But she did not immediately answer this. She was on fire with a new thought.
"This is another of your--what you call--traps!" she cried. "You never intended to kill this man with thekiboko!You intended to make me speak--as I did!"
"That's as may be," he rejoined. "At least I should have tried how far he would have been faithful to you before telling what he knew--if you had not spoken."
"He is faithful--to the death," she asseverated with passion.
"I am inclined to believe you are right. But that is neither here nor there. I am waiting answers to my questions."
"And you shall wait," she took him up superbly. "I shall not answer!"
He shrugged his shoulders wearily.
"That is your affair. I must confess that I am curious to know, however, why you did not shoot me. You have a pistol."
"Your men took that pistol."
"But not until late this morning. You had plenty of chance."
"I could not," she said, her voice taking on a curious intonation; "there was no need."
"You mean since I went blind there was no need," he interjected quickly.
She hesitated whether to reply. Then:
"Yes, that is it," she assented.
Kingozi leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair.
"I must tell you that my blindness is not going to help you in the way you believe," he said.
"What do I believe?" The animation of curiosity crept into her voice.
"For one thing, you believe I am no ivory hunter; and you know perfectly why I am in this country."
"Do I?"
"Do you not?"
"Well--yes."
"Why is it, tell me."
She pondered this, then made up her mind
"I do not know why not. The time for fencing is over. I know perfectly that you are sent by your government to make treaty with M'tela. And I know," she added with the graciousness of one who has got back to sure ground, "that no one could do it better; and no one as well."
"Except Winkleman," said Kingozi simply.
"Except Winkleman--perhaps."
"As you say, the time for fencing is over," pursued Kingozi. "That is true. And it is true also that you are not merely travelling for pleasure. You are yourself on a mission. You are Hungarian, but you are in the employ of the German Government."
She laughed musically.
"Bravo!" she cried. "That is true. But go on--how do you make the guess?"
"Your maps, your--pardon me--equivocations, and a few other matters of the sort. Now it is perfectly evident that you are trying to forestall me in some manner."
"Point number two," she agreed mockingly.
"I am free to confess I do not know why; and at present I do not care. That's why I tell you. You are so anxious to forestall me--for this unknown reason--that when smaller things fail----"
"You are of an interest--what smaller things?"
"Various wiles--some of them feminine. Delays, for example. Do you suppose I believed for a moment those delays were not inspired? That is why my punishments were so severe--and other wiles," he concluded vaguely.
She did not press the point.
"When smaller things failed," he repeated, "you would have resorted even to murder. Your necessity must have been great."
"Believe me--it was!" she answered.
He brought up short at the unexpected feeling that vibrated in her voice. His face expressed a faint surprise, and he returned to his subject with fresh interest.
"And when my eyes failed me, and you could have given me my sight by the mere reading of a label, you refused; you condemned me to the darkness. And, further, when I had a chance to learn my remedy for myself, you destroyed it. I wonder whether that cost you anything, too?" He sat apparently staring out into the distance, his sightless eyes wide with the peculiar blank pathos of the blind. The Leopard Woman's own eyes were suffused with tears!
"I remember now something you said when you broke the bottle of pilocarpin," he said slowly. "I did not notice it at the time; now it comes to me. 'I have saved your life,' you said. I get the meaning of that now. You would have killed me rather than not have forestalled me; but the blindness saved you that necessity. You know, I am a little glad to learn that you did notwantto kill me."
"Want!" she cried. "How could I want?"
Kingozi chuckled.
"You told me enough times just what you thought of me."
Her crest reared, but drooped again.
"No women likes to be treated so. And if you had your eyes, so I would hate you again!"
"I don't know why you want to prevent me from reaching M'tela, nor why you want to reach him first, nor why in its wisdom your government sent you at all. I'd like to know, just as a matter of curiosity. But it doesn't really matter, because it does not affect the essential situation in the least."
"You are going to M'tela just the same?" she inquired anxiously.
