"Right behind you," came that young woman's voice in amused tones. "You have been so busy that you have not seen me."
Kingozi turned. The chair had been placed in a bare spot close to the trunk of the great tree. He grinned cheerfully.
"I was pretty hungry," he confessed, "and I don't believe I saw a single thing but that curry!"
"Naturally. It is not to be wondered at. Are you all rested?"
"I'm quite fit, thanks. And you?"
She was still in her marching costume; but her hair had been smoothed, her face washed. The colour had come back to her lips, the light to her expression. Only a faint dark encircling of the eyes, and a certain graceful languor of attitude recalled the collapse of yesterday.
"Oh, I am all right; but perishing for a cigarette. Have you one?"
"Sorry, but I don't use them. Are not all your loads up yet?"
"None of them."
"Well, they should be in shortly. Cazi Moto has given you breakfast, of course."
"Yes. But nobody has yet gone for my loads."
"What!" exclaimed Kingozi sharply. "Why did you not start men for them when you first awakened?"
She smiled at him ruefully.
"I tried. But they said they were very tired from yesterday. They would not go."
"Simba!" called Kingozi.
"Suh!"
"Bring the headman of Bibi-ya-chui. Is he that mop-headed blighter?" he asked her.
"Who? Oh, the Nubian, Chaké. No; he is just a faithful creature near myself. I have no headman."
"Who takes your orders, then?"
"Theaskaris."
"Which one?"
"Any of them." She made a mouth. "Don't look at me in that fashion. Is that so very dreadful?"
"It's impossible. You can never run a safari in that way. Simba, bring all theaskaris."
Simba departed on his errand. Kingozi turned to her gravely.
"Dear lady," said he gravely, "I am going to offend you again. But this won't do. You are a wonderful woman; but you do not know this game well enough. I acknowledge you will handle this show ordinarily in tiptop style; but in a new country, in contact with new peoples--it's a specialist's job, that's all."
"I'm beginning to think so," she replied with unexpected humility.
"Already you've lost control of your organization: you nearly died from lack of water--By the way, why didn't you push ahead with your Nubian, and find the water?"
"I had to get my men on."
He looked on her with more approval.
"Well, you're safe out of it. And now, I beg of you, don't do it any more."
"Is my little scolding all done?" she asked after a pause.
"Forgive me. I did not mean it as a scolding."
She sat upright and rested her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. Her long sea-green eyes softened.
"Listen: I deserve that what you say. I thought I knew, because always I have travelled in a good country. But never the hell of a dry country. I want you to know that you are quite right, and I want to tell you that I know you saved me and my men: and I would not know what to do now if you were not here to help me. There!" she made a pretty outward-flinging gesture. "Is that enough?"
Kingozi, like most men whose natural efficiency has been hardened by wide experience, while impervious to either open or wily antagonism, melted at the first hint of surrender. A wave of kindly feeling overwhelmed the last suspicions--absurd suspicions--his analysis had made. He was prevented from replying by the approach of Simba at the head of eight of theaskaris. They slouched along at his heels, sullen and careless, but when they felt the impact of Kingozi's cold glare, they straightened to attention. Kingozi ran his eye over them.
"Where are the other four?" he demanded.
"Three are in theshenzis'village. One says he is very tired."
"Take Mali-ya-bwana and Cazi Moto. Take the leg chains. Bring that one man before me with the chains on him. Have him bring also his gun; and his cartridges."
Ignoring the waiting eight, Kingozi resumed his conversation with the Leopard Woman.
"They are out of hand," said he. "We must impress them."
"Kiboko?" she inquired.
"Perhaps--but you have rather overdone that. We shall see."
"I heard you talk with that old man a few moments ago," she said. "And I heard also much talk of our men about it. He is a very powerful chief--next to thesultani. Are not you afraid that your treatment of him will make trouble? You were not polite."
"What else have you heard?"
"Thissultanihas apparently several hundred villages. They keep goats, fat-tailed sheep, and some few cattle. They raisem'wembe, beans, peanuts, and bananas. They have a war caste of young men."
Kingozi listened to her attentively.
"Good girl!" said he. "You use your intelligence. These are all good points to know."
"But this old man----"
"No; I have not insulted him. I know the native mind. I have merely convinced him that I am every bit as important a person as hissultani."
"What do you do next? Call on thesultani."
"By no means. Wait until he comes. If he does not come by, say to-morrow, send for him."
Simba appeared leading a downcastaskariin irons. Kingozi waved his hand toward those waiting in the sun; and the new captive made the ninth.
"Now, Simba, go to the village of theseshenzis. Tell the other threeaskaristo come; and at once. Do not return without them."
Simba, whose fierce soul all this delighted beyond expression, started off joyfully, trailed by a posse of his own choosing.
"What are you going to do?" asked the Leopard Woman curiously.
"Get them in line a bit," replied Kingozi carelessly. "I feel rather lazy and done up to-day; don't you?"
"That is so natural. And I am keeping your chair----"
"I've been many trips without one. This tree is good to lean against----"
They chatted about trivial matters. A certain ease had crept into their relations: a guard had been lowered. To a small extent they ventured to question each other, to indulge in those tentative explorations of personality so fascinating in the early stages of acquaintanceship. To her inquiries Kingozi repeated that he was an ivory hunter and trader; he came into this country because new country alone offered profits in ivory these days; he had been in Africa for fifteen years. At this last she looked him over closely.
"You came out very young," she surmised.
"When my father took me out of the medical school to put me into the ministry. I had a knack for doctoring. I ran away."
"Why did you come to Africa?"
"Didn't particularly. Started for Iceland on a whaling ship. Sailed the seven seas after the brutes. Landed on the Gold Coast--and got left behind."
She looked at him hard, and he laughed.
"'Left' with my kit and about sixty pounds I had hung on to since I left home--my own money, mind you!Anda harpoon gun! Lord!" he laughed again, "think of it--a harpoon gun! You loaded it with about a peck of black powder. Normally, of course, it shot a harpoon, but you could very near cram a nigger baby down it! And kick! If you were the least bit off balance it knocked you flat. It was the most extraordinary cannon ever seen in Africa, and it inspired more respect, acquired me morekudosthan even my beard."
"Sothat'swhy you wear it!" she murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing; go on."
"Just the sight of that awe-inspiring piece of ordnance took me the length of the Congo without the least difficulty."
"Tell me about the Congo."
Apparently, at this direct and comprehensive question, there was nothing to tell about the Congo. But adroitly she drew him on. He told of the great river and its people, and the white men who administered it. The subject of cannibals seemed especially to fascinate her. He had seen living human beings issued as a sort of ration on the hoof to native cannibal troops.
