Suddenly the priest ceased his genuflexions, there was a gleam of steel among his rags, then something bright flashed in the air.
It fell short, because at the very moment of throwing, a revolver had cracked out in the silence, and a bullet had broken two of his fingers.
The man flung himself writhing on the ground, howling forth imprecations.
The stranger looked half apologetically at the chief, whose glum demeanour had never relaxed.

"Sorry," he said; "it had to be done in self-defence.

But I ask your pardon for it." Fazir Khan nodded carelessly.

"He is a disturber of peace, and to one who cannot fight a hand matters little.

But, by Allah, ye northerners shoot quick." The stranger relinquished the cherry-wood pipe and filled a meerschaum from a pouch which he carried in the pocket of his cloak.