The fakir waited, and a minute later a hundred howls were raised
again, this time from an even greater distance.
Then he spoke.
"He says that they are gone," translated the Beluchi. "He says he
will go back to his dais again."
"'Tshun!" ordered Brown. "Now, men, just because we've saved our
skins so far is no reason why we should neglect precautions. We're
going to put this imitation angel back on his throne again, so the
same two carry him that brought him here. There's no sense in giving
two more men the itch, and all the other ailments the brute suffers
from! Form up round him, the rest. Take open order--say two paces--
and go slow. Feel your way with your fixed bayonet, and don't take
a step in the dark until you're sure where it will lead you. Forward-
march! One of you bring that rope along."
The weird procession crawled and crept and sidled back to where it
had started from not so long before--jumping at every sound, and
at every shadow that showed deeper than the coal-black night around
them. It took them fifteen minutes to recross a hundred yards.
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