Simba returned with the other threeaskaris.
Kingozi arose from the ground and stretched himself.
"I'm sorry," said he, "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you for the chair now."
She arose, wondering a little. He placed the chair before the waiting line ofaskaris, and planted himself squarely in it as in a judgment seat. He ran his eye over the men deliberately.
"You!" said he suddenly, pointing his forefinger at the man in irons. "You have disobeyed my orders. You are no longer anaskari. You are a common porter, and from now on will carry a load. It is not my custom to usekibokoonaskaris; but a common porter can eatkiboko, and Mali-ya-bwana, my headman of safari, will give you twenty-five lashes.Bassi!"
Mali-ya-bwana, well pleased thus early to exercise the authority of his new office, led the man away.
Kingozi dropped his chin in his hand, a movement that pushed out his beard in a terrifying manner. One after another of the eleven men felt the weight of his stare. At last he spoke.
"I have heard tales of you," said he, "but I who speak know nothing about you. You areaskaris, soldiers with guns, and next to gun bearers are the greatest men in the safari. Some have told me that you are notaskaris, that you are common porters--and not good ones--who carry guns. I do not know. That we shall see. This is what must be done now, and done quickly: the loads of yourmemsahibmust be brought here, and camp made properly, according to the custom. Perhaps your men are no longer tired: perhaps you will get theshenzis. That is not my affair. You understand?"
The answer came in an eager chorus. He ran his eye over them again.
"You," he indicated, "stand forward. Of what tribe are you?"
"Monumwezi,bwana."
"Your name?"
The man uttered a mouthful of gutturals.
"Again."
He repeated.
"That is not a good name for me. From now on you are--Jack."
"Yes,bwana."
"Do you know the customs ofaskaris?"
"Yes,bwana."
"H'm," Kingozi commented in English, "nobody would guess it. Then understand this: You are headman ofaskaris. You take the orders: you report to me--or thememsahib," he added, almost as an afterthought. "To-morrow morningfall in, and I will look at your guns.Bassi!"
They filed away. Kingozi arose and returned the chair.
"Is that all you will do to them?" she demanded. "I tell you they have insulted me; they have refused to move; they should be punished."
"That's all. They understand now what will happen. You will see: they will not refuse again."
She appeared to struggle against a flare of her old rebellious spirit.
"I will leave it to you," she managed at last.
The squatting savages had not moved a muscle, but their shining black eyes had not missed a single detail.
Six hours later the Leopard Woman's camp had arrived, had been pitched, and everything was running again as usual. The newaskariheadman, Jack, had reported pridefully to Kingozi. The latter had nodded a careless acknowledgment; and had referred the man to his mistress. She had disappeared for a time, but now emerged again, bathed, freshened, dainty in her silken tea gown, the braids of hair down her back, the band of woven gold encircling her brow, the single strange jewel hanging in the middle of her forehead. For a time she sat alone under her own tree; but, as Kingozi showed no symptoms of coming to her, and as she was bored and growing impatient, she trailed over to him, the Nubian following with her chair. Kingozi was absorbed in establishing points on his map. He looked up at her and nodded pleasantly, then moved his protractor a few inches.
"Just a moment," he murmured absorbedly.
She lit a cigarette and yawned. The immediate prospect was dull. Savages continued to drift in, to squat and stare, then to move on to the porters' camps. There a lively bartering was going on. From some unsuspected store each porter had drawn forth a few beads, some snuff, a length of wire, or similar treasure; and with them was making the best bargain he could for the delicacies of the country. The process was noisy. Fouraskaris, with their guns, stood on guard. The shadows were lengthening in the hills, and the heat waves had ceased to shimmer like veils.
"That's done," said Kingozi at last.
"Thank the Lord!" she ejaculated. "This bores me. Why do we not do something? I should like some milk, some eggs--many things. Let us summon this king."
But Kingozi shook his head.
"That's all very well where the white man's influence reaches. But not here. I doubt if there are three men in this people who have ever even seen a white man. Of course they have all heard of us, and know a good deal about us. We must stand on our dignity here. Let thesultanicome to us, all in his own time. Without his goodwill we cannot move a step farther, we cannot get a pound ofpotio."
"How long will it take? I want to get on. This does not interest me. I have seen many natives."
Kingozi smiled.
"Two days of visit. Then perhaps a week to getpotioand guides."
"Impossible! I could not endure it!"
"I am afraid you will have to. I know the untamed savage. He is inclined to be friendly, always. If you hurry the process, you must fight. That's the trouble with a big mob like yours. It is difficult to feed so many peacefully. Even in a rich country they bring inpotioslowly--a cupful at a time. With the best intentions in the world you may have to use coercion to keep from starving. And coercion means trouble. Look at Stanley--he left hostilities everywhere, that have lasted up to now. The people were well enough disposed when he came among them with his six or eight hundred men. But he had to have food and he had to have it quickly. He could not wait for slow, diplomatic methods. He had totakeit. Even when you pay for a thing, that doesn't work. The news travelled ahead of him, and the result was he had to fight. And everybody else has had to fight ever since."
"That is interesting. I did not know that."
"A small party can negotiate. That's why I say you have too many men."
"But the time wasted!" she cried aghast.
"Time is nothing in Africa." He went on to tell her of the two travellers in Rhodesia who came upon a river so wide that they could but just see from one bank to the other; and so swift that rafts were of little avail. So one man went back for a folding boat while the other camped by the stream. Four months later the first man returned with the boat. The "river" had dried up completely!
"They didn't mind," said Kingozi, "they thought it a huge joke."
An hour before sundown signs of activity manifested themselves from the direction of the invisible village. A thin, high, wailing chant in female voices came fitfully to their ears. A compact little group of men rounded the bend and approached. Their gait was slow and stately.
"Well," remarked Kingozi, feeling for his pipe, "we are going to be honoured by that visit from his majesty."
The Leopard Woman leaned forward and surveyed the approaching men with some interest. They were four in number. Three were naked, their bodies oiled until they glistened with a high polish. One of them carried a battered old canvas steamer chair; one a fan of ostrich plumes; and one a long gourd heavily decorated with cowrie shells. The fourth was an impressive individual in middle life, hawkfaced, tall and spare, carrying himself with great dignity. He wore a number of anklets and armlets of polished wire, a broad beaded collar, heavy earrings, and a sumptuous robe of softened goatskins embroidered with beads and cowrie shells. As he strode his anklets clashed softly. His girt was free, and he walked with authority. Altogether an impressive figure.
"Thesultaniis a fine-looking man," observed Bibi-ya-chui. "I suppose the others are slaves."
