“Yarghouz, I come to slay you,” she said quietly.
Suddenly the man snarled at her, flung the shroud at her feet, and crept deliberately to the left.
“Be careful!” she cried sharply; “look what you’re about! Stand still, son of a dog! May your mother bewail your death!”
Yarghouz edged toward the west, clasping in his right hand the flask of gas.
“Sorceress,” he laughed, “a witch of Thibet prophesied with a drum that the three purities, the nine perfections, and the nine times nine felicities shall be lodged in him who slays the treacherous temple girl, Keuke Mongol! There is more magic in this bottle which I grasp than in thy mind and body. Heavenly Eyes! I pray God to be merciful to this soul I send to Erlik!”
All the time he was advancing, edging cautiously around the circle of little plumy pines; and already the wind struck his left cheek.
“Yarghouz Khan!” cried the girl in her clear voice. “Take up your shroud and repeat the fatha!”
“Backward!” laughed the young man, “—as do you, Keuke Mongol!”
“Heretic!” she retorted. “Do you also refuse to name the ten Imaums in your prayers? Dog! Toad! Spittle of Erlik! May all your cattle die and all your horses take the glanders and all your dogs the mange!”
“Silence, sorceress!” he shouted, pale with fear and fury. “Witch! Mud worm! May Erlik seize you! May your skin be covered with putrefying sores! May all the demons torment you! May God remember you in hell!”