The men grow tense where they sit, and Catroux quickly leaves the tree’s shelter. Not one word is spoken, but the men grab their rifles automatically. They look through the dusk, but they can detect no movement. The dark entrances to the clay huts are carefully watched, but all is quiet there too.
Finally, Catroux removes his hand from his revolver holster and walks several paces. “Is this oasis haunted?” the sergeant asks with a nervous laugh.
“The ghost has a real human voice, mon Sergent,” Teuns says, who had risen and come to join the sergeant. The other men are also on their feet, standing around, prepared and ready for any contingency.
mon SergentCatroux hears the rifle locks being opened and shut again, and he knows they quietly have their fingers on the triggers.
The sound of t