Kingozi threw a careless glance in the direction of the approaching group.
"Not thesultani--some understrapper. Chief Hereditary Guardian of the Royal Chair, or something of that sort, I dare say."
The tall man approached, smiling graciously. Kingozi vouchsafed him no attention. Visibly impressed, the newcomer rather fussily superintended the unfolding and placing of the chair. The slaves with the plumed fan and the gourd stationed themselves at either side. The other two men fell back.
Now the shrill chanting became more clearly audible. Shortly appeared a procession. Women bearing burdens walked two by two. Armed men with spears and shields flanked them. As they approached, it could be seen that they were very gorgeous indeed; the women hung with strings of cowries, bound with glittering brass and iron, bedecked with strings of beads. To one familiar with savage peoples there could be no doubt that these were close to the purple. Each bead, each shell, each bangle of wire had been passed through many, many hands before it reached this remote fastness of barbarity; and in each hand, you may be sure, profits had remained. But the men were more impressive still. Stark naked of every stitch of cloth or of tanned skins, oiled with an unguent carrying a dull red stain, their heads shaved bare save for a small crown patch from which single feathers floated, they symbolized well the warrior stripped for the fray. A beaded broad belt supported a short sword and therunga, or war club; an oval shield of buffalo hide, brilliantly painted, hung on the left arm; a polished long-bladed spear was carried in the right hand. And surrounding the face, as a frame, was a queer headdress of black ostrich plumes. Every man of them wore about his ankles hollow bangles of considerable size; and these he clashed loudly one against the other as he walked.
It made a great uproar this--the clang of the iron, the wild wailing of the women's voices.
Kingozi moved his chair four or five paces to the front.
"I'm sorry," he told her, "but I must ask you to stay where you are. This is an important occasion."
He surveyed the oncoming procession with interest.
"Swagger old beggar," he observed. "His guard are well turned out. You know those markings on the shields are a true heraldry--the patterns mean families, and all that sort of thing."
The chanting grew louder as the procession neared. The warriors stared fiercely straight ahead. Before Kingozi they parted to right and left, forming an aisle leading to his chair. Down this the women came, one by one, still singing, and deposited their burdens at the white man's feet. There were baskets ofm'wembe, earthen bowls of eggs, fowls, gourds of milk, bundles of faggots and firewood, woven bags ofn'jugunuts, vegetables, and two small sheep. Kingozi stared indifferently into the distance; but as each gift was added to the others he reached forward to touch it as a sign of acceptance. Their burdens deposited, they took their places in front of the ranks of the warriors.
"Am I supposed to speak?" asked the Leopard Woman.
"Surely."
"Shouldn't we order out ouraskariswith their guns to make the parade?"
"No. We could not hope to equal this show, possibly. Our lay is to do the supercilious indifferent." He turned to his attentive satellite. "Cazi Moto," he ordered, "tell our people, quietly, to go back to their camps. They must not stand and stare at theseshenzis. And tell M'pishi to make largebalaurisof coffee, and put in plenty of sugar."
Cazi Moto grinned understandingly, and glided away. Shortly the safari men could be seen sauntering unconcernedly back to their little fires.
Suddenly the warriors cried out in a loud voice, and raised their right arms and spears rigidly above their heads. A tall, heavily built man appeared around the bend. He was followed by two young women, who flanked him by a pace or so to the rear. They were so laden with savage riches as to be almost concealed beneath the strings of cowrie shells and bands of beads. In contrast the man wore only a long black cotton blanket draped to leave one shoulder and arm bare. Not an earring, not a bangle, not even a finger ring or a bead strap relieved the sombre simplicity of the black robe and the dark skin.
"But this man is an artist!" murmured Bibi-ya-chui. "He understands effect! This is stage managed!"
Thesultaniapproached without haste. He stopped squarely before Kingozi's chair. The latter did not rise. The two men stared into each other's eyes for a full minute, without embarrassment, without contest, without defiance. Then the black man spoke.
"Jambo, bwana," he rumbled in a deep voice.
"Jambo, sultani" replied Kingozi calmly.
They shook hands.
With regal deliberation the visitor arranged his robes and sat down in the battered old canvas chair. A silence that lasted nearly five minutes ensued.
"I thank you,sultani, for the help your men have given. I thank you for the houses. I thank you for these gifts."
Thesultaniwaved his hand magnificently.
"It is not the custom of white men to give gifts until their departure," continued Kingozi, "but this knife is yours to make friendship."
He handed over a knife, of Swedish manufacture, the blade of which disappeared into the handle in a most curious fashion. Thesultani'seyes lit up with an almost childish delight, but his countenance showed no emotion. He passed the knife on to the dignitary who stood behind his chair.
"This," said Kingozi, taking one of the steamingbalaurisfrom Cazi Moto, "is the white man'stembo."
Thesultanitasted doubtfully. He was pleased. He gave back thebalauriat last with a final smack of the lips.
"Good!" said he.
Another full five minutes of silence ensued. Then thesultaniarose. He cast a glance about him, his eye, avid with curiosity, held rigidly in restraint. It rested on the Leopard Woman.
"I see you have one of your women with you," he remarked.
He turned, without further ceremony, and stalked off, followed at a few paces by the two richly ornamented girls. The warriors again raised their spears aloft, holding them thus until their lord had rounded the cliff. Then, the women in precedence, they marched away. Kingozi puffed his pipe indifferently.
The Leopard Woman was visibly impatient, visibly roused.
"Are you letting him go?" she demanded. "Do not you inquire the country? Do not you ask forpotio, for guides?"
"Not to-day," replied Kingozi. He turned deliberately to face her, his eyes serious. "Please realize once for all that we live here only by force ofprestige. My only chance of getting on, our only chance of safety rests on my ability to impress this man with the idea that I am a bigger lord than he. And, remember, I have lived in savage Africa for fifteen years, and I know what I am doing. This is very serious. You must not interfere; and you must not suggest."
The Leopard Woman's eyes glittered dangerously, but she controlled herself.
"You talk like a sultan yourself," she protested at length. "You should not use that tone to me."
Kingozi brushed the point aside with a large gesture.
"I will play the game of courtesy with you, yes," said he, "but only when it does not interfere with serious things. In this matter there must be no indefiniteness, no chance for misunderstanding. Politeness, between the sexes, means both. I will repeat: in this you must leave me free hand no interference, no suggestion."
"And if I disobey your commands?" she challenged, with an emphasis on the last word.
He surveyed her sombrely.
"I should take measures," he replied finally.
"You are not my master: you are not the master of my men!"
Kingozi permitted himself a slight smile.
