That he had already produced an atmosphere of danger to us I had immediate proof, for as I crossed the yard again I dodged behind an araba in the nick of time to avoid a blow aimed at me with a sword by a man I could not see.

“All your charming is undone!” I told Fred, bursting in on our party by the charcoal brazier.  Almost breathless I reeled off what I had overheard.  “They’ll be here to murder us by dawn!” I said.

“Will they?” said Monty.

We were up and away two hours before dawn, to the huge delight of our Turkish muleteers, who consider a dawn start late, yet not too early for the servants of the khan, who knew enough European manners to stand about the gate and beg for tips.  Nor were we quite too early for the enemy, who came out into the open and pelted us with clods of dung, the German encouraging from the roof.  Fred caught him unaware full in the face with a well-aimed piece of offal.  Then the khan keeper slammed the gate behind us and we rode into the unknown.

Chapter Four “We are the robbers, effendi!”

THE ROAD

There is a mystery concerning roads
And he who loves the Road shall never tire. 
For him the brooks have voices and the breeze
Brings news of far-off leafiness and leas
And vales all blossomy.  The clinging mire
Shall never weary such an one, nor yet their loads
O’ercome the beasts that serve him.  Rock and rill
Shall make the pleasant league go by as hours
With secret tales they tell; the loosened stone,
Sweet turf upturned, the bees’ full-purposed drone,
The hum of happy insects among flowers,
And God’s blue sky to crown each hill! 
Dawn with her jewel-throated birds
To him shall be a new page in the Book
That never had beginning nor shall end,
And each increasing hour delights shall lend—­
New notes in every sound—­in every nook
New sights——­new thoughts too wide for words,
Too deep for pen, too high for human song,
That only in the quietness of winding ways
>From tumult and all bitterness apart
Can find communication with the heart —
Thoughts that make joyous moments of the days,
And no road heavy, and no journey long!

The snow threatened in the mountains had not materialized, and the weather had changed to pure perfection.  About an hour after we started the khan emptied itself behind us in a long string, jingling and clanging with horse and camel bells.  But they turned northward to pass through the famed Circassian Gates, whereas we followed the plain that paralleled the mountain range—­our mules’ feet hidden by eight inches of primordial ooze.

“Wish it were only worse!” said Monty.  “Snow or rain might postpone massacre.  Delay might mean cancellation.”

But there was no prospect whatever of rain.  The Asia Minor spring, perfumed and amazing sweet, breathed all about us, spattered with little diamond-bursts of tune as the larks skyrocketed to let the wide world know how glad they were.  Whatever dark fate might be brooding over a nation, it was humanly impossible for us to feel low-spirited.