A GRATEFUL MAJOR Men, still running, were disappearing into the distant hills. The Swede and the American were entirely alone. The toy ships continued to launch their polyphemian missiles. "Are they firing at us?" gasped Curtis. "Yudging from appearances, I should say they were," replied his companion. Four Cretans had turned back and were running toward the ruined blockhouse. One was the color bearer of Lindbohm's company, and he was carrying the Greek flag. Straight up to the house he ran, and, handing the standard to one of his companions, he climbed upon the wall. As he stood there a shell dropped so near that he was for a moment obscured in a cloud of dust. When the air became again clear he was jamming the flagpole into the soft mortar. Then he jumped down and ran away, together with his comrades. Another shell exploded thirty feet from the four Cretans, and only three ran on. "What killed him?" asked Curtis. "A flying piece of rock, probably," replied Lindbohm. "When it is raining six-inch shells a man must yust take his chances." The bombardment did not last much longer. The Greek flag was also brought down by a shot which elicited unbounded admiration from the Swede, a shell striking the corner of the house where it was planted. Curtis realized now for the first time the peculiar sensations of a soldier of fortune. He had been risking his life for that flag, yet he saw it fired upon without the thrill of horror and rage which would have surged through his heart had it been the American emblem. "They are shooting at the flag!" he exclaimed, noticing that the ships in the bay had become silent. "Yust so," observed Lindbohm; "and that is why they commenced in the first place. They mistook the Turkish officer's shirt for the Greek flag. But here he comes now." Hassan Bey was powdered as white as a great moth. He advanced with a sprightly step, the scabbard of his sword jingling among the cobblestones. Greeting Lindbohm respectfully with a military salute, he turned to Curtis and bowed low, his hand upon his heart. He spoke as one who had hastily prepared an address. "Monsieur, in my own behalf and in that of my little band, I thank you for saving our lives. Your heroism and magnanimity do credit to the nation which you represent. I beg of you to accept this sword as a pledge of my undying gratitude." And he grasped with both hands his curved simitar in its richly mounted case and held it impulsively toward the American, who looked amazedly at Lindbohm. "Better take it," said the latter. "Needlessly offend a brave man if you don't." "But what for? Why the deuce should he give me his sword?" "Very graceful act, seeing you yumped in front of the Cretan guns and saved his life." "Did I do that? I don't remember anything about it." "Better take it," repeated Lindbohm. "He is beginning to feel embarrassed."