"If you believe that last statement, just try to give an order to your men counter to an order of mine. You would see. And of course in case of a real crisis I should have to make myself master of you, if you seemed likely to be troublesome."
"I would kill you! I warn you; I go always armed!"
From the folds of her silken robe she produced a small automatic pistol which she displayed. Kingozi glanced at it indifferently.
"In that case you would have to kill yourself, too; and then it would not matter to either of us."
"I find you insufferable!" she cried, getting to her feet.
She moved away in the direction of her camp. The faithful Nubian folded her chair and followed. At the doorway of her tent she looked back. Kingozi, his black pipe in his mouth, was bending absorbedly over his map.
The Leopard Woman, emerging from her tent shortly after sunup the next morning, saw across the opening her ownaskarisbeing drilled by Kingozi, Simba, and Cazi Moto. Evidently the instruction was in rifle fire. Two were getting individual treatment: Simba and Cazi Moto were putting them through a careful course in aiming and pulling the trigger on empty guns. Kingozi sat on a chop box in the shade, gripping his eternal pipe, and issuing curt orders and criticisms to the baker's dozen, before him. When he saw the Leopard Woman he arose and strolled in her direction.
"That's the worst lot of so-calledaskarisI ever saw," he remarked. "Where did you pick them up?"
His manner was entirely unconscious of any discussions or dissentions. He looked into her eyes and smiled genially.
"I took them from the recruiting man, as they came," she replied. As always the deeps of her eyes were enigmatical; but the surfaces, at least, of her mood answered his.
"They know how to load a gun, and that is about all. I don't believe one of them ever fired a weapon before this trip. They haven't the most rudimentary ideas of aiming. Don't even know what sights are for. My boys will soon whip them into some sort of shape. I came over to see how much ammunition you have for their muskets. They really ought to fire a few rounds--after a week of aiming and snapping. Then they'll be of some use. Not much, though."
"I really don't know," she answered his question. "Chaké will look and see."
"Send him over to report when he finds out," requested Kingozi, preparing to return.
"What move does your wisdom contemplate to-day?" she called after him.
"Oh, return his majesty's visit this afternoon. Like to go?"
"Certainly."
"Well, I'll let you know when. And if you go, you must be content to stand two or three yards behind me, and to say nothing."
She flushed, but answered steadily enough:
"I'll remember."
It was nearing sundown when Kingozi emerged from his tent and gave the signal to move. He had for the first time strapped on a heavy revolver; his glasses hung from his neck; his sleeve was turned back to show his wrist watch; and, again for the first time, he had assumed a military-looking tunic. He carried his double rifle.
"Got on everything I own," he grinned.
Simba and Cazi Moto waited near. From the mysterious sources every native African seems to possess they had produced new hats and various trinkets. Their khakis had been fresh washed; so they looked neat and trim.
The Leopard Woman wore still one of her silken negligées, and the jewel on her forehead; but her hair had been piled high on her head. Kingozi surveyed her with some particularity. She noted the fact. Her satisfaction would have diminished could she have read his mind. He was thinking that her appearance was sufficiently barbaric to impress a barbaric king.
They rounded the point of cliffs, and the village lay before them. It rambled up the side of the mountain, hundreds of beehive houses perched and clinging, with paths from one to the other. The approach was through a narrow straight lane of thorn and aloes, so thick and so spiky that no living thing bigger than a mouse could have forced its way through the walls. The end of this vista was a heavy palisade of timbers through which a door led into a circular enclosure ten feet in diameter, on the other side of which another door opened into the village. Above each of these doors massive timbers were suspended ready to fall at the cut of a sword. Within the little enclosure, or double gate, squatted a man before a great drum.
"They're pretty well fixed here," observed Kingozi critically. "Nobody can get at them except down that lane. The mountains are impassable because of the thorn. They must use arrows."
"Why?" asked the Leopard Woman.
"The form of their defence. They shoot between the logs of the palisade down the narrow lane. If they fought only with spears, the lane would be shorter, and it would be defended on the flank."
"Why don't they defend it on the flank also, even with arrows?" asked the Leopard Woman shrewdly.
"'It is not the custom,'" wearily quoted Kingozi in the vernacular. "Don't ask mewhya savage does things. I only know he does."
Their conversation was drowned by the sound of the drum.
The guardian did not beat it, but rubbed the head rapidly with the stick, modifying the pressure scientifically until the vibrations had well started. It roared hollowly, like some great bull.
The visitors passed through the defensive anteroom and entered the village enclosure.
On the flat below the hills, heretofore invisible, stood a half-dozen large houses. At the end, where the cañon began to narrow, a fence gleamed dazzlingly white. From this distance the four-foot posts, planted in proximity like a stockade, looked to have been whitewashed.
People were appearing everywhere. The crags and points of the hills were filling with bold black figures silhouetted against the sky. Men, women, children, dogs sprang up, from the soil apparently. As though by magic the flat open space became animated. Plumed heads appeared above the white fence in the distance, where, undoubtedly, their owners had been loafing in the shade. Another drum began to roar somewhere, and with it the echoes began to arouse themselves in the hills.
Paying no attention to any of this interesting confusion Kingozi sauntered straight ahead. At his command the Leopard Woman had dropped a pace to the rear.
"The royal palace is behind the white fence," he volunteered over his shoulder.
They approached the sacred precincts. But while yet fifty yards distant, Kingozi stopped with an exclamation. He turned to the Leopard Woman, and for the first time she saw on his face and in his eyes a genuine and unconcealed excitement.
"My Lord!" he cried to her, "saw ever any man the likes of that!"
The white posts of which the fence was made were elephants' tusks!
"Kingdom coming, what a sight!" murmured Kingozi. "Why, there are hundreds and hundreds of them--and the smallest worth not less than fifty pounds!"
Her eyes answered him whole-heartedly, for her imagination was afire.
"What magnificence!" she replied. "The thought is great--a palace of ivory! This is kingly!"
But the light had died in Kingozi's eyes. "Won't do!" he muttered to her. "Compose your face. Come."
Without another glance at the magnificent tusks he marched on through the open gate.
Other drums, many drums, were roaring all about. The cliff of the cañon was filled with sound that buffeted back and forth until it seemed that it must rise above the hills and overflow the world. A chattering and hurrying of people could be heard as an undertone.
The small enclosure was occupied by a dozen of the plumed warriors who had now snatched up emblazoned shield and polished spear; and stood rigidly at attention. Women of all ages crouched and squatted against the fence and the sides of a large wattle and thatch building.
Kingozi walked deliberately about, looking with detached interest at the various people and objects the corral contained. He had very much the air of a man sauntering idly about a museum, with all the time in the world on his hands, and nowhere much to go. Simba and Cazi Moto remained near the gate. The Leopard Woman, not knowing what else to do, trailed after him.
