"Hadn't we better ride back?" suggests Spence. "Thar's no use goin' now," answers the son of the horse-dealer. "That is, for the savin' of him. If nobody else has been thar since we left, why then the nigger's dead--dead as pale Caesar." "Do you think any one might have come along in time to save him?" This question is asked with an eagerness in which all are sharers. They would be rejoiced to think it could be answered in the affirmative. "There might," replies Randall, catching at the slight straw of hope. "The trace runs through the glade, right past the spot. A good many people go that way. Some one might have come along in time. At all events, we should go back and see. It can't make things any worse." "Yes; we had better go back," assents the son of the planter; and then to strengthen the purpose, "we'd better go for _another purpose_." "What, Alf?" ask several. "That's easily answered. If the Indian's hung himself, we can't help it." "You'll make it appear suicide? You forget that we tied his left arm. It would never look like it. He couldn't have done that himself!" "I don't mean that," continues Brandon. "What, then?" "If he's hanged, he's hanged and dead before this. We didn't hang him, or didn't intend it. That's clear." "I don't think the law can touch us," suggests the son of the judge. "But it may give us _trouble_, and that must be avoided." "How do you propose to do, Alf?" "It's an old story that dead men tell no tales, and buried ones less." "Thar's a good grist o' truth in that," interpolates Buck. "The suicide wouldn't stand. Not likely to. The cord might be cut away from the wrist; but then there's Rook's daughter. She saw him stop with us, and to find him swinging by the neck only half-an-hour after would be but poor proof of his having committed self-murder. No, boys, he must be put clean out of sight." "That's right; that's the only safe way," cried all the others. "Come on, then. We musn't lose a minute about it. The girl may come back to see what's keeping him, or old Rook, himself, may be straying that way, or somebody else travelling along the trace. Come on." "Stay," exclaimed Randall. "There's something yet--something that should be done before any chance separates us." "What is it?" "We're all alike in this ugly business--in the same boat. It don't matter who contrived it, or who fixed the rope. We all agreed to it. Is that not so?" "Yes, all. I for one acknowledge it." "And I!" "And I!" All six give their assent, showing at least loyalty to one another. "Well, then," continues Randall, "we must be true to each other. We must swear it, and now, before going further. I propose we all take an oath." "We'll do that. You, Randall, you repeat it over, and we'll follow you." "Head your horses round, then, face to face." The horses are drawn into a circle, their heads together, with muzzles almost touching. Randall proceeds, the rest repeating after him.