Archag was none the worse for his enforced bath, but Aram had a bronchial cold which kept him in bed for a week. He was coddled and cared for by the entire household; Levon brought him sweets, Archag read to him, and Gulenia, who had constituted herself head nurse, poured down his throat concoctions which tasted abominably. Aram dared not resist, but he took his revenge by ridiculing her narrow ideas, for like many aged persons, she unfortunately found something to criticise in all modern ways.

As soon as Aram was able to be up, the two friends resumed their long rides about the country, and one morning they set out to thank Toros Ammi for his hospitality, and to take him a present of coffee and sugar, with a box of lokums (Turkish sweetmeats) for his children. After paying their visit, they rode out a little way on the Bitlis road, to give Aram the pleasure of the fine view from a certain hilltop. They had dismounted, and were sitting for a moment under a mulberry tree, when all at once they were startled by the sound of hurried footsteps, and looking around, they saw a man clothed in rags running toward them.

“Save me!” he cried, as he came up panting. “In the Name of God, save me! The zaptiehs are after me; they will be here in twenty minutes at latest.”

The man was still young; he could not have been more than twenty-five or six; his face was pale, his cheeks hollow, as if from recent illness, and partly covered by his black whiskers; his clothes were hanging in tatters, and his feet were bandaged with blood-stained rags. Yet he did not give the impression of a mendicant, but of a leader, accustomed to command; his thin lips, his brilliant eyes told of an energy which death alone could conquer.

After a moment’s reflection, Archag said: “I know a capital hiding-place, and we can get there in two hours, for we have fast horses. Get up and ride behind me.”

No sooner said than done. The horses, spurred on by their riders, flew over the ground, and Archag led the way over cross-roads, to avoid any awkward encounters. The cave where he and Aram had found shelter on the night of the storm seemed to him a safe asylum, for the entrance was concealed by high rocks, and the place was known only to a few fishermen.

Before entering the village of Bos-Ujuk, Archag let his companion dismount, bidding him wait while he and Aram went to leave their horses with an acquaintance. They soon returned with their arms full of provisions.

Toros Ammi had served fifteen years in the household of Boghos Effendi; he was a discreet person, and loyally devoted to his former master, so Archag took him aside and told him all about his meeting with the fugitive. Toros approved the lad’s decision, and thought the cave a good hiding-place; he gave the two boys a basketful of supplies on the spot, and promised to take some food to the refugee every evening, an offer which was gratefully accepted by Archag.

When the man saw his companions coming back, he went to meet them.

“Oh, how kind you are!” said he. “You are bringing me something to eat. This morning I managed to find a few berries, but I have eaten nothing else since last evening.”

He fell upon the bread and olives which Aram offered him, and ate greedily. It was growing dark, and they made their way over the rocks with extreme caution. At last, after a thousand difficulties, they reached the cavern, a spot which awakened many recollections in the boys’ minds. Aram and Archag took out the treasures from their basket: dolmas,1 eggs, cucumbers and figs, and the fugitive ate ravenously, his eyes eager with appetite.

When his hunger was appeased, the boys begged him to tell them his story. They were sitting cross-legged at the entrance to the cave, with the full moon shining on them, and jackals yelping in the distance.

“I am a native of Moosh,” said the man, “that unfortunate city, continually exposed to the attacks of wandering Kurds. My name is Rupen, and I was for three years the inseparable companion of Andranick; perhaps you may have heard of him?”

Heard of Andranick and Rupen, the heroes of the ballads they so often sang? What a question! Their guest rose high in their estimation, and they looked at him with deep respect and admiration.

“We are twice and thrice happy to know you,” said Archag, “and we shall always remember this day as long as we live. We have wept with joy when we have heard the songs of your exploits and Andranick’s, for,” he added, with simple pride, “we are partisans of the good cause.”

“What, you boys are fÉdai? Then I am saved!”

“We shall do everything we can, so that you may be! But do tell us how you came to join Andranick’s band.”