This continued for some time. At last her impatience overcame her.
"I suppose I may talk," said she resentfully. "How much longer must this go on? Why do not you make your call and have it over?"
Kingozi laughed.
"You do not know this game. Inside old Stick-in-the mud is waiting in all his grandeur. He expects me to go in to him. I am going to wait until he comes out to me.Prestigeagain."
Apparently without a care in the world, he continued his stroll. Small naked children ventured from hiding-places and stared. To some of these Kingozi spoke pleasantly with the immediate effect of causing them to scuttle back to cover. He examined minutely the tusks comprising the stockade. They had been arranged somewhat according to size, with the curve outward. Kingozi spent some time estimating them.
"Fortune here for some one," he observed.
At the end of an hour thesultanigave up the contest and appeared, smiling, unconcerned. The men greeted each other, exchanged a few words. Women emerged from the house carryingtemboin gourd bottles, and smaller half-gourds from which to drink it. Their eyes were large with curiosity as to this man and woman of a new species. Kingozi touched his lips to thetembo. They exchanged a few words, and shook hands again. Then Kingozi turned away, and, followed by the Leopard Woman and his two men, walked out through the ivory gateway, down through the open flat, under the fortified portal, and so down the lane of spiky walls. The drums roared louder and louder. Warriors in spear, shield, and plumed headdress stood rigid as they passed. People by the hundreds gazed at them openly, peered at them from behind doors, or looked down on them from the crags above. They rounded the corner of the cliff. Before them lay their own quiet peaceful camp. Only the voice of the drums bellowed as though behind them in the cleft of the hills some great and savage beast lay hid.
Their eyes were large with curiosity as to this man and woman of a new species.... Kingozi touched his lips to the tembo
"That seemed to be all right," suggested the Leopard Woman, ranging alongside again.
"They didn't spear us, if that's what you mean. We can tell more about it to-morrow."
"What will happen to-morrow?"
"Yesterday and to-day finished the 'side' and ceremony. If to-morrow old Stick-in-the-mud drifts around quite on his own, like any othershenzi, and if the women come into camp freely, why then we're all right."
"And otherwise?"
"Well, if thesultanistays away, and if you don't see any women at all, and if the men are painted and carry their shields--they will always carry their spears--that won't be so favourable." "In which case we fight?"
"No: I'll alter my diplomacy. There's a vast difference between mere unfriendliness and hostility. I think I can handle the former all right. I wish I knew a little more of their language. Swahili hardly fills the bill. I'll see what I can do with it in the next few days."
"You cannot learn a language in a few days!" she objected incredulously.
"Of course not. But I seem to know the general root idea of this patter. It isn't unlike the N'gruimi--same root likely--a bastard combination of Bantu-Masai stock."
She looked at him.
"You know," she told him slowly, "I am beginning to believe yousavant. You make not much of it, but your knowledge of natives is extraordinary. You better than any other man know these people--their minds--how to influence them."
"I have a little knowledge of how to go at them, that's true. That's about the only claim I have to beingsavant, as you call it. My book knowledge and fact knowledge is equalled by many and exceeded by a great many more. But mere knowledge of facts doesn't get far in practice," he laughed. "Lord, these scientists! Helpless as children!" He sobered again. "There's one man has the science and the psychology both. He's a wonderful person. He knows the native objectively as I never will; and subjectively as well if not better. It is a rare combination. He's 'way over west of us somewhere now--in the Congo headwaters--a Bavarian, name Winkleman."
Had Kingozi been looking at her he would have seen the Leopard Woman's frame stiffen at the mention of this name. For a moment she said nothing.
"I know the name--he is great scientist," she managed to say.
"He is more than a scientist; he is a great humanist. No man has more insight, more sympathetic insight into the native mind. A man of vast influence."
They had reached Kingozi's camp under the great tree. He began to unbuckle his equipment.
"I'll just lay all this gorgeousness aside," said he apologetically.
But the Leopard Woman did not proceed to her own camp.
"I am interested," said she. "This Winkleman--he has vast influence? More than yourself?"
"That is hard to say," laughed Kingozi. "I should suppose so."
She caught at a hint of reluctant pride in his voice.
"Let us suppose," said she. "Let us suppose that you wanted one thing of natives, and Winkleman wanted another thing. Which would succeed?"
"Neither. We'd both be speared," replied Kingozi promptly. "Positive and negative poles, and all that sort of thing."
She puzzled over this a moment, trying to cast her question in a new form.
"But suppose this: suppose Winkleman had obtained his wish. Could you overcome his influence and what-you-call substitute your own?"
"No more than he could substitute his were the cases reversed. I've confidence enough in myself and knowledge enough of Winkleman to guarantee that."
"So it would depend on who got there first?" she persisted; "that is your opinion?"
"Why, yes. But what does it matter?"
"It amuses me to get knowledge. I admire your handle of these people. You must be patient and explain. It is all new to me, although I thought I had much experience."
She arose.
"I am tired now. I go to thesiesta."
Kingozi stared after her retreating figure. The direct form of her questions had stirred again suspicions that had become vague.
"What's she driving at?" he asked the uncomprehending Simba in English. He considered the question for some moments. "Don't even know her name or nationality," he confessed to himself after a while. "She's a queer one. I suppose I'll have to give her a man or so to help her back across the Thirst." He pondered again, "I might take heraskaris. Country will feed them now. I'll have a business talk with her."
As the tone of voice sounded final to Simba he ventured his usual reply.
"Yes, suh!" said Simba.
Thesultaniduly appeared the next morning; women brought in firewood and products of the country to trade; all was well. The entire day, and the succeeding days for over a week, Kingozi sat under his big tree, smoking his black pipe. Thesultanisat beside him. For long periods at a time nothing at all was said. Then for equally long periods a lively conversation went on, through an interpreter mostly, though occasionally thesultanilaunched into his bastard Swahili or Kingozi ventured a few words in the new tongue. Once in a while some intimate would saunter into view, and would be summoned by his king. Then Kingozi patiently did the following things:
(a) He performed disappearing tricks with a rupee or other small object; causing it to vanish, and then plucking it from unexpected places.
(b) With a pair of scissors--which were magic aplenty in themselves--he cut a folded paper in such a manner that when unfolded a row of paper dolls was disclosed. This was a very successful trick. The pleased warriors dandled them up and down delightedly in ann'goma.
(c) He opened and shut an opera hat. The ordinary "plug hat" was known to these people, but not an opera hat.
(d) He allowed them to look through his prism glasses.
(e) On rare occasions he lit a match.
