There was a man holding my horse.  I tied the horse securely to a tree instead, and told the man to help me climb, little suspecting what a Samson I had happened on.  He laughed, seized me in his arms, and proceeded to carry me like a baby up the goat-track leading to the hidden rifle-pits and trenches.  I persuaded him to let me get up on his shoulders, and in that way I had a view of most of what was happening.

Monty led his men and women at a run across the top of the ramp flanked by the full fire of the entrenched company below; and his action was so unexpected that the Turks fired like beginners.  There were not many bodies lying quiet, nor writhing either when the last woman had disappeared among the trees on the far side.  Those that did writhe were very swiftly caused to cease by volleys aimed at them in obedience to officers’ orders.  It began to look as if Gloria’s hospital would not be over-worked.

The tables were now turned on the Turks, except in regard to numbers.  In the first place, as soon as Monty’s command had penetrated downward through the trees parallel with the side of the ramp, he had the entrenched company in flank.  It did not seem to me that he left more than ten or fifteen men to make that trench untenable, but the Turks were out of it within five minutes and in full retreat under a hot fire from Fred’s men.

Then Monty pushed on to the far side of the castle road and held the remaining fringe of trees in such fashion that the Turks could not guess his exact whereabouts nor what number he had with him.  Cutting down trees in a hurry is one thing, but cutting them down in face of hidden rifle-fire is most decidedly another, especially when the axmen have been promised there will be no reprisals.

The tree-felling suddenly ceased, and there began a close-quarters battle in the woods, in which numbers had less effect than knowledge of the ground and bravery.  The Turk is a brave enough fighter, but not to be compared with mountain-Armenians fighting for their home, and it was easy to judge which held the upper hand.

I found Fred smoking his pipe and enjoying himself hugely, with half a dozen runners ready to carry word to whichever section of the defenses seemed to him to need counsel.  He could see what Monty had done, and was in great spirits in consequence.

“I’ve bagged two Turk officers to my own gun,” he announced.  “Murder suits me to a T.”

I gave him the message.

“Piffle!” he answered.  “They can never take the ramp by frontal attack!  The right thing to do is hold the flanks, and wither ’em as they cone!”

“Monty’s orders!” I said, “and I’ve got to be going.”

“Damn that fellow Didums!” he grumbled.  “All right.  But it’s my belief he’s turning a classy little engagement into a bloody brawl!  Cut along!  I’ll pick my hundred and climb down there.”

Cutting along was not so easy.  My magnificent human mount was hit by a bullet—­a stray one, probably, shot at a hazard at long range.  He fell and threw me head-long; and the agony of that experience pretty nearly rendered me unconscious.  However, he was not hit badly, and essayed to pick me up again.  I refused that, but he held on to me and, both of us being hurt in the leg on the same side, we staggered together down the goat-track.