Now the narrow door of a compartment on a train isn’t any kind of easy place to fight in, but I vow and declare that Jeremy and I both did our best for Yussuf Dakmar.  That’s a remarkable thing if you come to think of it.  As a dirty murderer—­thief—­liar—­traitor—­spy, he hadn’t much claim on our affections and Jeremy cherished a war-grudge against him on top of it all.  What is it that makes us side with the bottom dog regardless of pros and cons?

It was a nasty mix-up, because they used knives and we relied on hands and fists.  I’ve used a pick-handle on occasion and a gun when I’ve had to, but speaking generally it seems to me to demean a white man to use weapons in a row like that, and I find that most fellows who have walked the earth much agree with me.

We tried to go in like a typhoon, shock-troop style, but it didn’t work.  Another man let go of Yussuf Dakmar, who was growing weak and too short of wind to yell, and in a moment there were five of us struggling on the floor between the seats, one man under me with my forearm across his throat and another alongside me, stabbing savagely at a leather valise under the impression that he was carving up my ribs.  On top of that mess Narayan Singh pounced like a tiger, wrenching at arms and legs until I struggled to my feet again—­only to be thrust aside by Jeremy as he rose and rushed at Yussuf Dakmar’s two assailants.

But with all his speed Jeremy was a tenth of a tick too late.  The wretch was already helpless, and I dare say they broke his back as they leaned their combined weight on him and forced him backward and head-first through the window.  Jeremy made a grab for his foot, but missed it, and a knife-blade already wet with Yussuf Dakmar’s blood whipped out and stung him in the thigh.  That, of course, was sheer ignorance.  You should never sting an Australian.  Kill him or let him alone.  Better yet, make friends with him or surrender; but, above all, do nothing by halves.  They’re a race of whole-hoggers, equally ready to force their only shirt on you or fight you to a finish.

So Jeremy finished the business at the window.  He took a neck in each hand and cracked their skulls together until the whack-whack-whack of it was like the exhaust of a Ford with loose piston rings; and when they fell from his grip, unconscious, he came to my rescue.  Believe me, I needed it.

They were as strong and lithe as wildcats, those Syrians, and fully awake to the advantage that the narrow door gave them.  One man struggled with Narayan Singh and kept him busy with his bulk so wedged across the opening that Grim and Hadad were as good as demobilized out in the corridor; and the other two tackled me like a pair of butchers hacking at a maddened bull.  I landed with my fists, but each time at the cost of a flesh-wound; and though I got one knife-hand by the wrist and hung on, wrenching and screwing to throw the fellow off his feet, the other man’s right was free and the eighteen-inch Erzeram dagger that he held danced this and that way for an opening underneath my guard.