This vaudeville entertainment was always a huge success. The newcomers squatted around the two chairs, and the conversation continued.
Bibi-ya-chui occasionally stood near and listened. The subjects were trivial in themselves, and repeated endlessly.
Ten minutes of this bored her to the point of extinction. She could not understand how Kingozi managed to survive ten hours day after day. Only once was he absent from his post, and then for only a few hours. He went out accompanied by Simba and a dozenshenzis, and shot a wildebeeste. The tail of this--an object much prized as a fly whisk--he presented to his majesty. All the rest of the time he talked and listened.
"It is such childish nonsense!" the Leopard Woman expostulated. "How can you do it?"
"Goes with the job. It's a thing you must learn to do if you would get on in this business."
And once more she seemed to catch a glimpse of the infinity of savage Africa, which has been the same for uncounted ages, impersonal, without history, without the values of time!
But had she known it, Kingozi was getting what he required. Information came to him a word now, a word then; promises came to him in single phrases lost in empty gossip. He collected what he wanted grain by grain from bushels of chaff. The whole sum of his new knowledge could have been expressed in a paragraph, took him a week to get, but was just what he wanted. If he had asked categorical questions, he would have received lies. If he had attempted to hurry matters, he would have got nothing at all.
About sundown thesultaniwould depart, followed shortly by the last straggler of his people. The succeeding hours were clear ofshenzis, for either the custom of the country or the presence of strangers seemed to demand ann'gomaevery evening. In the night stillness sounds carried readily. The drums, no longer rubbed but beaten in rhythm; the shrill wailing chants of women; the stamp and shuffle of feet; the cadenced clapping of hands rose and fell according to the fervour of the dance. The throb of these sounds was as a background to the evening--fierce, passionate, barbaric.
After the departure of thesultaniKingozi took a bath and changed his clothes. The necessity for this was more mental than physical. Then he relaxed luxuriously. It was then that he resumed his relations with the Leopard Woman, and that they discussed matters of more or less importance to both.
The first evening they talked of the wonder of the ivory stockade. Kingozi had not yet had an opportunity to find out whence the tusks had come, whether the elephants had been killed in this vicinity, or whether the ivory had been traded from the Congo.
"It is very valuable," he said. "I must find out whether old Stick-in-the-mud knows what they are worth, or whether he can be traded out of them on any reasonable basis."
"You will not be going farther," she suggested one evening, apropos of nothing.
"Farther? Why not?" he asked rather blankly.
"You told me you were an ivory hunter," she pointed out.
"Ah--yes. But I have hardly the goods to trade--come back later," he stumbled, for once caught off his guard. "I'm really looking for new hunting grounds."
She did not pursue the subject; but the enigmatic smile lurked for a moment in the depths of her eyes.
Every night after supper Kingozi caused his medicine chest to be brought out and opened, and for a half-hour he doctored the sick. On this subject he manifested an approach to enthusiasm.
"I know I can't doctor them all," he answered her objection, "and that it's foolish to pick out one here and there; but it interests me. I told you I was a medical student by training." He fingered over the square bottles, each in its socket. "This is not the usual safari drug list," he said. "I like to take these queer cases and see what I can do with them. I may learn something; at any rate, it interests me. McCloud at Nairobi fitted me out; and told me what it would be valuable to observe."
She appeared interested, and shortly he became enough convinced of this to show and explain each drug separately. The quinine he carried in the hydrochlorate instead of the sulphate, and he waxed eloquent telling her why. Crystals of iodine as opposed to permanganate of potash for antiseptic he discussed. From that he branched into antisepsis as opposed to asepsis as a practical method in the field.
"Theory has nothing to do with it," said he. "It's a matter of which willwork!"
It was all technical; but it interested her for the simple reason that Kingozi was really enthusiastic. True enthusiasm, without pose or self-consciousness, invariably arouses interest.
"Now here's something you'll never see in another safari kit," said he, holding up one of the square bottles filled with small white crystals, "and that wouldn't be found in this one except for an accident. It's pilocarpin."
"What is pilocarpin?" she asked, making a difficulty of the word.
"It is really a sort of eye dope," he explained. "You know atropin--the stuff an oculist uses in your eyes when he wants to examine them--leaves your vision blurred for a day or so."
"Yes, I know that."
"The effect of atropin is to expand the pupil. Pilocarpin is just the opposite--it contracts the pupil."
"What need could you possibly have of that?"
"There's the joke: I haven't. But when I was outfitting I could not get near enough phenacetin. I suppose you know that we use phenacetin to induce sweating as first treatment of fever."
"I am not entirely ignorant. I can treat fevers, of course."
"Well, I took all they could spare. Then McCloud suggested pilocarpin. Though it is really an eye drug, to be used externally, it also has an effect internally to induce sweating. So that's why I have it."
She was examining the bottles.
"But you have atropin also. Why is that?"
"There's a good deal of ophthalmia or trachoma floating around some native districts. I thought I might experiment."
"And this"--she picked up a third bottle--"ah, yes, morphia. But how much alike they all are."
"In appearance, yes; in effect most radically and fatally different--like people," smiled Kingozi.
But though Kingozi's scientific interest was keen in certain directions--as ethnology, drugs, and zoology--it had totally blind spots. Thus the Leopard Woman kept invariably on her table the bowl of fresh flowers; and she manifested an unfailing liking to investigate such strange shrubs, trees, flowers, or nondescript growths as flourished thereabouts.
"Do you know how one names these?" she asked him concerning certain strange blooms.
"I know nothing whatever about vegetables," he replied with indifferent scorn.
Several times after that, forgetting, she proffered the same question and received exactly the same reply. Finally it became a joke to her. Slyly, at sufficient intervals so that he should not become conscious of the repetition, she took delight in eliciting this response, always the same, always delivered with the same detached scorn:
"I know nothing whatever about vegetables."
In the meantime Simba, with great enthusiasm, continued his drill of theaskaris. Kingozi gave them an hour early in the day. They developed rapidly from wild trigger yanking. An allowance of two cartridges apiece proved them no great marksmen, but at least steady on discharge.
The "business conversation" Kingozi projected with the Leopard Woman did not take place until late in the week. By that time he had pieced together considerable information, as follows:
The mountain ranges at their backs possessed three practicable routes. Beyond the ranges were grass plains with much game. Water could be had in certain known places. No people dwell on these plains. This was because of the tsetse fly that made it impossible to keep domestic cattle. Far--very far--perhaps a month, who knows, is the country of thesultaniM'tela. This is a very greatsultani--very great indeed--asultaniwhose spears are like the leaves of grass. His people are fierce, like the Masai, like the people of Lobengula, and make war their trade. His people are known as the Kabilagani. The way through the mountains is known; guides can be had. The way across the plains is known; but for guides one must find representatives of a little scattered plains tribe. That can be done.Potiofor two weeks can be had--and so on.
