Curtis sat down upon the edge of the fountain. There was a faint smell of powder in the air. He heard a shot now and again in the distance. A bugle sounded. Fortunately no more of the Bashi Bazouks passed through the square.
"Gone!" said Curtis; "gone!"
The Greeks began to come in, talking excitedly and gesticulating like madmen. They seemed to be in high spirits. They gathered about Curtis, and, pointing at the dead bodies, all talked at once. They enraged him. He could hardly resist the desire to jump up and lay about among them with the butt of his musket. Lindbohm pushed his way through the crowd. Holding his gun in his left hand, he brought the right to his forehead, saluting gaily with the imaginary sword.
"Well, my friend, we had a little fun with them, didn't we? The ambush, however, would have been more of a success had the men obeyed my orders. If I had my way I would yust shoot a soldier who disobeyed orders. Still, we taught them a lesson. We have killed, let me see how many, one two, three—
"Hell!" interrupted Curtis, rising suddenly.
"What!" said Lindbohm, turning upon him, "what's the matter?"
"She's gone."
Lindbohm clutched at the shoulder of a bystanding insurgent.
"Panayota!" he gasped.
"Huh! Where were you? Eh? Where were you? Here they came, six of 'em, right down here, and the girl and I all alone. What could I do, one against six? You're a healthy soldier, you are—scatter all over the country! Lindbohm, you're to blame for this. You've got to answer to me—somebody's got to settle for this." Flinging his rifle down among the stones, he turned his back contemptuously and limped toward one of the houses. A kindly insurgent sprang to his assistance.