“I am rather pleased at it,” answered Colin. “A while ago we were in despair because the Moor had bought us. That was a mistake. If he had not done so, you, Harry, would have been killed.”
“Bill!” added the young Scotchman, turning to the sailor, “what are you dreaming about?”
“Nothink,” answered Bill, “I’m no goin’ to drame or think any mair.”
“We are agwine straight for Swearah,” observed the Krooman, as he spoke glancing towards the north-west.
“That is true,” exclaimed Harry, looking in the same direction. “Can it be that we are to be taken to Mogador, after all? If so, there is hope for us yet.”
“But Bo Muzem could find no one there who would pay the money for our ransom,” interposed Colin.
“He nebba go thar,” said the Krooman. “He nebba hab de time.”
“I believe the Krooman is right,” said Harry. “We have been told that Mogador is four days’ journey from here; and the merchant was gone but six days.”
The conversation of the slaves was here interrupted by the Moors, who kept constantly urging them to greater speed.
The night came on very dark, but Rais Mourad would not allow them to move at a slower pace.