The man, moved by the familiar accents of his native tongue, gave way to tears. His plaint was common enough in communities ruled by a truculent savage of the moullah’s type. His daughter, a finely–built girl of fifteen, had been spoken of by some parasite, and she was summoned forthwith to the despot’s seraglio. Now, the negro, who belonged to one of the numerous Hausa tribes, while ready enough to enlist under the prophet’s banner, was far from gratified by the prospect of becoming his holiness’ father–in–law. A doubtful privilege at the best, it was shared by many, and a goodly number had been beheaded to prevent further unpleasantness when the lady failed to recognize the moullah’s attractiveness as a husband. Moreover, the Hausa girl herself rebelled against her lot, and was nearly wild with terror at the thought of it. Warden could hear her sobbing inside the hut, while her father muttered his anger to one whom he knew instinctively he might trust.
Somehow, Warden felt that his chance had come. He dared all in the next instant.
“Were in I your place,” he said, “that dog should never claim my daughter. I would kill him first.”
The Hausa shivered with anxiety. What would be his fate if others were aware that he even listened to those bold words without denouncing the man who uttered them.
“You know him not, Seyyid,” he said, and the fact that he used the word for “master” to a slave showed how deeply he was stirred. “He is invulnerable and far–seeing. He reads men’s thoughts; he can kill with a look. Even you, a Nazarene, could not resist him.”
“That is what he tells the fools who choose to believe him. I was made a prisoner because a stone struck me insensible. If he is so powerful, why did he hide me in a litter until he was far from Rabat? Now attend to me, Beni Kalli. I shall save you and your daughter if you do exactly as I bid you.”
The man raised his eyes. Here was a new tone in the Christian who had endured insult and blows with meekness, except on that solitary occasion when the Blue Priest ordered him to kneel before him.
“Speak, Seyyid. At least I shall not betray you,” he muttered.
“You must get me some Arab clothing which I can put on in your hut when it is dark. Then I shall take your daughter to the moullah’s house. At that hour he will be alone in an inner room, and the fact that I bring the girl will procure me admission——”
“But you will be discovered at once. How should a man be an Arab who speaks no Arabic?”