He looked strong enough to carry an ox away.
"Atcha!" said I, going close to him.
He did not answer a word, but shouldered his rifle and marched off.

Before he had gone six paces he brought the rifle to the trail, and started running.

Another Sikh--a younger man--stepped out of the shadow and took his place on the lower step.

He was not quite so silent, and he knew at least one word of Arabic.
"Imshi!" he grunted; and that, in plain U.S.American, means "Beat it!" I had no objection.

It sounded rather like good advice.
Remembering what Grim had said about the danger I was running, and looking at the deep black shadows of the streets, it occurred to me that that spy, who slept so soundly by the mosque door, might wake up and be annoyed with himself.