The Beluchi shrank away.
"Have a care, sahib! It is dangerous! This very holy--most holy--
most religious man!"
"Bring that lantern back."
"He will curse you, sahib!"
"Do you hear me?"
The Beluchi came nearer again, trembling with fright. Brown snatched
the lamp away from him, and pushed it forward toward the fakir, moving
it up and down to get a view of the whole of him. There was nothing
that he saw that would reassure or comfort or please a devil even.
It was ultradevilish; both by design and accident--conceived and
calculated ghastliness, peculiar to India. Brown shuddered as he
looked, and it took more than the merely horrible to make him betray
emotion.
"What god do you say he worships?"
"Sahib, I know not. I am a Mussulman. These Hindus worship many gods."
The fakir chuckled again, and Brown held the lantern yet nearer to
him to get a better view. The fakir's skin was not oily, and for
all the blanket-heat it did not glisten, so his form was barely outlined
against the blackness that was all but tangible behind him.
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