Believe me, I needed it.
They were as strong and lithe as wildcats, those Syrians, and fully awake to the advantage that the narrow door gave them.

One man struggled with Narayan Singh and kept him busy with his bulk so wedged across the opening that Grim and Hadad were as good as demobilized out in the corridor; and the other two tackled me like a pair of butchers hacking at a maddened bull.

I landed with my fists, but each time at the cost of a flesh-wound; and though I got one knife-hand by the wrist and hung on, wrenching and screwing to throw the fellow off his feet, the other man's right was free and the eighteen-inch Erzeram dagger that he held danced this and that way for an opening underneath my guard.
Jeremy's left fist landed under the peak of his jaw exactly at the moment when he stiffened to launch his thrust.

He fell as if pole-axed and the blade missed my stomach by six inches, but the combined force of thrust and blow was great enough to drive the weapon into the wooden partition, where it stayed until I pulled it out to keep as a souvenir.
There wasn't much trouble after that.

Grim and Hadad came in and we tore strips from the Syrians' clothing to tie their hands and feet with.
Hadad went to the rear of the train, climbing along the footboard of the third-class cars to the caboose to throw some sort of bluff to the conductor, who came forward--called me "Colonel" and Hadad "Excellency" -- looked our prisoners over--recognized no friends--and said that everything was "quite all right." He said he knew exactly what to do; but we left Narayan Singh on watch, lest that knowledge should prove too original which, however, it turned out not to be.