It was not until he reached the crossroads, without being challenged,
that he showed any sign of being in any way disturbed.

"Sentry!" he shouted. "Sentry!"

But there was no answer.

"Halt!" he ordered, and he himself went forward to investigate. The
blackness swallowed him, but the men could hear him move, and they
heard him fall. They heard him muttering, too, within ten paces of
them. Then they heard his order.

"Bring a light here, some one."

One man produced a piece of candle, struck a match and lit it. A
moment later they had all broken order, and were standing huddled
up together like a frightened flock of sheep, peering through dancing,
candle-lit shadows at something horrible that Brown was handling.

"What is it, Sergeant?"

"What in hell's happened?"

"Who was that swearing?" inquired Brown, with a sudden look up across
his shoulder. "You, Taylor? You again? Swearing in the presence
of death? Talking of hell, with your two comrades lying dead at
the crossroads, and you like to follow both o' them at any minute?"

Both of the guards lay dead. They lay quite neatly, side by side,