Since he had said I did not matter, I remained, and it was therefore I who shouted down a challenge presently in round English at a party who clattered to the door on blown horses, and thundered on it as if they had been shatirs* hurrying to herald the arrival of the sultan himself.  There was nothing furtive about their address to the decrepit door, nor anything meek.  Accordingly I couched the challenge in terms of unmistakable affront, repeating it at intervals until the leader of the new arrivals chose to identify himself.

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* Shatir, the man who runs before a personage’s horse.
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“I am Hans von Quedlinburg!” he shouted.  But I did not remember the name.

“Only a thief would come riding in such a hurry through the night!” said I.  “Who is with you?”

Another voice shouted very fast and furiously in Turkish, but I could not make head or tail of the words.  Then the German resumed the song and dance.

“Are you the party who talked with me at my construction camp?”

“We talk most of the time.  We eat food.  We whistle.  We drink.  We laugh!” said I.

“Because I think you are the people I am seeking.  These are Turkish officials with me.  I have authority to modify their orders, only let me in!”

“How many of you?” I asked.  I was leaning over at risk of my life, for any fool could have seen my head to shoot at it against the luminous dark sky; but I could not see to count them.

“Never mind how many!  Let us in!  I am Hans von Quedlinburg.  My name is sufficient.”

So I lied, emphatically and in thoughtful detail.

“You are covered,” I said, “by five rifles from this roof.  If you don’t believe it, try something.  You’d better wait there while I wake my chief.”

“Only be quick!” said the German, and I saw him light a cigarette, whether to convince me he felt confident or because he did feel so I could not say.  I went below, and found Monty and Kagig standing together close to the outer door.  They had not heard the whole of the conversation because of the noise the owner’s sons had made removing, at their orders, the obstructions they had piled against the door in their first panic.  Every one else had returned to the sleeping platforms, except the Turkish owner, who looked awake at last, and was hovering here and there in ecstasies of nervousness.

I repeated what the German had said, rather expecting that Kagig at any rate would counsel defiance.  It was he, however, who beckoned the Turk and bade him open the door.

“But, effendi—­”

“Chabuk!  Quickly, I said!”

“Che arz kunam?” the Turk answered meekly, meaning “What petition shall I make?” the inference being that all was in the hands of Allah.

“Of ten men nine are women!” sneered Kagig irritably, and led the way to our place beside the fire.  The Turk fumbled interminably with the door fastenings, and we were comfortably settled in our places before the new arrivals rode in, bringing a blast of cold air with them that set the smoke billowing about the room and made every man draw up his blankets.