To the guardroom with him. He'll do for
a hostage anyhow. And where he is, I've a notion that the control
of this treachery won't be far away! Grab him below the arms and
by the legs. One of you hold a bayonet-point against his ribs.
The rest, face each way on guard. Now--all together, forward to
the guardroom--march!"
The fakir howled. Ululating howls replied from the surrounding night,
and once a red light showed for a second and disappeared in front
of them. Then the fakir howled again.
"Look, sahib! See! The guardroom!"
It was the Beluchi who saw it first--the one who was most afraid of
things in general and the least afraid of Sergeant Brown. A little
flame had started in the thatch.
"Halt!" ordered Brown. "Two of you hold the fakir! The remainder--
volley-firing--kneeling--point-blank-range. Ready--as you were--
independent firing--ready! Now, wait till you see 'em in the firelight,
then blaze away all you like!"
His last words were cut off short by the sound of rifle-fire. Each
rifle in turn barked out, and three rifles answered from the night.
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