"The Sultan would give threescore of his best blacks for those three
tripe-coloured brats."
"I know it, Fatty dear; he's told me so himself."
"Then, why not get them, and bring 'em along?"
"Ah, that's easy to say. How can I? You know they belong to the old
Arab by right, at least he claims them, though not very fairly, for if
we hadn't come up in good time they would have taken him instead of his
taking them; no matter for that, they're his now by the laws of the
Saara."
"Bother the laws of the Saara!" exclaimed Fatima, with a disdainful toss
of her head, and a scornful turning up of her two protruding teeth; "all
stuff and nonsense! There's no law in the Saara; and if there was, you
know we're never coming into it again. The price you'd get for those
three hobbledehoys would keep us comfortable for the balance of our
lives; and we need never track the Devil's desert again. Take 'em by
force from old yellow-face, if you can't get 'em otherwise; but you may
`chouse' him out of them at a game of helga, you know you can beat him
at that. If he won't play again, try your hand at bargaining against
your blacks, offer him two to one."
Thus counselled by the partner of his bosom, the black sheik, instead of
bidding the _saleik aloum_ to his Arab _confrere_, raised his voice
aloud, and demanded from the latter a parley upon business of
importance.