along."

The sentry's rifle-butt rose again and threatened business. The Beluchi
gave a warning cry, and the fakir tumbled off his dais. Then, with the
trembling Beluchi walking on ahead with the lantern, and Brown and the
sentry urging from behind, the fakir jumped and squirmed and wabbled
on his all but useless feet toward the guardroom. When they reached the
tree where the goat had bleated, the Punjabi skin-buyer rose up, took
one long look at the fakir and ran.

"Well, I'll be!" exclaimed the sentry.

"You'll be worse than that," said Brown, "if you use that language
anywhere where I'm about! I'll not have it, d'you hear? Get on ahead,
and open the door of the clink!"

The sentry obeyed him, and a moment later the fakir was thrust into a
four-square mud-walled room, and the door was locked on him.

"Back to your post," commanded Brown. "And next time I hear you
swearing, I'll treat you to a double-trick, my man! About turn. Quick
march."

The sentry trudged off without daring to answer him, and Brown took a
good look at the fakir through the iron bars that protected the top
half of the door. Then he went off to see about his supper, of newly
slaughtered goat-chops and chupatties baked in ghee. His soul revolted
at the thought of it, but it was his duty to eat it and set an example
to the men; and duty was the only thing that mattered in Bill Brown's
scheme of things.

"Maybe it's true," he muttered, "and maybe it's all lies; there's no
knowing. Maybe India's going to run blood, as these fakirs seem to
think, and maybe it isn't. There'll be more blood shed than mine in that
case! 'Hookum hai'--'It is orders,' heh? Well--there's more than one
sort of 'Hookum hai!' I've got my orders too!"

He doubled the guard, when supper bad been eaten and the guardroom had
been swept and the pots and kettle had been burnished until they shone.
Then he tossed a chupatty to the imprisoned fakir, spat again from sheer
disgust, lit his pipe and went and sat where he could hear the footbeats
of the sentries.

"They can't help their religion," he muttered. "The poor infidels don't
know no better. And they've got a right to think what they please 'about
me or the Company. But I've no patience with uncleanliness! That's wrong
any way you look at it. That critter can't see straight for the dirt on
him, nor think straight for that matter. He's a disgrace to humanity.
Priest or fakir or whatever he is, if I live to see tomorrow's