With set face, the boy backed his pony so as to cover the terrified Armenian. But the crowd would not be baulked of its prey, it was determined to set blood flowing. A bullet sang through the air and hit the wall with a sharp thud, and a fat dirty Turk, drawing a wicked-looking knife from his belt, tried to get between the Armenian and his protector. Instantly John raised his hand, the lash of his whip whistled as it cut through the air, and the man backed with a howl of rage and pain. John raised his whip again, his eyes blazing in his tense face. "If any of you want a thrashing, come and get it!" he cried, his young voice sounding shrilly above the low muttering of the crowd. They stared at this young English boy, with his firm set face and defiant head. Perhaps his courage stirred them, or it may have been the fury of this child bare-throated and slim, who looked at them unflinchingly. The crowd backed a little and as it did so John saw in its midst, Mehmet, the brother of their gardener Achmed. "Mehmet!" he cried, "if anything happens to this man I shall give information to the _Zaptiehs_ about you." The threat had its effect, the English never invoked the authorities in vain. Seeing his opportunity, the boy turned his pony sideways. "Keep between me and the wall!" he shouted to the terrified Armenian, as he urged the animal forwards. Out-man[oe]uvred, the mob made no attempt to follow, and the Armenian and his protector went their way down the street. When they were at a safe distance and the clamour had died away, the boy pulled up his pony to give the man time to get breath. "Oh, master!" cried the man, "my poor brother!" John looked down at the Armenian. He was a man of about fifty, thin, with black straggling hair and pinched cheeks. "Was that your brother?" asked John. The man nodded his head, choked with tears. "How did it begin?" "A boy stole a ring from our stall. He fled into the street and my poor brother ran after him and was beating him when the father came up--Usef the butcher." The Armenian shook from head to foot, and John waited while he gathered his breath, then they moved on again. After going for about half a mile, the Armenian stopped and clasped the boy's hand. "Young master, God bless you for this!" he cried, kissing the boy's hand. "I am safe here, my home is near by. I shall never forget you, young master," and kissing this time the boy's knee, he turned and disappeared down a narrow courtway. On the outskirts of Amasia, John realised how near he had been to disaster. His courage was sinking rapidly, no longer sustained by the excitement. Whipping up his pony he cantered up the home drive and rode with a clatter into the courtyard, and as he did so, he saw that his thoughtlessness had betrayed him, for his father, hearing the sound, came out on to the verandah. John stabled the pony, and then entered through the dining room on to the verandah where his father sat waiting.