ant," rejoined the old sheik, "and wish to do business.
Have you any slaves, or other property, you can sell me?"

"Yes! You see that Christian dog," replied the wrecker, pointing to
Sailor Bill's brother; "I will sell him."

"You have promised to take me to Swearah," interrupted Jim. "Do not
sell me, master; I think I shall get well some time, and will then work
for you as hard as I can."

Sidi Hamet cast upon his infidel slave a look of of contempt at this
allusion to his illness; but Jim's remark, and the angry glance, were
both unheeded by the Arab sheik.

The slave's pretended wishes not to be sold were disregarded; and for
the consideration of an old shirt and a small camel-hair tent, he became
the property of Rias Abdallah Yezzed.

The old sheik and his followers then betook themselves to their camels;
and the kafila was hurried up the dry bed of the river, leaving the
wreckers to continue their toilsome and unprofitable task.

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

SAILOR BILL'S BROTHER.

After leaving the coast, the travellers kept at a quick pace, and Sailor
Bill and his brother had but little opportunity of holding converse
together. When the _douar_ had been pitched for the night, the old salt
and the "young gentlemen", his companions, gathered around the man whose
experience in the miseries of Saaran slavery so far exceeded their own.

"Now, Jim," began the old man-o'-war's-man, "you must spin us the yarn
of all your cruising since you've been here. We've seen somethin' o'
the elephant since we've been cast ashore, and that's not long. I don't
wonder at you sayin' you 'ave been aboard this craft forty-three years."

"Yes, that is the correct time according to my reckoning," interrupted
Jim; "but, Bill, you don't look much older than when I saw you last.
How long ago was it?"

"About eleven years."

"Eleven years! I tell you that I've been here over forty."

"'Ow can that be?" asked Bill. "Dang it, man, you'll not be forty years
old till the fourteenth o' next month. You 'ave lost yer senses, an' in
troth, it ain't no wonder!"

"That is true, for there is nothing in the Saara to help a man keep his
reckoning. There are no seasons; and every day is as like another as
two seconds in the same minute. But surely I must have been here for
more than eleven years?"

"No," answered Bill, "ye 'ave no been here only a wee bit langer than
tin; but afther all ye must 'ave suffered in that time it is quare