Now, seated on a soft-hued carpet of silk before the door of his little tent, he eyed Arachi dubiously, and listened in silence while the man spoke of himself.
"Kaffir," he said, when the borrower had finished, "how do I know that you do not lie, or that you are not one of Sandi's spies? I think I should be very clever if I cut your throat."
Arachi explained at length why Abdul Hazim should not cut his throat.
"If you say this Angola man is near by, why should I not take him without payment?" asked the slaver.
"Because," said Arachi, "this foreigner is not the only man in the country, and because I have great influence with Sandi, and am beloved by all manner of people who trust me. I may bring many other men to your lordship."
Arachi returned to the camp, towing a small canoe with which the slaver had provided him.
He woke the Angola stranger from his sleep.
"Brother," he said, "here is a canoe with food. Now I tell you to paddle one day up this creek of Still Waters and there await my coming, for there are evil men about, and I fear for your safety."
The Angolan, simple man that he was, obeyed. Half a day's journey up the creek Abdul's men were waiting.
Arachi set off for his own village that night, and in his canoe was such a store of cloth, of salt, and of brass rods as would delight any man's heart. Arachi came to his village singing a little song about himself.