He recovered his poise with quite astonishing
activity, and shuffled himself back again to the center of the dais.
His eyes blazed with hate and indignation, and his breath came now
in sharp gasps that sounded like escaping steam. He needed no further
invitation to commence his cursing. It burst out with a rush, and
paused for better effect, and burst out again in a torrent. The
Beluchi hid his face between his hands.
"Now translate that!" commanded Brown, when the fakir stopped for
lack of breath.
"Sahib, I dare not! Sahib--"
Brown took a threatening step toward him, and the Beluchi changed
his mind. Brown's disciplining methods were a too recently encountered
fact to be outdone by a fakir's promise of any kind of not-yet-met
damnation.
"Sahib, he says that because your man has touched him, both you and
your man shall lie within a week helpless upon an anthill, still living,
while the ants run in and out among your wounds. He says that the
ants shall eat your eyes, sahib, and that you shall cry for water,
and there shall be no water within reach--only the sound of water
just beyond you.
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