sheep is driven to the shambles.
Greenhill remonstrates at another mouth being thus forced upon the
party, but the giant silences him with a hideous glance. Jemmy Vetch
remembers that Greenhill accompanied Gabbett once before, and feels
uncomfortable. He gives hint of his suspicions to Sanders, but Sanders
only laughs. It is horribly evident that there is an understanding among
the three.

The ninth sun of their freedom, rising upon sandy and barren hillocks,
bristling thick with cruel scrub, sees the six famine-stricken wretches
cursing their God, and yet afraid to die. All around is the fruitless,
shadeless, shelterless bush. Above, the pitiless heaven. In the
distance, the remorseless sea. Something terrible must happen. That grey
wilderness, arched by grey heaven stooping to grey sea, is a fitting
keeper of hideous secrets. Vetch suggests that Oyster Bay cannot be far
to the eastward--the line of ocean is deceitfully close--and though such
a proceeding will take them out of their course, they resolve to make
for it. After hobbling five miles, they seem no nearer than before,
and, nigh dead with fatigue and starvation, sink despairingly upon the
ground. Vetch thinks Gabbett's eyes have a wolfish glare in them, and
instinctively draws off from him. Said Greenhill, in the course of a
dismal conversation, "I am so weak that I could eat a piece of a man."

On the tenth day Bodenham refuses to stir, and the others, being scarce
able to drag along their limbs, sit on the ground about him. Greenhill,
eyeing the prostrate man, said slowly, "I have seen the same done
before, boys, and it tasted like pork."

Vetch, hearing his savage comrade give utterance to a thought all had
secretly cherished, speaks out, crying, "It would be murder to do it,
and then, perhaps we couldn't eat it."

"Oh," said Gabbett, with a grin, "I'll warrant you that, but you must
all have a hand in it."

Gabbett, Sanders and Greenhill then go aside, and presently Sanders,
coming to the Crow, said, "He consented to act as flogger. He deserves
it."

"So did Gabbett, for that matter," shudders Vetch.

"Ay, but Bodenham's feet are sore," said Sanders, "and 'tis a pity to
leave him."

Having no fire, they make a little breakwind; and Vetch, half-dozing
behind this at about three in the morning, hears someone cry out
"Christ!" and awakes, sweating ice.

No one but Gabbett and Greenhill would eat that night. That savage pair,
however, make a fire,