"Bless you, no. I have no desire to go blind. It's the beastliest affliction can come to an active man. And glaucoma is a tricky thing. I'd like to get to McCloud tomorrow. But still you are not going to get to M'tela before me."
"No?"
"I am sorry; but you will have to go with me."
"You have the force," she acknowledged after a moment. Somewhat surprised at her lack of protest--or was it resignation to the inevitable?--Kingozi checked himself. After a moment he went on.
"Somehow," he mused, "in spite of your amiable activities, I have a certain confidence in you. It would be much more comfortable for both of us if you would give me your word not to try to escape, or to go back, or to leave my camp, or cause your men to leave my camp, or anything like that."
"Would you trust my word?"
"If you would give it solemnly--yes."
"But to do what I wished to do--as you say just now yourself--I am ready to use all means--even to killing. Why do you not think I would also break, my word to do my ends?"
"I think you would not."
"But do you think I would, what you call--consider your trust in me more great than my government's trust in me?"
"No. I do not think that either."
"Well?"
"I do not think you will give your word to me unless you mean to keep it. If you do give it, I am willing to rely upon it."
The Leopard Woman moved impulsively to his side.
"Very well. I give it," she said with a choke.
"That you go with my safari, without subterfuge, without sending word anywhere--in other words, a fair start afresh!"
"Just that," she replied.
"That is your word of honour?"
"My word of honour."
"Give me your hand on it."
She laid her palm in his. His hand closed over hers, gripping it tightly. Her eyes were swimming, her breast heaved. Slowly she swayed toward him, leaned over him. Her lips touched his. Suddenly she was seized hungrily. She abandoned herself to the kiss.
But after a moment she tore herself away from him, panting.
"This must not be!" she cried tragically. "I know not what I do! This is not good! I am a woman of honour!"
Kingozi, his blind face alight, held out his arms to her.
"Your honour is safe with me," he said.
But he had mistaken her meaning. Step by step she recoiled from him until she stood at the distance of some paces, her hands pressed against her cheeks, her eyes fixed on him with a strange mixture of tenderness, pity, and sternness.
"What is it?" he begged, getting uncertainly to his feet. "Where are you?"
But she did not answer him. After a moment she slipped away.
The return trip began promptly the following morning, and progressed uninterruptedly for two weeks. One by one they picked up the water-holes found on the journey out.
A few details had to be adjusted to compensate for Kingozi's lack of eyes. The matter of meat supplies, for example.
"Good luck I gave some attention to your shooting, old sportsman," he remarked to Simba in English, then in Swahili: "Here are five cartridges. Go get me a zebra and a kongoni." Simba was no shot, but Kingozi knew he would stalk, with infinite patience and skill, fairly atop his quarry before letting off one of the precious cartridges.
In the matter of rhinoceros and similar dangers, they simply took a chance.
Kingozi marched at the end of a stick held by Simba. He gave his whole energies to getting over the day's difficulties of all sorts. His relations with the Leopard Woman swung back. Perhaps vaguely, in the back of his mind, he looked forward to the interpretation of that unpremeditated kiss; but just now a mixed feeling of responsibility and delicacy prevented his going forward from the point attained. During the march they walked apart most of the time. The weariness of forced travel abridged their evenings.
Chaké walked guarded, and slept in chains.
Whenever the location of water-holes permitted, the safari made long jumps. The two messengers sent out with a scrawled letter to Doctor McCloud--whom they knew as Bwana Marefu--were of course far ahead. With any luck Kingozi hoped to meet the surgeon not far from the mountains where dwelt thesultaniof the ivory stockade.
Thus the march went through a fortnight. The close of the fourteenth day found them camped near water in adonga. The dim blue of mountains had raised itself above the horizon ahead. This rejoiced the men. They were running low ofpotio, and they knew that from thesultani'ssubjects in these mountains a further supply could be had. As a consequence, an unwontedkalelewas smiting the air. Each man chatted to his next-door neighbour at the top of his lungs, laughing loudly, squealing with delight. Kingozi sat enjoying it. He had been so long in Africa that this happy rumpus always pleased him. Suddenly it fell to silence. He cocked his ear, trying to understand the reason.
