At the word four, the remainder seize the loose end of the rope,
being careful to hold it in such a way that the fakir has a chance
to breathe. And at the last sound of the word five, you haul all
together, lifting the fakir off the ground, and keeping him so until
ordered to release. Now--one!"
He had tied a noose while he was speaking, and the fakir had watched
him with eyes that blazed with hate. A soldier seized the noose,
and slipped it over the fakir's head.
"Two!"
The tree was an easy one to climb. "Two" and "three" were the work
of not more than a minute.
"Four!" commanded Brown, and the rope drew tight across the bough.
The fakir had to strain his chin upward in order to draw his breath.
"Steady, now!"
The men were lined out in single file, each with his two hands on
the rope. Not half of them were really needed to lift such a wizened
load as the fakir, but Brown was doing nothing without thought, and
wasting not an effort. He wanted each man to be occupied, and even
amused. He wanted the audience, whom he could not see, but who he
knew were all around him in the shadows, to get a full view of what
was happening.
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