“Atcha!” he grunted.  “Now we shall see a kind of happenings.  That girl is not a true gipsy, or else my eyes lie to me.  They stole her, or adopted her.  She lacks their instincts.  The gitanas, as they call their girls, are expected to have aversion to white men.  They are allowed to lure a white man to his ruin, but not to make hot love to him.  She has offended against the gipsy law.  The attaman* must punish.  Watch the women.  They take it all as a matter of course.”

----------------
Attaman, gipsy headman.
----------------

“Maga!” thundered Gregor Jhaere, cracking the great whip again.  I thought that Kagig looked a trifle restless, but nobody else went so far as to exhibit interest, except that the old Turk by the fire emerged far enough out of kaif to open one eye, like a sly cat’s.

The attaman shouted again, and this time Maga mocked him.  So he strode down the room in a rage to enforce his authority, and dragged her out of the shadow by an arm, sending her whirling to the center of the floor.  She did not lose her feet, but spun and came to a stand, and waited, proud as Satanita while he drew the whip slowly back with studied cruelty.  The old Turk opened both eyes.

Nothing is more certain than that none of us would have permitted the girl to be thrashed.  I doubt if even Rustum Khan, no admirer of gipsies or unveiled women, would have tolerated one blow.  But Will was nearest, and he is most amazing quick when his nervous New England temper is aroused.  He had the whip out of Gregor’s hand, and stood on guard between him and the girl before one of us had time to move.  The old Turk closed his eyes again, and sighed resignedly.

“Our preux chevalier—­preux but damned imprudent!” murmured Fred.  “Let’s hope there’s a gipsy here with guts enough to fight for title to the girl.  It looks to me as if Will has claimed her by patteran* law.  The only man with right to say whether or not a woman shall be thrashed is her owner.  Once that right is established—­”

---------------
* Patteran, a gipsy word:  trail.
---------------

“Touch her and I’ll break your neck!” warned Will, without undue emotion, but truthfully beyond a shadow of a doubt.

The gipsy stood still, simmering, and taking the measure of the capable American muscles interposed between him and his legal prey.  Every gipsy eye in the room was on him, and it was perfectly obvious that whatever the eventual solution of the impasse, the one thing he could not do was retreat.  We were fewer in number, but much better armed than the gipsy party, so that it was unlikely they would rally to their man’s aid.  Kagig was an unknown quantity, but except that his black eyes glittered rather more brightly than usual he made no sign; and we kept quiet because we did not want to start a free-for-all fight.  Will was quite able to take care of any single opponent, and would have resented aid.