Earlier that night, our group of three Americans and myself, a 40-year-old Canadian, had shared a campfire with the other trekkers in this distant corner of Indonesia -- five Germans, a Belgian and another American. We drank a few beers, talked and retired early. We were a tired group. That morning, we had climbed to the top of magnificent Mount Rinjani, rising at 2:30 a.m. and reaching the 3,730-meter summit at sunrise. That was followed by a bone-crunching 2,000-meter descent to Segara Anak Lake. Exhausted and happy, we soon fell asleep.

A couple hours later I heard shouting -- loud, threatening voices. I thought our porters were arguing, but it turned out to be six knife-wielding Sasaks (Lombok's main ethnic group), warning our porters not to interfere with the impending robbery. The intimidation worked -- all nine porters sat stone still for the next hour and a half.

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The next few minutes were terrifying. I heard shouts from the tent of my hiking companions Chris Curran, 35, and his father, Bill, 61. "What the fuck is going on?" I heard Chris say, and then an alarming "Hey, hey, HEY!"

I heard a ripping sound, and a savage voice shouting, "Money! Money! Money!"

Robbery. Shit. I lunged for the tent door, filled with a sudden urge to be on my feet. "Brent, something's going on," said my traveling companion, 36-year-old photographer David Hartung, sitting up. His voice was quiet but alarmed.

At that moment a long machete slashed through our tent, inches from David's face. Again and again it plunged through the thin fabric. I dived for the exit and scrambled to my feet. "David, get out of the tent!" I shouted. The robbers surrounded me, shining flashlights in my eyes and pointing their knives at my chest.

I yelled for our guide. "Jagat! Jagat! Get out here. Jagat!" As Wira Jagat came blinking out of his tent, I lost my temper. Filled with anger at the thieves, I stepped forward. The biggest robber -- a mean, aggressive man of about 25 years -- kicked me in the stomach. I retreated, but remained furious.

Jagat began to plead with me. "Please, please. I beg you. I beg you." Bill, Chris and David joined the chorus, urging me to calm down. Finally some logic crept in: It's only money and hiking gear. Better to be calm and avoid injury, especially in a spot like this, where any wound would remain untreated for many hours. I looked at the star-spangled sky, the bright lake and the surrounding deep forest. "Jagat, how long until daylight?" I asked. "About four more hours," he said.

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