All held their breaths, watching him commune with the gods in deep guttural orisons.
The dervish sprinkled a token of ground native chalk into the fire, then a little air blown through his mouth, and then a paucity of water, too little to disturb the raging flames.
“Aih! Aih! Aih!” the people chanted in unison, and then a loud horn was heard.
The feast had been declared open.
The Feast of Orsol was, as always, a time of joyous celebration when the last stocks of old harvests were disposed of in extravagant merriment to usher in fresh stocks of harvest into the barns and silos.