, son of Mohammed, is a
boy and cannot understand--and cannot understand what--will you tell me,
brave Simba?" he asked.

"You cannot understand, child, that what may be fun to some people will
be sorrow to others; that we may meet with fun of a kind that neither
you nor any of us will much like," said Simba, still rubbing away at the
already excessively clean gun, and looking graver than before.

"Why, what is the matter with you to-night?" asked Selim of Simba.

"The truth is, master, I do not like the course the Arabs have taken. I
think they have been too hasty in adopting the southern road. None
knows it better than friend Moto, and if the great masters had asked of
Moto something about the road, my mind would be more easy concerning you
and the great master Amer."

"What do you know of it, Moto?" asked Selim. "Speak, and tell us all
you know."

"What Simba says is truth," replied Moto. "The Warori are bad, bad,
bad, and the Watuta are worse--very bad--and I think we shall have very
serious times of it."

"How serious?" asked Selim again.

"I mean that we are very likely to have war with them. Ever since
Abdullah bin Nasib or Kisesa had that battle with Mostana, the Warori
have been wicked. They have Arab slaves now. They formerly used to
kill their prisoners or torture them, but now they treat them in the
same way that the Arabs treat the Warori chiefs--they make slaves of
them."

"Make slaves of Arabs!" shouted young Khamis, a sinewy youth of sixteen,
and brave as the bravest of men. "You lie, cur dog; you lie, slave!" he
added furiously.

"Ah, Master Khamis," said Moto, deprecatingly, "if they are slaves, it
was not I who made them slaves; but I speak the truth."

"A Bedaween!--a free Bedaween, who owns no master--a slave! Moto, you
are a liar; it is impossible. A Bedaween cannot live in slavery."

"But there are slaves with the Warori, and some are Arabs. I swear it,"
he added solemnly.

"Then for my part," said young Khamis, "I am glad that my father has
taken this road. The torments of Eblis light on the unbelieving dogs!
An Arab a slave! Then let every Mrori look to himself should he fall
into my power, for, by Mohammed's holy name, I will torture the reptile
to death."

"Hold, young master," said the deep-voiced Simba, halting a moment in
his work, and raising himself to his fullest height, which, as the
firelight danced on his gigantic form, seemed to add vastness to that
whi