"
The blacksmith, though pumping with both hands at his pair of bellows,
had felt the impress of the two silver coins in his loin cloth, and,
true to the bribe from Hunsa, had adroitly doctored his fire by dusting
sand here and there so that the shot had lost, instead of gained heat.
Now he cried out: "This kabob of the cannon is cooked, and my arms are
tired whilst you have talked."
Rising he seized his tongs asking, "Who now will have it placed upon
his palm?"
"Put it here," Sookdee said, as he laid a pipal leaf of twice the
thickness he had given Ajeet upon the palm of Hunsa.
Then Hunsa, having repeated the appeal to Bhowanee, strode toward the
goal, and reaching it, cast the iron shot to the ground, holding up his
hand in triumph. His was the hand of a gorilla, thick skinned, rough
and hard like that of a workman, and now it showed no sign of a burning.
"What say you, Ajeet Singh?" Sookdee asked.
"As to the ordeal," the Chief answered, "according to our faith
Bhowanee has spoken. But know you this, though the scar is in my palm,
in my heart is no treachery.
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