That was no place for such a weapon.

It somehow had a grimly sinister sound.

Led forward by a dim path, he plunged down the sharp incline of the hill, and pressed his way through the thick fringe of trees beyond.

Behind these ran a wire fence, guarding a stretch of meadow, the high, uncut grass waving in the wind.
Nothing was in sight except this ripening field of clover sweeping upward to the summit of an encircling ridge.

The silence was profound; the loneliness absolute.
It was this fact which startled West from curiosity into suspicion.
Surely there had been a shot fired--a revolver shot--almost on the very spot where he stood.