“We might have divided perhaps twenty purses [£100], besides the Franghi clothes, which were indeed of little value to us,” replied one fellow, in a sulky tone.
“How much have you belonging to me?” said Hassan to Abou-Hamedi, who had charge of that portion of the spoil which had fallen to his share as leader.
“I have forty purses,” replied Abou-Hamedi, after examining the contents of a bag which he carried in his belt.
“Here then, my comrades, are thirty purses,” said Hassan, again addressing the freebooters; “take them and divide them among you: they will compensate for your disappointment. Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, you have both been true and faithful to me; here are five purses for each of you. Now I resign my command, and leave you to follow your own counsel and your own path. We part as friends, I hope?”
“Mashallah! your hand is always open,” shouted the freebooters, ashamed of their late conduct. “Stay with us, and be still our leader; we will never disobey you again.”
“It cannot be,” said Hassan; “my destiny compels me to go to Cairo, where certain death would await you all, and where it is not unlikely to await me also: but what is written must come to pass—there is neither power nor strength but in Allah. Abd-hoo, bring me my horse. Farewell, comrades; may happiness attend your path.”
So saying, he vaulted on the back of Shèitan and rode slowly away in a southerly direction.
It was evident to all the band, from his abstracted air and the grave melancholy of his voice, that something weighed heavily on his spirits, and they noticed also that although he spoke of going to Cairo, the path he had taken went in the direction precisely opposite.
For an hour he rode slowly forward, revolving in his mind the last words addressed to him by Mr Thorpe, when, hearing behind him the sound of horses’ feet, he turned and found he was followed by Abou-Hamedi and Abd-hoo, the latter driving a mule laden with saddle-bags containing Hassan’s clothes and spare arms.
“What is this?” said Hassan; “did I not bid you farewell?”