But now, why Harry was free and as happy as any of them—at present, at all events.
As he trudged along in the moonlight he could not help making a little joke to himself.
“Go back!” he said, half aloud. “No, Scotchmen never go back.”
Well, then, Mahmoud, after retreating for some distance towards the coast, would no doubt resume his journey. Of this Harry felt sure enough, because Nanungamanoo told his new master, before they had gone very far that night, that the Arab priest was on his way to a far distant country, quite unknown to any other trader, there to purchase a gang of slaves from a king, who would sell his people for fire-water.
“The scoundrels!” said Harry.
“Yes, sahib.”
“Both I mean; both king and priest. I’d tie them neck to neck and drown them as one drowns kittens.”
“Yes, sahib.”
“And no one else knows of this territory?”
“No white man, sahib.”