Kingozi was particularly interested in these Kabilaganis: and pressed for as much information as he could. Strangely enough he did not mention the ivory stockade, nor did he attempt either to trade or to determine whether or not thesultaniknew its value.
At the end of eight days he knew what he wished to know.
"I shall leave in two days," he told the Leopard Woman. "I should suggest that you go to-morrow. I will send Simba with you to show you the water-hole in the kopje. After that you know the country for yourself."
"But I am not going back!" she cried. "I am going on."
"That is impossible." He went on to explain to her what he had learned of the country ahead: omitting, however, all reference to M'tela and his warrior nation. "More plains: more game. That's all. You have more of that than you can use back where we came from. And with every step you are farther away. I am going on--very far. I may not come back at all."
She listened to all his arguments, but shook her head obstinately at their end.
"Your plan does not please me," said she. "I will go and see these plains for myself."
This was final, and Kingozi at last came to see it so.
"I was going to suggest that I relieve you of youraskaris," said he, "but if you persist in this foolish and aimless plan, you will need them for yourself." "Cannot we go together, at least for a distance?"
But to this he was much opposed.
"I shall be travelling faster than your cumbersome safari," he objected. "I could not delay."
And in this decision he seemed as firm as had she in her intention to proceed. After a light reconnaissance, so to speak, of argument, appeal, and charm, she gave over trying to persuade him, and fell back on her usual lazily indifferent attitude. Kingozi went ahead with his preparations, laying inpotio, examining kits, preparing in every way his compact little caravan for the long journey before it. Then something happened. He changed his mind and decided to combine safaris with the Leopard Woman.
For several nights the plain below the plateau had been a sea of moonlight, white, ethereal, fragile as spun glass. Each evening the shadow of the mountains had shortened, drawing close under the skirts of the hills. In stately orderly progression the quality of the night world was changing. The heavy brooding darkness was being transformed to a fairy delicacy of light.
And the life of the world seemed to feel this change, to be stirring, at first feebly, then with growing strength. The ebb was passed; the tides were rising to the brim. Each night the throb of the drums seemed to beat more passionately, the rhythm to become quicker, wilder: the wailing chants of the women rose in sudden gusts of frenzy. Dark figures stole about in shadows; so that Kingozi, becoming anxious, gave especial instructions, and delegated trusty men to see that they were obeyed.
"If our men get to fooling with their women, they'll spear the lot of us!" he explained.
And at last, like a queen whose coming has been prepared, a queen in whose anticipation life had quickened, the moon herself rose serenely above the ranges.
Immediately the familiar objects changed; the familiar shadows vanished. The world became a different world, full of enchantment, of soft-singing birds, of chirping insects, of romance and recollections of past years, of longings and the spells of barbaric Africa.
Kingozi sat with the Leopard Woman "talking business" when this miracle took place. When the great rim of the moon materialized at the mountain's rim, he abruptly fell silent. The spell had him, as indeed it had all living things. From the village the drums pulsed more wildly, shoutings of men commenced to mingle with the voices of the women; a confused clashing sound began to be heard. In camp the fires appeared suddenly to pale. A vague uneasiness swept the squatting men. Their voices fell: they exchanged whispered monosyllables, dropping their voices, they knew not why.
The Leopard Woman arose and glided to the edge of the tree's shadow, where she stood gazing upward at the moon. Kingozi watched her. He, old and seasoned traveller as he was, had indeed fallen under the spell. He did not consider it extraordinary, nor did it either embarrass or stir his senses, that standing as she did before the moon and the little fires her body showed in clear silhouette through her silken robe. Apparently this was her only garment. It made a pale nimbus about her. She seemed to the vague remnant of Kingozi's thinking perceptions like a priestess--her slim, beautiful form erect, her small head bound with the golden fillet from which, he knew, hung the jewel on her forehead. As though meeting this thought she raised both arms toward the moon, standing thus for a moment in the conventional attitude of invocation. Then she dropped her arms, and came back to Kingozi's side.
Again it was like magic, the sudden blotting out of the slim human figure, the substitution of the draped form as she moved from the light into the shadow. But on Kingozi's retina remained the vision of her as she was. He shifted, caught his breath.
As she came near him his hand closed over hers, bringing her to a halt. She did not resist, but stood looking down at him waiting. He struggled for an appearance of calm.
"Who are you?" he asked unsteadily. "You have never told me."
"You have named me--Bibi-ya-chui--the Woman of the Leopards."
She was smiling faintly, looking down at him through half-closed eyes.
"But who are you? You are not English."
"My name: you have given it. Let that suffice. Me--I am Hungarian." She stooped ever so slightly and touched the upstanding mop of his wavy hair. "What does it matter else?" she asked softly.
She was leaning: the moonlight came through the branches where she leaned; the little fires--again the silken robes became a nimbus--and the drums of then'goma, the drums seemed to be throbbing in his veins----
He leaped to his feet and seized her savagely by the shoulders. The soft silk slipped under his fingers. She threw back her head, looking at him steadily. Her eyes glowed deep, and the jewel on her forehead. Kingozi was panting.
"You are wonderful--maddening!" he muttered. This sudden unexpected emotion swept him away, as a pond, quiet behind the dam, becomes a flood.
"I knew we could be such friends!" she said.
And then one of those tiny incidents happened that so often change the course of greater events. In the darkness that still lingered the other side of the camp anaskarichallenged sharply some lurking wanderer. According to his recent teaching he used the official word.
"Samama!" said he.
The metallic rattle of his musket and the brief official challenge awakened Kingozi as would a dash of cold water. His instinct to crush to his breast this alluring, fascinating, willing goddess of the moon was as strong as ever. But across that instinct lay the shadow of a former day. A clear picture flashed before his mind. He saw a man in the uniform of a high office, and heard that man's words of instruction to himself. The words had concluded with a few informal phrases of trust and confidence. While these were being spoken, outside a sentry had challenged: "Samama!" and as he moved, the metal of his accoutrements had clicked.
With a wrench Kingozi turned, dropping her shoulders. He deliberately ran away. At the edge of his own camp he looked back. She was still standing as he had left her. The moonlight, striking through the opening in the branches, fell across her. At this distance she was merely a white figure; but Kingozi saw her again as she had stood in invocation to the moon. As though she had only awaited his turning, she raised her hand in grave salutation and disappeared.
