Rais Mourad now came upon the ground. The Moor was not long in comprehending all the circumstances connected with the affair. He instantly ordered his followers to gather around the white slaves, and escort them outside the walls of the town.
Bo Muzem attempted to prevent the order from being executed. He was opposed by everybody, not only by by the Moor, but his own partners, as also the sheik of the town, who declared that there should be no blood spilt among those partaking of his hospitality.
The slaves were now mounted on the horses that had been provided for them, and conducted through the gateway, leaving Bo Muzem half frantic with impotent rage.
There was but one man to sympathise with him in his disappointment—the grazier to whom Terence and Jim had been sold, and who had made arrangements for the purchase of the other three.
Riding up to the Moor, this man declared that the slaves were his property, that he had purchased them the day before; and had given for each four horses, and ten dollars in money.
He loudly protested against being “choused” out of his bargain, and declared that he would bring two hundred men, if necessary, for the purpose of reclaiming his own.
Rais Mourad, paying no attention to this threat, gave orders to his followers to move on; and, although it was now almost night, he started off in the direction of Agadeer.
Before he had proceeded far, he perceived the Arab grazier riding at full speed in the opposite direction, and towards his own home.
“I wish,” said Colin, “that we had made some inquiries of that fellow about Jim and Terence; but it’s too late now.”
“Yes, too late,” echoed Harry; “and I wish that he had obtained possession in the place of our present master; we should then have all come together again. But what are we to think of this last turn of Fortune’s wheel?”