The Turk revolved as on a pivot, squat, alert, weapon deftly advanced. Suddenly, to Curtis' surprise, his enemy turned and ran. The American bounded after, and then, for the first time during the fray, he remembered that he had a sore foot, and that that foot was bare. Panayota came to him. She carried a rifle that she had picked up in the square. "Bravo! Panayota!" said Curtis. "Two to one frightened him away. But why didn't you shoot?" "I wanted to get close and make sure," replied the girl, "and then, when he ran, you were in the way." Slipping a fresh shell into his Gras, Curtis picked his way through the stones toward a distant spot where he heard continued firing. Panayota attempted to follow, but he stopped her with a wave of the hand. "I'll be right back," he shouted, "as soon as I get another shot. You're safe here." He left her standing in the deserted square, among the dead Turks. The moon shone full upon her there, leaning toward him, holding her gun by the extreme muzzle, the butt trailing behind on the ground. Her hair blew into her eyes, and she tossed a great brush of it over her shoulder. A wounded horse rose to its haunches near her and threw its fore feet dangerously about. Then it pitched over on its side with a groan. Curtis had gone some distance up the narrow street, when he heard again the clatter of horses' hoofs. He stepped behind a tree that grew close against a wall and waited. A Greek ran by and darted under a house. He was followed by the Bashi Bazouk, who had run from Panayota's rifle. He was trotting by the side of a mounted comrade, holding to the stirrup-strap. One, two, three, four, five, horsemen followed. The firing continued in the outskirts of the town. "My God! Panayota!" It flashed over Curtis in a moment. The Greeks had scattered too much and the Turks, getting together in small parties, were returning to the attack. While he was still in the crooked lane, making frantic haste toward Panayota, he heard a shot in the square. His heart stood still for one moment with terror, which instantly gave way to fury. A woman's scream, mingled with brutal laughter, told him that the girl had again been made a prisoner. When he at last reached the square, the six Bashi Bazouks had gone, taking her with them. CHAPTER XXIII A FRIEND WORTH HAVING Curtis sat down upon the edge of the fountain. There was a faint smell of powder in the air. He heard a shot now and again in the distance. A bugle sounded. Fortunately no more of the Bashi Bazouks passed through the square. "Gone!" said Curtis; "gone!"