We waited, and, with nothing else to do, began to grow fearfully nervous. When one is frightened one gives an enemy credit for all the virtues and valour and skill imaginable, and thinks that he must be cool and collected. At that time I could not conceive how we could escape being killed, and was only certain of one thing—that I’d account for as many Arabs as possible before that happened. I wondered what our fellows were doing at the bottom, and whether old Popple Opstein was there. I knew that they dared not attempt to climb the path at night. Jaffa began to coach us as to what we should say when the Arabs came. He made us repeat after him: "Khalli bunduk ’ak", meaning "Throw down your rifle"; "Ist agel", meaning "Hurry up"; and "Ma kattle kum", meaning "Won’t shoot you". We repeated these after him till we knew them. Shall I ever forget them! Then he said it was time for him to go, and asked me for a box of matches. Luckily I had one—nearly full it was. Why he wanted matches I did not know. We heard the stones rattling under his feet as he slipped away down the path. "Can you see me?" he called out. I shouted back: "Yes." He went farther down the path, asking at every two or three paces whether we could see him. When our eyes had become accustomed to following his white clothes we could distinguish them at quite a distance. At last he had gone too far. "We can’t see you!" I called. He retraced his footsteps until he was again visible. Then he seemed to rise in the air. "I stand on rock by side of path!" he shouted; "path is under my feet—to my right—very narrow—Bedouin must pass one by one—I speak to them—make them throw away rifles—if no give up rifle I strike match—you see match—fire below match—kill Bedouin." "Come back!" I yelled. "It’s too dangerous!" "No! I stay!" and nothing would induce him to give up his plucky scheme. Plucky! Why, it was the bravest job any man could have taken on himself. Quite close beneath us men began shouting. I hoped these were the camel men warning the armed Arabs to throw away their rifles if they wanted to save their lives. I knew that in a few minutes the first of them would reach Jaffa, and that then the crisis would come. Webster was fidgeting with the bolt of his breech-block and breathing hard. Already Jaffa was beginning to call out: "Khalli bunduk ’ak! Khalli bunduk ’ak! Ma kattle kum! Ist agel! ist agel!" Our nerves were very much on edge. Then footsteps began to approach, softly, cautiously. Jaffa altered his tone of voice. One could almost imagine that he was imploring someone, for his own safety, to throw away his rifle, just as a father might have done. We heard the noise of a rifle falling on to the rocks, then another and another, and, before Webster and I realized it, dim, cloaked figures came up to the gap and stopped there, as if frightened and uncertain what to do.