as the tones of
O'Shea's voice were carried away by the bluster of the wind, as far as
the human beings there were concerned there was perfect stillness; the
surf and the wind might have been sweeping the dunes alone.

"And if I will not swear?" asked Caius, in a voice that was loud enough
to reach to the last man in the long single rank.

O'Shea stepped nearer him, and, as if in pretence of wiping his face
with his gloved hand, he sent him a hissing whisper that gave a sudden
change of friendliness and confidence to his voice, "Don't be a fool!
swear it."

"Are these men, or are they corpses?" asked Caius.

The stillness of the forms before him became an almost unendurable
spectacle.

He had no sooner spoken than O'Shea appealed to the men, shouting words
in the queer guttural French. And Caius saw the first man slowly raise
his hand as if in an attitude of oath-taking, and the second man did
likewise. O'Shea turned round and faced him, speaking hastily. The
shadow of the cloud was sending dark shudderings of lighter and darker
shades across the sand hollow, and these seemed almost like a visible
body of the wind that with searching blast drifted loose sand upon them
all. With the sweep of the shadow and the wind, Caius saw the movement
of the lifted hand go down the line.

"I lay my loife upon it," said O'Shea, "that if ye'll say on yer honour
as a man, and as a gintleman, that ye'll not look behoind ye, ye shall
go scot-free. It's a simple thing enough; what harm's there in it?"

The boy had come near behind Caius. He said one soft word, "Promise!" or
else Caius imagined he said it. Caius knew at least what the boy wished
him to do.

The pony moved nearer, shivering with cold, and Caius realized that the
condition of wet and cold in which they were need not be prolonged.

"I promise," he shouted angrily, "and I'll keep the promise, whatever
infernal reason there may be for it; but if I'm attacked from
behind----" He added threats loud and violent, for he was very angry.

Before he had finished speaking--the thought might have been brought by
some movement in the shadow of the cloud, and by the sound of the wind,
or by his heated brain--but the thought came to him that O'Shea, under
his big fur-coat, had indulged in strange, harsh laughter.

Caius cared nothing. He had made his decision; he had given his word; he
had no thought now but to take what of his traps he could carry and be
gone on his journey.