“Very likely,” said Harry; “but how do you know it is Golah’s track?”
“’Cause Golah hab largess feet in all de world, and no feet but his make dat mark.”
“I tell you again,” said Terence, who overheard the Krooman’s remark, “we shall have to go with Golah to Timbuctoo. We belong to him. These Arabs are only keeping us a few days, but they will be killed yet, and we shall have to follow the black sheik in the opposite direction.”
Harry made no reply to this prophetic speech. Certainly there was a prospect of its proving true.
Four Arabs out of the eleven, of which their party was originally composed, were already dead, while still another was dying!
Sailor Bill pronounced Golah, with his son and brother-in-law, quite a match for the six who were left. The black sheik, he thought, was equal to any four of their present masters in strength, cunning, and determination.
“But the Arabs have us to help them,” remarked Colin. “We should count for something.”
“So we do, as merchandise,” replied Harry; “we have hitherto been helpless as children in protecting ourselves. What can we do? The boasted superiority of our race or country cannot be true here in the desert. We are out of our element.”
“Yes, that’s sartin!” exclaimed Bill; “but we’re not far from it. Shiver my timbers, if I don’t smell salt water! Be jabers! if we go on towards the west we shall see the say afore night.”
During this dialogue the Arabs were holding a consultation as to what they should do.