Across the open veldt two figures had been descried. They were coming toward the camp at a slow dogtrot; and as they approached it could be seen that save for a turban apiece they were stark naked; and save for a spear and a water gourd apiece they were without equipment. One held something straight upright before him, as medieval priests carried a cross. The turbans were formed from their blankets; mid-blade of each spear was wound with a strip of red cloth; the object one carried was a letter held in the cleft of a stick.
By these tokens the safari men knew the strangers to be messengers.
The mail service of Central Africa is slow but very certain. You give your letter to two reliable men and inform them that it is forBwanaSo-and-so. Sooner or laterBwanaSo-and-so will get that letter. He is found by a process of elimination. In the bazaars the messengers inquire whether he has gone north, south, east, or west. Some native is certain to have known some of his men. So your messengers start west. Their progress thenceforward is a series of village visits. The gossip of the country directs them. Gradually, but with increasing certainty, their course defines itself, until at last--months later--they come trotting into camp.
These two jogged in broadly agrin. Cazi Moto and Simba led them at once to Kingozi's chair.
"These men bring abaruafor you,bwana," said Cazi Moto.
Kingozi took the split wand with the letter thrust crosswise in the cleft.
"Who sent them?" he asked.
"TheBwanaM'Kubwa[10],bwana."
[10:Bwana M'Kubwa--the great lord, i.e., the chief officer of any district.]
"Have they no message?"
"They say no message,bwana."
"Take them and give them food, and see that they have a place in one of the tents."
"Yes,bwana."
"And send Bibi-ya-chui to me."
The Leopard Woman sent word that she was bathing, but would come shortly. Kingozi sat fingering the letter, which he could not read. It was long and thick. He could feel the embossed frank of the Government Office. The situation was puzzling. It might contain secret orders, in which case it would be inadvisable to allow the Leopard Woman a sight of its contents. But Kingozi shook off this thought. At about the time he felt the cool shadow of the earth rise across his face as the sun slipped below the horizon, he became aware also by the faint perfume that the Leopard Woman had come.
"I am in a fix," he said abruptly. "Runners have just come in with this letter. It is official, and may be secret. I am morally certain you ought not to know its contents; but I don't see how I am to know them unless you do. Will you read it to me, and will you give me your word not to use its contents for your own or your government's purposes?"
She hesitated.
"I cannot promise that."
"Well," he amended after a moment, "you will stick to the terms of your other promise--that you will not attempt to leave my safari or send messages until we arrive."
"The fresh, even start," she supplied. "That promise is given."
He handed her the envelope.
A crackle of paper, then a long wait.
"I shall not read you this," she said finally in a strangled, suppressed voice. "Why not?" he demanded sharply.
"It contains things I would not have you know."
He felt the paper thrust into his hands, reached for her wrists, and pinioned them. For once his self-control had broken. His face was suffused with blood and dark with anger.
But his speech was cut short by an uproar from the camp. Cries, shrieks, shouts, yells, and the sound of running to and fro steadily increased in volume. It was a riot.
In vain Kingozi called for Cazi Moto and Simba. Finally he grasped hiskibokoand started in the direction of the disturbance. The Leopard Woman sprang to his side, and guided him. He laid about him blindly with thekiboko, and in time succeeded in getting some semblance of order.
"Cazi Moto! Simba!" he shouted angrily.
"Bwana?" "Sah?" two panting voices answered.
"What is this?"
They both began to speak at once.
"You, Cazi Moto," commanded Kingozi.
"These men are liars," began Cazi Moto.
"What men?"
"These men who brought thebarua. They tell lies, bad lies, and we beat them for it."