Kingozi was too restless, too stirred, to sit still. After a vain attempt to smoke a quiet and ruminative pipe he arose and began to wander about. The men looked up at him furtively from their little fires where perpetually meat roasted. He strode on through the camp. His feet bore him to the narrow lane leading to the village. Down the vista he saw flames leaping, and figures leaping wildly, too, and the drums beat against his temples. He turned back seeking quiet, and so on through camp again, and past the Leopard Woman's tent. His mind was in a turmoil. No perception reached him of outside things--once the disturbance of human creatures was past. His feet led him unconsciously.
It was the old struggle. He desired this woman mightily. That he had been totally indifferent to her before argued nothing. He had been suddenly awakened: and he was in the prime of life. But the very strength of his desire warned him. If he had really been on a hunt for ivory--well--he wrenched his mind savagely from even a contemplation of possibilities. Still, it would be a very sweet relation in a lonely life--a women of this quality, this desirability, this understanding, able to travel the wilderness of Africa, eager for the life, young, beautiful, tingling with vitality. In spite of himself Kingozi played with the thought. The fever was in his brain, the magic of the tropic moon was flooding his soul.
Some warning instinct brought him back to the world about him. His steps had taken him down the cañon trail. He stood at the edge of the open plain.
Facing him and not twenty yards distant stood a lion.
The sight cleared Kingozi's brain of all its vapours. For the first time he realized clearly what he had done. He, a man whose continued existence in this dangerous country had depended on his unfailing readiness, his ever-present alertness and presence of mind, had committed two of the cardinal sins. In savage Africa no man must at any time stir a foot into the veldt or jungle unarmed; in savage Africa no man must go at night fifty feet from a fire without a torch or lantern.
By day a lion is usually harmless unless annoyed. Game herds manifest no alarm at his presence, merely opening through their ranks a lane for his indifferent passing. But at night he asserts his dominion.
Kingozi realized his deadly peril. The beast bulked huge and black--a wild lion is a third larger than his menagerie relative--looking as big as a zebra against the moonlight. His eyes glowed steadily as he contemplated this interloper in his domain. After a moment he sank prone, extending his head. The next move, Kingozi knew, would be the flail-like thrash of the long tail, followed immediately by the rush.
Nothing was to be done. The immediate surroundings were bare of trees, and in any case the lightning charge of the beast would have caught his victim unless the branches had happened to be fairly overhead.
The glowing eyes lowered. A rasping gurgling began deep in the animal's throat, rising and falling in tone with the inhaling and exhaling of the breath. This increased in volume. It became terrifying. The long tail stiffened, whacked first to one side, then to the other. The moment was at hand.
Kingozi stood erect, his hands clenched, every muscle taut. All his senses were sharpened. He heard the voices of the veldt, near and far, and all the little sounds that were underneath them. His vision seemed to pierce the darkness of the shadows, so that he made out the details of the lion's mane, and even the muscles stiffening beneath the skin.
And then at the last moment a kongoni, panic stricken, running blind, its nose up, broke through the thin bush to the left and dashed across the trail directly between the man and the lion.
African animals are subject to these strange, blind panics, especially at night. The individual so affected appears to lose all sense of its surroundings. It has been known actually to bump into and knock down men in plain and open sight. What had so terrified the kongoni it would be impossible to say. Perhaps a stray breeze had wafted the scent of this very lion; perhaps some other unseen danger actually threatened, or perhaps the poor beast merely awakened from the horror of a too vivid dream.
The diversion occurred at the moment of the lion's greatest tension. His body was poised for the attack, as a bow is bent to drive forth the arrow. Probably without conscious thought on his part, instinctively, he changed his objective. The huge body sprang; but instead of the man the kongoni was struck down!
Kingozi stooped low and ran hard to the left. When at a safe distance he straightened his back, and set his footsteps rapidly campward.
The incident had thoroughly awakened him. His brain was working clearly now, and under forced draught. The magic of moonlight had lost its power. Habits of years reasserted themselves. His usual iron common sense regained its ascendency; though, strangely enough, there persisted in his mind a mystic feeling for the symbolism of this missed danger.
"Settles it!" he said, in his usual fashion of talking aloud. "I'm on a job, and I must do it. Came near being a messy ass!"
He saw plainly enough that a mission such as his had no place in it for women--even such women as Bibi-ya-chui. She must go back--or stay here--didn't matter much which. The call of duty sounded very clear. By the time he had reached the level of the upper plateau his mind was fully made up. As far as he was concerned the Leopard Woman had definitely lost all chance of going alone.
The frosted moonlight still lay across the world. It meant nothing but illumination to Kingozi. By its light he discerned a paper lying against a bush; and since paper of any sort is scarce, he picked it up.
At camp he lighted his lantern and spread out his find on the table. It proved to be a map.
A glance proved to Kingozi that it was not his property. He remembered a sudden wind squall early in the afternoon. Evidently it had swept the Leopard Woman's table.
The map was in manuscript, very well drawn, and the text was German. From long habit Kingozi glanced first at the scale of miles, then raised his eyes to determine what country was represented. After a moment he arose, took his lantern into his tent, and there spread his find on his cot.
For it was a map of this very locality!
Kingozi examined it with great attention, finally getting out for comparison his own sketch maps. The German map was a more finished product; otherwise they were practically the same. Kingozi searched for and found records of the various waters along his back track. Each was annotated in ink in a language strange to him--probably Hungarian, he reflected. At the drydongawhere he had overtaken and rescued the Leopard Woman's water-starved safari he found the legendwasseralso.
"Explorations for this map made after the rains," he concluded.
Here the Leopard Woman had written the German wordnein!underscored several times.
So far Kingozi's sketches and the German map were the same. But the German map furnished all details for some distance in advance. This village was indicated, and the mountains, and plains beyond. The three practical routes were plotted by means of red lines. These lines converged at the far side of the ranges, united in one, and proceeded out across the plains. Kingozi counted days' journeys by the indicated water-holes up to eleven. Then the map ceased; but an arrow at the end of the red line was explained by a compass bearing, and the name M'tela. And, as far as Kingozi could see, the sole purport of the whole affair was not topography but a route to the country of M'tela!
Here was a facer! As far as any one knew, the country he had just traversed was unexplored. Yet here was a good detailed map of just that route. Furthermore, a copy was in the hands of this woman who claimed she was out for sport merely, and had no knowledge of the country. Yes--she had made just that statement. Of course she might be out merely for adventure, just as she said. If she were of prominence and influence, she might easily enough have obtained a copy of a private map. But then why did she pretend ignorance? She seemed never to have heard of the name of M'tela; yet this map's sole reason for being was that it indicated at least the beginning of a route to M'tela's country.