And Hunsa knew; his evil swarthy face turned as green as the slime upon the crocodile’s forehead; his powerful naked shoulders seemed to shrivel and shrink as though blood had ceased to flow through his veins.  He put his two hands, clasped palm to palm, to his forehead in supplication, and begged that the ordeal might pass, that he might go by the bridge, or across the desert, or any way except by that pool of horrors.

Kassim again swept his hand toward the river and his voice was horrible in its deadliness:  “These children of the poor that are sacred to some of thy gods, infidel, have been fed; five goats have allotted them as sacrifice and they wait for thee.  They serve Allah and not thy gods to-day.  Go, murderer, for we wait; go unless thou art not only a murderer but a coward, for it is the only way.  It was promised that no Pindari should wound or kill thee, dog, but they will help thee on thy way.”

Hunsa at this drew himself up, his gorilla face seemed to fill out with resolve; he swept the vast throng of horsemen with his eyes, and realised that it was indeed true—­there was nothing left but the pool and the faint, faint chance that, powerful swimmer that he was, and with the knife, he might cross.  Once his evil eyes rested on Kassim and involuntarily a hand twitched toward the dagger hilt; but at that instant he was pinioned, both arms, by a Pindari on either side.  Then, standing rigid, he said: 

“I am Hunsa, a Bagree, a servant of Bhowanee; I am not afraid.  May she bring the black plague upon all the Pindaris, who are dogs that worship a false god.”

He strode toward the waters, the soldiers, still a hand on either arm, marching beside him.  On the clay bank he put his hands to his forehead, calling in a loud voice:  “Kali Mia, receive me!” Then he plunged head first into the pool.

A cry of “Allah!  Allah!” went up from ten thousand throats as the Bagree shot from view, smothered in the foam of the ruffled stream.  And beyond the waters were churned by huge ghoulish forms that the blood of goats had gathered there.  Five yards from the bank the ugly head of Hunsa appeared; a brown arm flashed once, in the fingers clutched a knife that seemed red with fresh blood.  The water was lashed to foam; the tail of a giant mugger shot out and struck flat upon the surface of the river like the crack of a pistol.  Again the head, and then the shoulders, of the swimmer were seen; and as if something dragged the torso below, two legs shot out from the water, gyrated spasmodically, and disappeared.

Barlow waited, his soul full of horror, but there was nothing more; just a little lower down in the basin of the sluggish pool two bulbous protrusions above the water where some crocodile, either gorged or disappointed, floated lazily.

A ghastly silence reigned—­no one spoke; ten thousand eyes stared out across the pool.

Then the voice of Kassim was heard, solemn and deep, saying:  “The covenant has been kept and Allah has avenged the death of Amir Khan!”