"Since when have you beaten liars? And since when have I ceased to deal punishment? And since when has it been permitted that such akalelebe raised in my camp?" pronounced Kingozi coldly. "For attending to such things you are my man; and Simba is my man; and Mali-ya-bwana is my man; and Jack is my man. Because you have done these things I fine you six rupees each one."
"Yes,bwana," said Cazi Moto submissively.
"These other men--what manner of 'lie' do they tell? Bring them here."
The messengers were produced.
"What is it you tell that my men beat you for telling lies? They must be bad lies, for it is not the custom of men to beat men for telling lies."
"We tell no lies,bwana" said one of the messengers earnestly. "We tell the truth."
"What is it you tell?"
"We said what has happened: that across the Serengëtti came white men from the country of Taveta, and that these white men were many, and had manyaskariswith them, and our white men from Nairobi met them, and fought so that those from Taveta were driven back and some were killed. And down the N'Gouramani River many of our white men withMahindi[11] fought with strange white men on a hill below Ol Sambu, but were driven off. And manyMahindiare coming in to Mombasa, all with guns, and all theaskarisare brought into Nairobi. And we told these safari men that the white men were making war on the white men, so they cried out at this, and beat us."
[11: Mahindi--East Indians.]
Kingozi had listened attentively.
"Well, Cazi Moto?" he demanded.
"But this is a lie; a bad lie," said Cazi Moto, "to say that white men make war on white men!"
"Nevertheless it is true," rejoined Kingozi quietly. "These other white men are theDuyches[12], and they make war."
[12: Duyches--Germans.]
He turned and walked back to his camp unassisted. He groped for his chair and sat down. His hand encountered the letter.
"You do not need to read this to me now," he told the Leopard Woman quietly. "I know what it tells." He thought a moment. "It is clear to me now. You knew, this war was to be declared."
She did not reply.
"You know aboutwhenthis war was to be declared," he pursued his thought. "Yes, it fits."
Her silence continued.
"You should have killed me," he thought aloud. "That alone could have accomplished your mission properly. You might have known I would make you go back, too. Or perhaps you thought you could command your own men in spite of me?"
"Perhaps," she said unexpectedly.
He raised his voice:
"Cazi Moto!"
The chastened headman came running.
"To-morrow," Kingozi told him, "the men go on halfpotio. There will be plenty of meat but only halfpotio."
"Yes,bwana."
"And if any man grumbles, or if any man objects even one word to what I do or where I go, bring him to me at once. Understand?"
"Yes,bwana."
"Bassi."
"What is it you intend to do now?" asked the Leopard Woman curiously.
"Go back, of course."
"Back--where?"
"To M'tela."
She gasped.
"But you cannot do that! You have not considered; you have not thought."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"But it means blindness; blindness for always!"
"I know my duty."
"But to be blind, to be blind always; never to see the sun, the wide veldt, the beasts, and the birds! Never to read a book, to see a man's face, a woman's form; to sit always in darkness waiting--you cannot do that!"
He winced at her words but did not reply. Her hands fluttered to his shoulders.
"Please do not do this foolishness," she pleaded softly; "it is not worth it! See, I have given my word! If you had thought I would go ahead of you to M'tela, all that danger is past. A fresh start, you said it yourself. Do you think I would deceive you?"
She was hovering very close to him; he could feel her breath on his cheek. Firmly but gently he took her two wrists and thrust her away from him.
"Listen, my dear," he said gently, "this is a time for clear thinking. My country is at war with Germany; and my whole duty is to her. You are an Austrian."
"My country, too, is at war," she said unexpectedly.
"Ah, you knew that would happen, too," he said after a startled pause. "I know only this: that if in times of peace it was important to my government that M'tela's friendship be gained, it is ten times as important in time of war. I must go back and do my best."
"But why?" she interjected eagerly. "This savage tribe--it is in the remote hinterland; it knows nothing of the white man or the white man's quarrels. What difference can it make?"
"That is not my affair. For one thing, he is on the border."
