“You can never make an American give up till he is dead. As long as there is a spark of life remaining in his body he will fight.”
“But the odds, miserable boy—think of that.”
“Three men and a treacherous black wench against one Yankee boy—why, that is nothing at all. Don’t think you can frighten me in that way, Ali, old boy.”
“Ha! Think you that is all? Fool! There is but one way that you can leave this room, and it is by this passage. Look!”
The cadi flung open the door at his back, and the light showed Frank that the passage was literally filled with dark-faced ruffians, all of whom were armed to the teeth. They would have swarmed into the room, but Ali Mustaf bade them remain where they were, and closed the door again.
The crafty Moor turned to the boy, expecting to see him overcome with fear. He was much astonished to note that Frank stood up with a dauntless look on his handsome face, showing not the least sign of trepidation.
“Fool!” snarled the cadi once more. “Do you understand what you have seen? Or are your wits too dull for that?”
“I understand that I have seen a lot of cutthroats who are awaiting the call to do your dirty work,” was the calm reply.
“By the beard of the Prophet! you are a strange youth! You must know they are longing to shed your blood. They hate and despise all Christians, and to them it is a great delight to shed the blood of a Christian dog. If I gave the signal, they would rush in here and cut you down.”
“Very good. But you will not give the signal.”