“Willingly,” replied Rupen. “My father was a merchant well-esteemed by his fellow-citizens; his business was prosperous, and we had a very comfortable home. There was no happier hearth than ours, but alas, misfortune lay waiting for us! I had an only sister, two years younger than I, and celebrated for her beauty. My father in his foresight, never allowed her to go out unveiled; but one evening, as she was taking the air on our roof, she was obliged to uncover her face because of the suffocating heat. She walked about slowly, without a suspicion that there was a man at the corner of the street, watching her carefully. It was Ibrahim Khan, one of the most powerful chiefs of Kurdistan.

“A few days later, he came, accompanied by his attendants, to ask the hand of my sister, and was refused. The Kurd was furious, and began to insult my father, who, driven to desperation, struck Ibrahim in the face. Then there was a fight between our men and Ibrahim’s. The Kurds were repulsed; but they returned in a body, and burned and pillaged our house. My father was killed, my sister carried off by the bandits; my mother was overwhelmed by these events, and survived her husband only a few months. Thus I found myself at the age of twenty alone in the world, and deprived of all; but one thing remained to me: vengeance. I fled to the mountains, and begged aid and asylum from Andranick. Together we made a desperate struggle. When the hero left us for Bulgaria, I was chosen captain of the band. During all these five years I have had but a single wish: to kill Ibrahim Khan. At last, one month ago, I succeeded in gratifying my desire for vengeance. We drew the Kurd into ambush, but a bullet was too good for that miserable wretch; we hung him like a dog, and his black soul fled to hell. Three hundred Kurds pursued us, to avenge the death of their chief. They annihilated my band, and I am the sole survivor of our forty companions. A price was set on my head, and for weeks, I have been wandering in the mountains, making my way toward Van, and hoping to get from there to Tabriz. The zaptiehs have been on my scent since morning, when I met you my my strength was spent; an old wound in my leg had re-opened, giving me great pain. But for your generous help, I should now be in the hands of my enemies.”

The two boys listened to this tale with eager sympathy. It was the same old story of murder and rapine, painful indeed to the heart of an Armenian. They assured Rupen of the concern they felt in his misfortunes, and promised to come back often to see him.

The next day Archag told his father about the fugitive, and Boghos Effendi approved his son’s conduct. Without being a fÉdai, he had already been won to the new ideas, and was impatiently awaiting an era of liberty and progress.

To avoid suspicion, the boys went to see their friend only twice a week. The zaptiehs were searching for him at Van, and as long as they were there, caution was necessary. Rupen had a violent attack of fever, and his wound, aggravated by the pursuit and the heat, caused him great suffering. For several days he was delirious, and turned and tossed on his couch without recognizing any one. Toros Ammi never left his side (being a fisherman he could easily account for his absence); night and day he made and applied compresses of plants gathered in the mountains, and at last the fever yielded, and Rupen was once more able to recognize his friends. After this, his convalescence was very rapid, and at the end of three weeks his health was quite restored.

Aram and Archag took keen delight in their visits to the fugitive; they never wearied of hearing details about Moosh and Andranick and his band. Rupen, for his part, had become attached to his rescuers, and his heart was heavy at the thought of the coming separation. But the zaptiehs had been gone from Van two weeks; moreover he would not be really safe until he had crossed the frontier, for some chance was liable at any time to lead to the discovery of his hiding-place. Our boys realized this, and fixed the date of departure themselves. They procured a complete disguise for Rupen, that of an old merchant with white hair and a long beard, in which it was impossible to recognize him. Boghos Effendi filled the purse of the poor exile, that he might not lack the necessaries of life.

The three friends parted with tears in their eyes, not knowing if they would ever meet again. If all went well, Rupen would be able to reach Tabriz in three weeks, and he promised to write at once.

After his departure, the days seemed long to Aram and Archag, and they were glad when the end of the vacation drew near. No letter came from Rupen, so they had to leave for Aintab without news of their friend.