“Go on,” said Will.  “Tell us.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.  When I started to run toward the—­ah —­music, the women tried to prevent me.  They knew Americans had come, and they feared you might take me away.”

“They were guessing good!” grinned Will.

She shook her head, and the loosened coils of hair fell lower.  One could hardly have blamed a man who had desired her in that lawless land and sought to carry her off.  The Armenian men must have been temptation proof, or else there had been safety in numbers.

“I shall stay here.  How could I leave them?  The women need me.  There are babies—­daily—­almost hourly—­here in these lean hills, and no organized help of any kind until I came.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Nearly two days.  Wait till I’ve been here a week and you’ll see.”

“We can’t wait to see!” Will answered.  “We’ve a friend of our own in a tight place.  The best we can do is to rescue you—­”

“I don’t need to be rescued!”

“—­to rescue you—­take you back to Tarsus, where you’ll be safe until the trouble’s over—­and then hurry to the help of our own man.”

“Who is your own man?  Tell me about him.”

“He’s a prince.”

“Really?”

“No, really an earl—­Earl of Montdidier.  White.  White all through to the wish-bone.  Whitest man I ever camped with.  He’s the goods.”

“If you’d said less I’d have skinned you for an ingrate!” Fred announced.  “Monty is a man men love.”

Miss Vanderman nodded.  “Where is he?”

“On the way to a place called Zeitoon,” answered Will.

“He’s a hostage, held by Armenians in the hope of putting pressure on the Turks.  Kagig—­the Armenians, that’s to say—­let us go to rescue you, knowing that he was sufficiently important for their purpose.”

“And you left your friend to help me?”

“Of course.  What do you suppose?”

“And if I were to go with you to Tarsus, what then?”

“He says we’re to ride herd on the consulate and argue.”

“Will you?”

“Sure we’ll argue.  We’ll raise particular young hell.  Then back we go to Zeitoon to join him!”

“Would you have gone to Tarsus except on my account?”

Will hesitated.

“No.  I see.  Of course you wouldn’t.  Well.  What do you take me for?  You did not know me then.  You do now.  Do you think I’d consent to your leaving your fine friend in pawn while you dance attendance on me?  Thank you kindly for your offer, but go back to him!  If you don’t I’ll never speak to one of you again!”

Chapter Ten “When I fire this Pistol—­”

THESE LITTLE ONES

If Life were what the liars say
And failure called the tune
Mayhap the road to ruin then
Were cluttered deep wi’ broken men;
We’d all be seekers blindly led
To weave wi’ worms among the dead,
If Life were what the liars say
And failure called the tune.