"Where is the book?" demanded Monty.

"The German has it."

"The German has no right to it."

"I will bring it."

Rustum Khan strode off into the night, and Monty bent over the sobbing
form of the self-appointed missionary. We were all alone in the midst
of the courtyard, not even watched from behind the wheels of arabas,
for a fight or a thrashing in the khans of Asia Minor is strictly
the affair of him who gets the worst of it.

"Will you burn that book of yours, Measel, if we protect you from
further assault?"

The man sobbed that he would do anything, but Monty held him to the
point, and at last procured a specific affirmative. Then Rustum
Khan came back with the offending tome. It was bulky enough to contain
an account of the sins of Asia Minor.

Fred and I picked the poor fellow up and led him to where the cooking
places stood in one long row. Will carried the book, and Rustum
Khan stole wood from other folks' piles, and fanned a fire. We watched
the unhappy Peter Measel put the book on the flames with his own hands.

"You're old enough to have known better than keep such a diary!"
said Monty, stirring the charred pages.