“Amen, and amen,” responded Moto, while tears descended his cheeks. “Simba has spoken nothing but the truth; he never utters lies. Master Selim knows what Simba and Moto say they mean. Evil cannot approach him while we are near, nor can danger lurk unseen. Rocks shall not wound his feet, neither shall thorns prick his tender skin. If the journey is long Simba is as strong as a camel, and Moto is fleet of foot as the zebra, and enduring as the wild ass of Unyamwezi. Moto has spoken.”
“Eh, Khamis, and thou, lea, hear and understand,” said Selim, smiling. “Where is the Arab who does not love the Nedjid mare, which partakes of his food, as the wife of his bosom? But in Simba and Moto I have two faithful friends. I have a camel, a zebra, and an ass, and you tell me to beat them, Khamis. Fie, boy!”
“Boy, indeed! I am older than thou, and taller and stronger. Thou art a child, or thou wouldst not believe the fulsome words of these lying knaves. I have seen the world more than thou hast, and I assure thee on my head I never saw the black man yet who could keep his hands from stealing and his evil tongue from lying. I—Khamis, the son of Khamis, the son of Abdullah—know whereof I am speaking.”
“What a dear little child he is, to be sure!” laughed Isa. “Is it Selim, the son of Amer, whose eyes are like the singwe of Urundi, and whose limbs are like ivory? Eh, Khamis, my brother? Is Selim, the son of Amer, turned a girl, that his ears court such music? And if thou art of the complexion of ivory, what are we, I wonder—I, Isa, son of Mohammed, and Khamis, son of Khamis?”
While Selim was blushing crimson from shame at the mocking words of Isa, little Abdullah spoke up, and said, much to everybody’s amusement except Isa’s:
“Why, Isa, dost thou mean to say that Selim is not good-looking? I have often heard my father, Sheikh Mohammed, say he wished I was as good-looking as Selim the son of Amer, though he thought I was every bit as good. And, lea—now—don’t be angry. I—I don’t think thee good-looking at all. Thou art almost as black as Simba, and—”
“Liar!” thundered Isa, directing a blow at Abdullah, which was happily warded by Khamis, who, though ever-ready to lift the whip against stupid slaves, was averse to see an Arab beaten. Isa, however, darting behind Khamis aimed another blow at Abdullah; but Abdullah, probably seeing that he was very angry, and would strike a serious blow, took to his heels running round the fire, chased by the infuriate Isa. As Isa passed near one side of the fire, Niani, the little negro boy called Monkey, who had hitherto been very quiet, seeing a chance to assist Abdullah, who had praised Selim, thrust his foot forward; and Isa, too much occupied in watching the manoeuvres of Abdullah, struck his shins against the obstacle, and came heavily to the ground.
A shout of laughter greeted his fall; but the amusement of Selim was soon changed to real concern as he saw that Isa had quickly recovered himself, and had sprung upon Niani, and catching hold of him by the throat and legs, was carrying him to the great log-fire, to warm him, as he said.
Niani struggled and screamed, but in vain. Isa’s ears were closed against a little slave’s cries, and he would probably have made good his threat had not Selim, Khamis, and Mussoud, aided by Simba and Moto, interfered, and cried out, “Enough, enough, son of Mohammed. Be not wrathful with a little slave.”
As Arabs dislike to see scuffling, or at least always interfere in cases of this kind, it is not to be wondered at Khamis taking the part of Niani, or Simba and Moto exerting their manhood to prevent cruelty; but Niani was not released scot-free; he received several energetic slaps and kicks, which accelerated his departure to a safer distance.