Then the drifting shadow of a huge butterfly attracted his attention, and soon he was nosing through the jungle on the trail of a wood-rat.

It was not a very fresh trail.

He knew that well enough; but in the deeps of him were all his instincts of ancient training--instincts to hunt, to prowl, to pursue living things, in short, to play the game of getting his own meat though for ages man had got the meat for him and his kind.
So it was, exercising faculties that were no longer necessary, but that were still alive in him and clamorous for exercise, he followed the long- since passed wood-rat with all the soft-footed crouching craft of the meat-pursuer and with utmost fineness of reading the scent.

The trail crossed a fresh trail, a trail very fresh, very immediately fresh.

As if a rope had been attached to it, his head was jerked abruptly to right angles with his body.