"I have heard, oh, Sidi."
"And understood?"
The man hesitated.
"There is a purpose of surrendering the Sidi Jan?" he murmured, and his voice conveyed not so much protest as incredulity.
Landon nodded.
"This month of toil, all our leagues of weariness and pain among the men of the M'Geel are things lost, then," went on the Moor impassively. "An order has come and we must leap to obey it. The Sidi Jan, too? His voice is not to be heard in the matter." He shrugged his shoulders apathetically. "Only a child," he added, and touched the golden curls with a caressing hand. "Only a bale of merchandise, a thing to be bought and sold."
Miller turned and looked at him keenly. The Moor met the glance with a droop of the head which spoke eloquently of submission. But a queer smile began to harden Landon's lips. He rose slowly to his feet.
"A bale of merchandise," he repeated slowly. "And, as I am reminded, we toiled to bring it uninjured across the wilds of the Beni M'Geel. Will that be reckoned in the value of it?" he asked, and wheeled suddenly towards Miller with a savage, cat-like motion. "Will they pay me for my sweat and thirst and pain?"
The gray man was silent for a moment. There was something electric in the atmosphere, something menacing, something—and this was perhaps what his machine-like mind shrank from most—something human and passionate. These were not among the goods which Mr. Miller sought to purchase.
"You will do your own bargaining," he said, in a level, dispassionate tone. "But the child must be delivered. The price? There you are master of your own affairs."