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Updated: June 20, 2025
When the fakir was put back on the stone, he and it at once resumed their appearance, as of one single body, solidly joined to the ground, and not a line of the fakir's body had changed. By all appearance, his bending body and his head thrown backward sought to bring him down; but for this fakir there was evidently no such thing as the law of gravity.
With his own hand he took the noose from his neck and, now that the flames had died away to nothing but spasmodic spurts above a dull red underglow, there was no one in the watching ring who could see Brown's sword-point. Only Brown and the fakir knew that it was scratching at the skin between the fakir's shoulder-blades. "It is done!" said the fakir presently. "Now take me back to my dais again!"
"Hookum hai!" he screamed suddenly, waving his sound hand upward, and bringing it down suddenly with a jerk, as though by sheer force he was blasting them. "Down with you!" ordered Brown, and all except Brown and the Beluchi tumbled over backward. "Keep hold of your rifles!" ordered Brown. The fakir's wailing continued for a while.
Distracted with the loss of time, of which each moment was precious, Hartley next endeavoured to prevail on the Mussulman to interrupt the Fakir's devotions with a verbal message; but the man was indignant at the very proposal. "Dog of a Christian!" he said, "what art thou and thy whole generation, that Barak el Hadgi should lose a divine thought for the sake of an infidel like thee?"
"The wise," said Hartley, declining the present, and at the same time paying a suitable compliment to the Fakir's cap and robe, "the wise of every country are brethren. My left hand takes no guerdon of my right." "A Feringi can then refuse gold?" said the Fakir.
He stood wiping the sweat from his forehead, while the rest recovered their lost balance and walked out from behind unscathed. The rifle creaked and bent and split. Then the stone leaned farther back, reached the wall and stayed there! "A near thing that!" said Brown. "That fakir's a bright beauty, isn't he!" "Shall I kick him, sir?" asked one of Brown's men. "Kick him? No! What good'd that do?
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.
After swinging a little while it reached the top, and then stood proudly for a moment on the fakir's finger and acknowledged our applause. Then it climbed down again like a sailor or a monkey and dropped to the ground.
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