“One hundred dollars for me,” answered the Krooman, “and one hundred and fifty for each of the others.”
“True; and for that we should have to take you there, and be at the expense of maintaining you on the road?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Rais Mourad, this wealthy Moor, has paid us one hundred and fifty dollars for each of you; and should we not be fools to take you all the way to Mogador for less money? Besides, we might not get paid anything, whereas we have received it in cash from Rais Mourad. You are no longer our slaves, but his.”
When the Krooman had made this communication to the others, they saw that all further parley with the Arab merchants was useless; and that their destiny was now in the keeping of Rais Mourad.
At Harry’s request, the Krooman endeavoured to ascertain in what direction the Moor was going to take them; but the only information they received was that Rais Mourad knew his own business, and was not in the habit of conferring with his slaves as to what he should do with them.
Some of the followers of the Moor now came forward; and the slaves were ordered back to their penn, where they found some food awaiting them. They were commanded to eat it immediately, as they were soon to set forth upon a long journey.
Not one of them, after their cruel disappointment, had any appetite; and Sailor Bill doggedly declared that he would never taste food again.
“Don’t despair, Bill,” said Harry; “there is yet hope for us.”
“Where, where is it?” exclaimed Colin; “I cannot perceive it.”