Kostakes took a pair of field glasses from the hands of an orderly, and, calmly adjusting the focus, looked down the hill, while the little army, escorting Panayota and her father, marched rapidly past, and were swallowed up in the ravine. "You are right," he said, "it is indeed the café." "But you are not sending anybody back to put it out!" "Monsieur could hardly ask me to do that much for sentiment. Some of my rascals must have eluded my vigilance. They shall be punished." Curtis whirled his horse around, urging it with his fists and his sound foot, and started back toward the town. But the way was steep and rough, and the animal had not gone ten paces before two soldiers sprang to its head and seized the bridle on each side. Curtis kicked and struck at them, and, suddenly overcome with a paroxysm of rage, swore at them, but all to no avail. They turned the horse around and led it back to Kostakes. "Monsieur's sentiment must be very strong," said the Captain, smiling sweetly. "There's a wounded man in that building. A wounded man, I tell you, and he'll burn up alive!" Kostakes shrugged his shoulders. "It cannot be helped," he replied, "in war, what is a man more or less? But we must not delay. _Allons_, Monsieur." And he spurred his horse to a brisk walk, while a stout Turk, throwing the bridle rein of Curtis' animal over his shoulder, trotted along after. The American looked back. "I'll slip off and run to the café," he thought, "foot or no foot--damn the foot, anyway!" But another soldier with a loaded musket was following close behind. In his despair, the thought of his passport occurred to him. He pulled it from his pocket with feverish haste. It was badly damaged by water, but it held together and the big seal was still there. Urging his horse forward, he flourished the document in Kostakes' face and shouted: "I am an American citizen. Do you see that? Voilà! If you do not let me go you suffer for it." But all to no avail. He was hustled along by order of the smiling and affable Kostakes, and the last thing his eyes rested upon as he plunged into the ravine was a cloud of smoke pouring from the front door of the demarch's café. CHAPTER XVII IN THE TRACK OF WAR