I were a bad lot what could I accomplish with just two hands? I beg you, let me go in peace!”
“Walk in front of me. I’ll give you over to the law.”
“To the law! You could not do anything worse when you know the police are seeking us. Do not do that, Kurd! Even if I were set free, it would delay me. My children are suffering. They are dying of hunger. For God’s sake, Kurd,—brother, neighbor, let me go!” The Kurd was unshakable. It is my fate, I thought and walked on. What could I do? He was armed. I was not.
Around us the world was beautiful. The sky was clear and blue, the mountains green. Birds flew about; everywhere was life and happiness. Above, high in the air, a crane flew, free and bold. Forgetting the danger of my position, I looked up at the bird and envied it.
The Kurd walked on in silence. He looked at me. Our eyes met, and for some seconds we were both unable to look away. Each tried to find out what was hidden in the thought of the other. Is not the eye the involuntary betrayor of the mind? I understood that the Kurd had made up his mind to kill me. That I read plainly. I began to meditate. I sought for help. But what help was there for me? At this moment my eyes rested upon the handsome dagger which the Kurd carried in his girdle. If I only had that in my hand!
“Go on,” commanded the Kurd. “Why are you stopping?”
