While the men were consulting together Frank’s brain was busy trying to devise some plan of escape. He felt that much depended on his wits.
In a few moments Ali Mustaf turned to the boy once more.
“Put down your weapons,” commanded the old tax-gatherer, with a severe frown. “Put them down at once. You can never escape alive if you threaten, but I may decide to spare you if you surrender quietly.”
Frank laughed scornfully.
“Because I walked into this trap so quietly it is plain that you believe me a much greater fool than I am,” he said. “I do not propose to surrender myself a helpless captive into your hands; but I do propose to hold you a prisoner till I am once more safe in the streets of Tangier.”
“By my beard!” gasped the cadi. “Who ever heard of such impudence! Boy, you must be insane!”
“Think you so? Well, madmen are dangerous, and I advise you to look out for me. If you do not obey my orders there is no telling what I may see fit to do to you.”
“Your orders!” frothed Ali Mustaf. “Dog! I am not your slave!”
“But you are my captive, and I shall shoot you full of holes if you try to skip me. That is plain United States, and I trust you understand it thoroughly.”
Once more the cadi turned to Ben Ahmet, speaking a few low, swift words. Immediately the old sheriff would have left the room, but Frank’s voice rang out sharply: