"Well," said Fred, "if you need horse-meat, gosh durn you, take it
from the Turks!"

"Gosh durn you!" grinned three or four men, nudging one another.

They were lost between a furtive habit born of hiding for dear life,
a desire to be extremely friendly, and a new suspicion of Fred's
high hand. Fred's next words added disconcertment.

"Where is Miss Vanderman?" he demanded, suddenly.

Before any one had time to answer Will made a swift move to the wall,
and took his stand where nobody could get behind him. He did not
produce his pistol, but there was that in his eye that suggested
it. I followed suit, so that in the event of trouble we stood a
fair chance of protecting Fred.

"What do you mean?" asked three Armenians together.

"Did you never see men try to cover a secret before?" Will whispered.

"Or give it away?" I added. Six of the men placed themselves between
Fred and the opening where the blankets hung, ostentatiously not
looking at the blankets.

"Have you an American lady with you?" Fred asked, and as he spoke
he reached a hand behind him. But it was not his pistol that he drew.
He carries his concertina slung to him by a strap with the care that
some men lavish on a camera. He took it in both hands, and loosed