A startled voice called an order, but suddenly fell silent, half-way through it.

The worrying of the dog ceased with eloquent suddenness.

A curse died, unfinished.
And silence, as perfect as the silence of the unseen watchers strung all about the periphery of the stockade, once more dominated the night.
For precisely ten minutes, nothing broke that silence--minutes during all of which the Master remained calmly waiting, with grave confidence.

Bohannan shuddered a little.

His Celtic imagination was at work, again.