Page:Alien Souls by Achmed Abdullah (1922).djvu/112

"But Russia is in the North, Effendina, beyond the snow range."

"I know. But—have you ever hunted?"

"Often, Effendina."

"Good. You stalk deer against the wind, don't you, so that it may not scent you and bolt?"

"Yes, Effendina."

"It is the same with warfare, with hunting men. We are traveling South—for a while. We do not want the Russian to smell the Turkish scent."

"But—" Mehmet el-Touati had pointed at a corpse that lay curled up in the middle of the road, like a dog asleep in the sun. "These people are not—"

"No. They are not Russians. They are the Armenian jackals who accompany the Russian lion in search of carrion. They are the Russian's allies. They, too, are the enemies of the Faith. Kill them. Kill the jackals first. Presently, with the help of Allah, the All-Merciful, we shall nail the lion's pelt to the door of our house."

"Alhamdulillah!"

He, and the others, had accepted the explanation. They had marched—South. They had fallen on the Armenian villages with torch and rope and scimitar. They had killed.

It was an order.

Many of his regiment died. Others took their places, Turkish peasants like himself, middle aged, bearded, solemn—but from districts farther South and West.

They, too, had heard that Islam was in danger, that the Russian was at the door.

Came more fighting, through many, weary months. Then a defeat, a rout, a debacle; the ground littered