Sixteen years later Oglou the son of Kizzil, much stouter and a little dirtier than of yore, cautiously rose from his couch without awakening his spouse, slipped out from the hut, and rode swiftly away through the darkness towards Kharput. Oglou the son of Kizzil was much troubled, for his interests lay in different directions. The little boy Artin had grown up to be a fine stalwart lad, with a strong vocation for the ministry, and an equally strong affection for the old cutthroat, who dare not openly acknowledge his son. Three or four times a year the Kurd galloped up to Kharput, whistled beneath his son's window, and the two would ride away together, the lad longing for the wild life of his father's folk, and yet restrained by his knowledge that he would one day be called to minister to them.
On this particular night Oglou the son of Kizzil was much perturbed. "These Armenian pigs will all be slaughtered to-morrow like sheep," he said. "It is the Sultan's will. We begin early in the morning, and the looting is to last for three days. But if the old hodga hears of it, he will go to the Vali, and the Vali will know that he has been betrayed."
Then young Artin thought for a moment. "Is there no way of stopping the massacre?" he asked. "You know people think I am an Armenian."
Oglou the son of Kizzil shrugged his shoulders. "There will be much plunder. We shall walk our horses through blood," he said, as if that settled the matter.
"And what shall I do?" inquired Artin.
"If the hodgas (schoolmasters) keep within their houses they will be safe; but we shall kill all their servants, and not leave an Armenian alive in the place, the dogs."
Artin knew that it would be useless to argue with the old robber, his father. "I suppose I had better get away with Mr. Marsh, or else take refuge with the British Consul at Sivas? He is staying with Mr. Marsh, but leaves to-morrow."
"It is the will of Allah that these dogs should die the death," said the Kurd, with pious resignation for other people's sufferings. "Joy of my heart, get away early in the morning, or you might be hurt when we attack the place. If we didn't obey orders we should have the troops let loose on us; and even my wife is afraid of that."
He embraced Artin fondly, shook his shaggy hair, and galloped swiftly away, leaving the young man in a brown study. Artin went back to the college, roused up every slumbering pupil, and hunted among the Consul's travelling things for one particular article. When Mr. Marsh came down to breakfast, three hours later, there were fifteen thousand Armenians huddled together within the Mission walls.
"What does this all mean?" asked the English Consul, as he entered the breakfast-room. "I can hear firing in the town."