, hooked nose look more than ever like a falcon's beak. But he would not have been startled into any sudden motion; he would not have altered in the slightest degree the waiting game that he was playing. He would have figured the chances with lightning-like rapidity, for in problems of this sort his mind was marvelously quick; and he would have decided accurately that his best chance lay in remaining precisely where he was and in doing exactly what he was doing—namely, nothing.
But no mysterious knowledge of those two pairs of watching, inimical eyes came to Sandy Jim as he drowsed in the April sunlight; and no sixth sense warned him when to the eyes already watching
