After pancaking down to the fringe of the brown grass the Nieuport ran uphill. It was heading for a tree trunk, when I ruddered strongly to avoid a collision, swerved aside, and--_crash_! _crack_! _splinter_!--banged into the face of a great rock. Of what came next all I remember is a jarring shock, an uncontrolled dive forward against which instinct protested in vain, an awful sick feeling that lasted a couple of seconds, and the beginnings of what would have been a colossal headache if unconsciousness had not brought relief. * * * * * Consciousness returned dimly and gradually. First of all I saw the rock on which my head was lolling; but I had no sense of unity, nor could I feel any bodily sensations except an oppressive want of breath. I twisted my neck and looked up at the sky, and somehow realized that the sun must have set. Then I noticed, quite impersonally, that a band of ragged Arabs were climbing toward me. Most of them carried rifles, and all had pistols or knives protruding from their sashes and ammunition belts. The foremost had unsheathed a long blade, which he fingered appraisingly as he advanced at a quick walk. CHAPTER I PAIN, PURGATORY, AND A PLAN As my senses became clearer the feeling of oppression in my chest grew more and more acute, and I had to struggle desperately for breath. Yet I failed to realize that I was directly concerned in the Arabs' intentions and actions, and looked at the motley group from the detached point of view of a film spectator. They were an unkempt group, with ragged robes and dirty headdresses and straggling beards and unfriendly eyes--the sort of nomads who, during the lawless days of war would, and did, cheerfully kill travellers for the sake of a pair of boots, a dress, or a rifle. They had between them a strange variety of arms--guns of every size and shape, belts of close-packed ammunition, revolvers and bone-handled pistols, and curved knives. And the foremost Arab continued to advance, while fingering the drawn blade of his knife. He was only a few yards distant when another and older man stopped him with a shout. The man with the shining blade answered heatedly. A general argument followed, in which most of his companions took part. At that time my knowledge of Arabic was of the slightest, and in any case I was not in a condition to grasp the meaning of their words. Yet instinct and deductions from their pantomime made me certain that they were debating a rather debatable point, namely--whether somebody should be killed and stripped, or merely stripped, or whether it would be more worth while to hand him over alive to the Turks, in return for _baksheesh_.