cursed Turks have ordered out the soldiers and are sending regiments—"
"I warned they would!"
"The cavalry are hunting down fugitives along the roads!"
"As I foretold a hundred times!"
"They were sent to protect Armenians—"
"That is always the excuse!"
"And they kill—kill—kill! A dozen of them hunted me for two miles, until I hid in a water-course! Look at us! Look at our clothes! We are wet to the skin—tired—starving! Kagig, be a man!"
He went back to his mess of blankets and sat down on it, too bitter at heart for words. They reproached him in chorus, coming nearer to the fire to let the fierce heat draw the stink out of their clothes.
"Aye, Kagig, you must not forget your race. You must not forget the past, Kagig. Once Armenia was great, remember that! You must not only talk to us, you must act at last! We summon you to be our leader, Kagig, son of Kagig of Zeitoon!"
He stared back at them with burning eyes—raised both hands to beat his temples—and then suddenly turned the palms of his hands toward the roof in a gesture of utter misery.
"Oh, my people!"
That glimpse he betrayed of his agony was but a moment long. The fingers closed suddenly, and the palms that had risen in helplessness descended to his knees clenched fists, heavy with the weight of purpose.
"What have you done with the ammunition?" he demanded.
