"In case of a rush," said Brown quietly, "all but two of you let go!
The remainder seize your rifles and fire independently. The two
men on the rope, haul taut, and make fast to the tree-trunk. This
tree's as good a place to die as anywhere, but he dies first!
Understand?"
The fakir rolled his eyes, and tried to make some sort of signal
with his free arm.
"Just a wee shade tighter!" ordered Brown. "I'm not sure, but I
think he's seeing reason!"
The fakir gurgled. No one but a native, and he a wise one, could
have recognized a meaning in the guttural gasp that he let escape him.
"He says `All right! sahib!' " translated the Beluchi.
"Good!" said Brown. "Ease away on the rope; men! And now! You
all heard what I told him. If he says `Hookum hai!' you all let go
the rope, and fall flat. But keep hold of your rifles!"
The fakir's voice, rose in a high-pitched, nasal wail, and from the
darkness all around them there came an answering murmur that was like
the whispering of wind through trees. By the sound, there must have
been a crowd of more than a hundred there, and either the crowd was
sneaking around them to surround them at close quarters, or else the
crowd was growing.
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