Next morning the kedkhoda told the story to Abbas Khan. Karim, as mirza, wrote down what was said. "The Kurds," said the kedkhoda, "had told some of us that they were going to rob us. At first we did not believe it. But three days before the great attack forty of them suddenly came down upon our shepherds, who were pasturing our two thousand sheep on the hills. The ten shepherds came running for help to the village. We hurried out, thirty of us, but it was too late. The next day some men told us that the Kurds were planning to attack us within two days. The white beards talked it over, and we decided to carry everything that we could into the walled fort on the hill. We were busy doing this all the next day, until the ground inside was covered with boxes, bundles, plows, yokes, piles of wheat, jars, and everything else we had. We drove in the few cattle and sheep we had left, with our geese and chickens and donkeys. That evening our watchmen saw many Kurds on a hill near by. The next morning there seemed to be hundreds of them. They got on that hilltop yonder, which, as you see, is higher than the fort, and fired at us. We all crowded up beneath the wall nearest to them, where they could not hit us with their bullets. Then the Kurds came up to the wall, yelling like devils, and threw stones over its top. They came tumbling so thick that we could hardly stay next to the wall at all--but to move away meant to be shot. We had guns, but what use were they? If we had killed any of the Kurds they would have killed us later. We had no water, and what help could come to us? So one of our old men crept to the gate to try and talk with them; they shot him dead. Another climbed a ladder against the wall near the place where some men from a near by village were throwing stones at us--he knew them well--to beg them to speak for us to the Kurds; he fell over with a bullet in his head. So we just opened the gate and let them in. They rushed through it like a lot of wolves, with yells of joy, and began at once to snatch at everything they could. They took everything, boxes of clothing, the wedding outfits of our brides, the head-dresses of our women, with the strings of money on them, the cows and sheep and wheat. If they could not unlock a box they smashed it open. They made us take off our shoes and coats and give them up. At last, when there was not anything else left, they formed in two long lines outside the gate, and made us all pass one by one between. If anyone saw something one of us had that he wanted he snatched it. And so we got away, and ran to our houses, weeping, and some of us bleeding from wounds. There we found everything stripped bare, as you see. Now we have nothing left but these houses, and they are all empty." All the men of the village in the room now burst out crying, and the women outside sobbed and wailed and pulled at their hair.