That glimpse he betrayed of his agony was but a moment long. The
fingers closed suddenly, and the palms that had risen in helplessness
descended to his knees clenched fists, heavy with the weight of purpose.

"What have you done with the ammunition?" he demanded.

"We had it in the manure under John Zimisces' cattle."

"I know that. Where is it now?"

"The Turks discovered it at dawn to-day. Some one had told. They
burned Zimisces and his wife and sons alive in the straw!"

"You fools! They knew where the stuff was a week ago! A month ago
I warned you to send it to Zeitoon, but somebody told you I was
treacherous, and you fools listened! How much ammunition have you
left now?"

"Just what we have with us. I have a dozen rounds."

"I ten."

"I nine."

"I thirty-three."

Each man had a handful, or two handfuls at the most. Kagig observed
their contributions to the common fund with scoRN too deep for expression.
It was as if the very springs of speech were frozen.