He laughed outright, throwing out both hands toward us. "Eenglis
sportmen!" he said simply.

"What's that got to do with it?" Will retorted. He has the unaccountable
American dislike of being mistaken for an Englishman, but long ago
gave up arguing the point, since foreigners refuse, as a rule, to
see the sacred difference.

"I am, too, sportman. At Zeitoon there is very good sport. Bear.
Antelope. Wild boar. One sportman to another--do you understand?"

We did, and did not believe.

"How far to Zeitoon?" I demanded.

"I go in five days when I hurry. You--not hurrying--by horse--seven
--eight--nine days, depending on the roads."

"Are they all Armenians in Zeitoon?"

"Most. Not all. There are Arabs--Syrians--Persians--a few Circassians
--even Kurds and a Turk or two. Our numbers have been reenforced
continually by deserters from the Turkish Army. Ninety-five per cent.,
however, are Armenians," he added with half-closed eyes, suddenly
suggesting that masked meekness that disguises most outrageous racial
pride.

"It is common report," I said, "that the Turks settled all Armenian
problems long ago by process of massacre until you have no spirit
for revolt left."