My prayer-mat was next Narayan Singh's, and it was interesting to hear him curse the Prophet _sotto voce_ while pretending to vie with those robbers in fervid protestations of faith in Islam.

But more than the Prophet he cursed Ayisha, praying to his Hindu pantheon to wreak all wrath on her.
It was a diluted pantheon, of course, because he was a Sikh; he wasn't able to call on as many animal-shaped gods with as many arms and teeth as a Bengali could have urged into action; but he did his best with the technical resources at his disposal.
Without pretending to be a judge of other men's creeds, I thought at the time that he made a pretty workman-like hash of that lady's prospects, so far as his particular formula could do it.

I jotted down some of his suggestions to the gods for future reference, and purpose to teach them to the U.S.

Army mule-skinners next time this country goes to war.
While we were eating breakfast in a circle in front of the tents, all sticking our right hands into a common mess-pan and eating like wolves--you have to be awfully careful not to use your left hand, and unless you eat fast you'll get less than your share--there came five men on camels out of a wady--a shallow valley that lay like a cut throat with red rocks on its edge something over a mile away beyond the egg-shaped rock.

They were armed--as everybody is in those parts who hopes to live--and in a hurry.
Ayisha and her people did not see them, because the great rock was in the way, but we left off eating to watch, and Grim went into his tent to use field-glasses without being seen.