Down below we found the horse plunging in a frenzy of fear, and he nearly succeeded in breaking away from both of us, dragging us out into full view of the enemy, who volleyed us at long range.  Fortunately they made rotten shooting, and one ill-directed hail of lead screamed on the far side, causing the horse to plunge toward me.  The Armenian took me by the uninjured foot and flung me into the saddle, and I left up-pass with a parting volley scattering all around, and both hands locked into the horse’s mane.  He needed neither whip nor spur, but went for Zeitoon like the devil with his tail on fire.

I suppose one never grows really used to pain, but from use it becomes endurable.  When Anna ran out to stop me by the great rock on which the lowest Zeitoon houses stand, and seized me by the foot, partly to show deference, partly in token that she was suppliant, and also partly because she was utterly distracted, I was able to rein the horse and listen to her without swearing.

“She is gone!” she shouted.  “Gone, I tell you!  Gloria is gone!  Six men, they come and take her!  She is resisting, oh, so hard—­and they throw a sack over her—­and she is gone, I tell you!  She is gone!”

“Where is Maga?”

“Gone, too!”

“In which direction did they take Miss Gloria?”

“I do not know!”

I rode on.  There were crowds of women near the bridge, all armed with rifles, and I hurried toward them.

But they refused to believe that any one in Zeitoon would do such a thing as kidnap Gloria, and while I waited for Anna to come and convince them a man forced himself toward me through the crowd.  He was out of breath.  One arm was in a bloody bandage, but in the other hand he held a stained and crumpled letter.

It proved to be from Will, addressed to all or any of us.

“Kagig is a wonder!” it ran, “He has put new life into these men and we’ve thrashed the Turk soundly.  How’s Gloria?  Kagig says, ‘Can you send us reenforcements?’ If so we can follow up and do some real damage.  Send ’em quick!  Make Gloria keep cover!  Will.

Chapter Twenty “So few against so many!  I see death, and I am not sorry!”

THOU LAND OF THE GLAD HAND

Thou land of the Glad Hand, whose frequent boast
Is of the hordes to whom thou playest host! 
Whose liberty is full! whose standard high
Has reached and taken stars from out the sky! 
Whose fair-faced women tread the streets unveiled,
Unchallenged, unaffronted, unassailed! 
Whose little ones in park and meadow laugh,
Nor know what cost that precious cup they quaff,
Nor pay in stripes and bruises and regret
Ten times each total of a parent’s debt! 
Thou nation born in freedom—­land of kings
Whose laws protect the very feathered things,
Uplifting last and least to high estate
That none be overlooked—­and none too great! 
Is all thy freedom good for thee alone? 
Is earth thy footstool?  Are the clouds thy throne? 
Shall other peoples reach thy hand to take
That gladdens only thee for thine own sake?