The Moor placed his lean finger upon the yellow curls in a light caress, but his look was towards the berth where Landon could be seen stirring, aroused by his son's acclamation.
He slipped into a sitting posture in front of the tiny table and leaned upon it, his chin supported by his elbows, a look of expectancy tinged by humor in his eye.
"Well, my friends," he queried amiably, "our news is, what?"
The Moor gave a pessimistic shrug of the shoulder.
"Bad, Sidi," he said tersely. "We continue to drive westwards as before."
Landon shrugged his shoulders.
"We shall not see Cadiz to-morrow nor the day after," he said. "Well, the future is spacious. We have infinite leisure before us in which to beat back."
The captain grunted.
"Leisure we have in abundance, but not food nor yet water. We must put in somewhere before we attempt a feat which will take, at the best, three days and, if Chance so decides, perhaps a fortnight."
Landon's face was clouded with a sudden scowl.