“Oh, come, now, Ali,” interrupted Mr. Hampton, good-naturedly, “that’s a bit too thick.”
Ali shrugged. “Many things go on in Africa which the whites cannot stop,” he said, simply. “It is true, this I tell you.”
“But white men,” protested Mr. Hampton.
“What think you, then, becomes of the men taken prisoner from the French and Spanish and Italian foreign legions when detachments are trapped in the desert?” asked Ali. “They are not butchered. No, they are too valuable. Some desert sheik or the kaid of some desert city buys them for slaves.”
“All right,” said Mr. Hampton. “Go on.”
He was quite convinced, yet he knew enough of the mystery of this vast land to many parts of which white men never even had penetrated to this day, to realize what Ali described was not impossible.
“‘Then,’ said this slave trader,” continued Ali, “‘these strangers select the very strongest and youngest of the men, be they white, black or brown. Unless a man is of exceptional strength he is not chosen. Sometimes they select only two or three, sometimes a dozen.
“‘Only once have I been at Gao when these strangers appeared. Much had I heard about them. My curiosity was excited. That time I had among my slaves a very strong man, a man of the Kongs. He was a full six feet tall, beautifully proportioned, with a fine intelligent head and a brown body like mahogany. He was only twenty-one.
“‘The leader of the strangers came to me and pointed out this man. He spoke in Arabic. He wanted to know the Kong’s antecedents, and I said he had been taken in battle only after he had slain five Bakus, being finally entrapped in a net thrown over his head and arms.
“‘He took the Kong without even asking my price, which was high. As he turned to go, I said on the impulse, “Whence come you?” He stared at me haughtily. For a moment I thought either he would not answer or else would order his guards to cut me down. Then he laughed, a wild, reckless laugh. My blood chilled. “I come from the country of the past and of the future,” said he. Then he was gone.