The prisoners and Brown's men and Juggut Khan and the Beluchi bent their backs above the lever, or hauled taut on the rope, and the fakir wriggled with some secret joke.
“At the word three!” said Brown. “Then all together!”
“One!”
“Two!”
The fakir writhed delightedly. He seemed more than ever like a wickedly malicious child.
“Three!”
They strained their utmost, and the huge stone trap gave way with a sudden jerk.
“For the love of—”
They all jumped, but they were strained in the wrong position for a quick recovery, and the ten-ton rock rolled back on unseen hinges to crush them all, and rolled back and yet farther back—and then stayed! Brown had snatched a rifle, and had placed it between the rolling rock and the wall!
He stood wiping the sweat from his forehead, while the rest recovered their lost balance and walked out from behind unscathed. The rifle creaked and bent and split. Then the stone leaned farther back, reached the wall and stayed there!