he recognized familiar attitudes, and asked again who we might be.
And, weary of explanations that only achieved delay our man lumped
us all in one invoice and snarled irritably:

"These are Americans!"

The famous "Open sesame" that unlocked Ali Baba's cave never worked
swifter then. Reckless of possible traps no less than five men flung
themselves out of Cimmerian gloom and seized us in welcoming arms.
I was lifted from the saddle by a man six inches shorter than myself,
whose arms could have crushed me like an insect.

"We might have known Americans would bring us help!" he panted in
my ear. His breath came short not from effort, but excitement.

Fred was in like predicament. I could just see his shadow struggling
in the embrace of an enthusiastic host, and somewhere out of sight
Will was answering in nasal indubitable Yankee the questions of three
other men.

"This way! Come this way! Bring the horses, oh, Zeitoonli! Americans!
Americans! God heard us--there have come Americans!"

Threading this and that way among tree-trunks that to our unaccustomed
eyes were simply slightly denser blots on blackness, Will managed
to get between Fred and me.

"We're all of us Yankees this trip!" he whispered, and I knew he
was grinning, enjoying it hugely. So often he had been taken for
an Englishman because of partnership with us that he had almost ceased