The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-07-10

then got up and started on at an easy pace.
| Tor there was no hope of my overtaking
| the Hindoo, for, leaving the darkness out OF
| the question, he could have outstripped me
on such road two TO one. My only hope
OF recovering the satchel and money and
bringing him 10 punishment was in getting
his trlil.
1T soon became clear to me that should
not get to Baghra that night The air was
horribly hot and humid and the road got
worse as went on. / could feel the jungle
fever clutching al me in the miasma that
rose from the moist ground, but 1t was bet
ter to chance that than risk falling from
neat and fatigue. 1 had rested myself un-
70 nod with drowsiness, when the roar of a
tiger somewhere off in the jungle gave a
new turn TO my thoughts, and l got up and
stumbled on. Just as the tiger roared again
saw smoldering fire in a clearing off to
the right. 1t was an even chance whether
4 do, meant a camp of wood cutters or rem
devious OF dacoits, but turned off the road
and approached it, Only one man was by
the fire-an old white-bearded man, seated
cross-iegged on mat-and l saw that it
was the fakir who had been at Redvon' IS
bungalow the day before. Here in the jun
gle ne was sitting, absorbed in contempla-
tion. as calmly as if such things as tigers
or jungle IeVer did not exist Two cObraS
In basket by his side reared their heads
ana missed as ! came near. but the fakir
him. Then he looked at me without the
slightest sign of surprise and motioned that
SHOULD seat myself opposite him.
= i expected you,' he said in Hindostanee.
You will remain here until the morrow
NIGHT WITH A FAKIR.
He returned to his CONCENTRATIONS and
spoke not another word through the night.
The tigers roar came nearer, and clutched
my revolver as it changed into the low,
eager purring cry that tells he has scented
his prey, but the old man gave no sign that
he had so much as heard it. / watched the
misty darkness around for an hour or more,
but there was no more roaring and no tiger
appeared, and laid my pistol acoss my lap
and prepared to pass the night as comfort
ably as l could. In searching my pockets
for cigars 1 found a package of quinine.
took five grains of it before morning and
thus saved myself from jungle fever Hour
after hour L sat on the ground smoking
cheroots, with the old man sitting OPP
poste me.
Part of the time his eyes were closed.
but he did not nod or change his position,
and whether he slept or not 1 could not
tell. From time to time he fed the fire from
a little heap of dry branches at his sde
and two or three times he lighted his hub
Dle-bubble, but he did not once rise to his
feet or leave the nat. Toward morning
sleep oVercame me, and woke to find my
self on my back on the ground with the
beams of the rising sun streaming into my
face and one of the cobraS crawling across
my legs. l kept still and the snake crept
away in the grass hunting his breakfast.
The old fakir, who was smoking, present
ly laid aside his pipe, collected his snakes
ana other luggage together, told me with
look that we were to move, and we left the
Baghra. In the dust and more plainly in
the mlry places, we could see the tracks OF
Nagho. Presently there were other foot
prints above the mans and taking the same
course-the tracks of a tiger which had
said word to the fazir. of what had oc-
CURED the night before, but he pointed to
the tigers tracks and said gravely, the first
words he had spoken that morning:
4" These are bringing you to your prop
erty.'
place where the tracks showed that the
swinging trot of the tiger had changed to a
succession of long hounds, which ended at
a spot whore the dust had been stirred by
marks Of struggle, and -caked with drops
or red. The bushes and long grass crushed
and bent to left and tight, showed where the
tiger leaped back into the jungle, and there
was no track of man or beast in the road
beyond. But in the tigers path at a few
PAGES from the roadside, strung along the
bushes, was the unwound turban of Nagho
with long smear of red upon its white.
" 1T was SO appointed said the fakfr. He
was weaving the plan of his own death
when he thought he was comprising yours.
Now take your own, restored to you, and
we will go on into Baghra.
He pointed to my satchel. which l had
was unopened, and all it's contents were
safe. We went on into Baghra, where the
fakir left me at the outskirts of the town,
taking his way, / SUPPOSE doy the house of
some person Of his religious order. / gave
him bag of rupees at parting, which ne
accepted without thanks cor comment-to
him it came by appointment of the gods,
and / feel sure that he would have received
a sentence OF immediate execution with the
same calm fatalism. | saw him once more,
when he was called before the magistrate
to give his testimony as to the manner of
Nagho's death, but he gave me no sign of
recognition. To one like him, wrapped in
communion with deity, a mere man, what
ever his degree, was worthy of nothing
more than a passing notice.
MY story of the fakir is told, and you
may explain it if you ocan 20 your satisfac-
ton. his tricks at the bungalow were in
comprehensive to the western mind. Be-
| yond these, what do you think OF his reading
| of the human SOUL when his glance at
| Nagho revealed my servants thought of
| murder and robbery against me- OF his
knowledge of the events of the night oc-
/ curing in his case beyond the perceptions
| of the recognized senses of seeing and hear
| ing? Was it the reading of Nagho's mind
! at the bungalow and of mine by the fire in
the jungle? Let that explain ii if you will.
But what a genuine and lofty order of mind
reading. Compare 1t with the jugglery that
| passes by that name among people of the
| western hemisphere"