“Buy, excellency. You will feed and treat them well, and at the end they will be worth as much if not more than you gave for them. Besides, if you hire horses, they will be inferior, and you will be always changing and riding fresh beasts.”
“Yes, of course,” said the old lawyer; “but there is no risk.”
“Your excellency will pardon me, there will be more risks. We shall traverse many dangerous mountain paths, and a man should know his horse and his horse know him. They should be good friends, and take care of each other. A Turkish horse loves the hand that feeds him, the master that rides upon his back.”
“I am sure you are right, Yussuf,” said the professor. “We will go by your advice and buy the horses.”
“Here, hold hard!” cried Mr Burne. “Look here. Do you mean to tell me that I am expected to ride a horse along a dangerous mountain road? I mean a shelf over a precipice.”
“Certainly, your excellency, the roads are very bad.”
“You do not feel nervous about that, do you, Burne?” said the professor.
“Oh, dear me, no, not at all,” cried the old lawyer sarcastically. “Go on. I’ve had a pretty good hardening already, what with knocking on the head, drowning, shipwrecking, starving, and walking off my legs.”
“But, if you really object to our programme, we will try some easier route,” said the professor.
“Oh, by no means, sir, by no means. I have only one thing to say. I see you have made up your mind to kill me, and I only make one proviso, and that is, that you shall take me back to England to bury me decently. I will not—I distinctly say it—I will not stay here.”