“Rot!” Will retorted.  “Sooner or later men begin to dare assert their love of freedom, and you can’t blame ’em if they show it foolishly.  Some folk throw tea into harbors—­some stick a king’s head on a pole—­some take it out for the present in fresh-kid stuff.  These Zeitoonli are men of spirit, or I’ll eat my hat!”

But if we ourselves had not been men of spirit, obviously capable of strenuous self-defense, our Zeitoonli would have found themselves in an awkward fix that night.

We supped off yoghourt—­the Turkish concoction of milk—­cow’s, goat’s, mare’s, ewe’s or buffalo’s (and the buffalo’s is best)—­that is about the only food of the country on which the Anglo-Saxon thrives.  Whatever else is fit to eat the Turks themselves ruin by their way of cooking it.  And we left before dawn in the teeth of the owner of the kahveh’s warning.

“Dangerous robbers all along the road!” he advised, shaking his head until the fez grew insecure, while Fred counted out the coins to pay our bill.  “Armenians are without compunction—­bad folk!  Ay, you have weapons, but so have they, and they have the advantage of surprise!  May Allah the compassionate be witness, I have warned you!”

“There will be more than warnings to be witnessed!”, growled Rustum Khan as he rode away.  “Those others, who sharpened weapons all night long, and spoke of robbers, have been waiting three days at that kahveh till the murdering begins!”

That morning, on Rustum Khan’s advice, we made our Turkish muleteers ride in front of us.  The Zeitoon men marched next, swinging along with the hillman stride that eats up distance as the ticked-off seconds eat the day.  And we rode last, admiring the mountain range on our left, but watchful of other matters, and in position to cut off retreat.

“The last time a Turk ran away from me he took my Gladstone bag with him!” said Fred.  “No, only Armenians are dishonest.  It was obedience to his prophet, who bade him take advantage of the giaour—­quite a different thing!  Ibrahim’s sitting on my kit, and I’m watching him.  You fellows suit yourselves!”

We passed a number of men on foot that morning all coming our way, but no Armenians among them.  However, we exchanged no wayside gossip, because our Zeitoonli in front availed themselves of privilege and shouted to every stranger to pass at a good distance.

That is a perfectly fair precaution in a land where every one goes armed, and any one may be a bandit.  But it leads to aloofness.  Passers-by made circuits of a half-mile to avoid us, and when we spurred our mules to get word with them they mistook that for proof of our profession and bolted.  We chased three men for twenty minutes for the fun of it, only desisting when one of them took cover behind a bush and fired a pistol at us with his eyes shut.

“Think of the lies he’ll tell in the kahveh to-night about beating off a dozen robbers single-handed!” Will laughed.