"But what difference of that? The border means nothing. The fate of their colonies will be fought in Europe, not here. What happens to this country depends on who wins there below."
"Can you state positively of your own knowledge that no invasion or movement of German troops is planned across M'tela's country? On your sacred word of honour?" propounded Kingozi suddenly.
"On my word of honour," she repeated slowly, "no such movement."
"Do you know what you are talking about?"
She was silent.
"It doesn't sound reasonable--an invasion from that quarter--what could they gain either on that side or on this?" Kingozi ruminated. A sudden thought struck him. "And that there is no reason whatever, from my point of view as a loyal British subject, against my going out at this time? On your word?"
"Oh!" she cried distressedly, "you ask such questions! How can I answer----"
He stopped her with grave finality.
"That is sufficient. I go back."
She did not attempt to combat him.
"I have done my duty, too," she said dully. "Mine is not the Viennese conscience. My parole; I must take that back. From to-morrow I take it back."
"I understand. I am sorry. To-morrow I place my guard."
"Oh, why cannot you have the sense?" she cried passionately. "I cannot bear it! That you must be blind! That I must kill you if I can, once more!"
Kingozi smiled quietly to himself at this confession.
"So you would even kill me?" he queried curiously.
"I must! I must! If it is necessary, I must! I have sworn!"
"Don't you suppose I shall take precautions?"
"Oh, I hope so! I do hope so!" she cried.
Her distress was so genuine, her unconsciousness of the anomaly of her attitude so naïve that Kingozi forbore even to smile.
"I must go on," he concluded simply.
The return journey began. A remarkable tribute to Kingozi's influence, not only over his own men, but over those of the new safari, might have been read from the fact that there was brought for correction not one grumble, either over the halving of thepotioor the apparently endless counter-marching. As far as the white members were concerned the journey was one of doggedness and gloom. Kingozi's strong will managed to keep to the foreground the details of his immediate duty; but to do so he had to sink all other considerations whatever. The same effort required to submerge all thought of the darkened years to come carried down also every recollection of the past. The Leopard Woman ceased to exist, not because she had lost importance, but because Kingozi's mind was focussed on a single point.
And she. Perhaps she understood this; perhaps the tearing antagonism of her own purposes, duties, and desires stunned or occupied her--who knows? The outward result was the same as in the case of her companion. They walked apart, ate apart, lived each in his superb isolation, going forward like sleep-walkers to what the future might hold.
Thus they travelled for ten days. In mid-march, then, Cazi Moto came to tell Kingozi that two more messengers had arrived.
"They are not people of our country," he added. "They areshenzissuch as no man here ever saw before."
"What sort ofshenzis?"
"Short, square men. Very black. Hair that is long and stands out like a little tree."
"What do they say?"
"Bwana, they speak a language that no man here understands. And this is strange: that they do not come from the direction of Nairobi."
"Perhaps they are men from M'tela."
"No,bwana, that cannot be, for they carry abarua. They came from a white man."
"That is strange, very strange," said Kingozi quickly. "I do not understand. Is there water near where we stand?"
"There is the water of the place we calledCampi ya Korunguwhen we passed before."
"Make camp there."
"The sun is at four hours[13],bwana."
[13: 10:00 o'clock.]
"It makes no difference."
When camp had been pitched Kingozi caused the new messengers to be brought before him. A few moments' questioning elicited two facts: one, that there existed no medium of communication known to both parties; two, that the strangers were from some part of the Congo basin. The latter conclusion Kingozi gained from catching a few words of a language root known to him. He stretched his hand for the letter.
It was in a long linen envelope, unsealed, and unembossed.
Not from the government. He unfolded the sheets of paper and ran his fingers over the pages. Written in pencil; he could feel the indentations where the writer had borne down. Some private individual writing him from camp on the Congo side. Who could it be? Kingozi's Central African acquaintance was wide; he knew most of the gentlemen adventurers roaming through that land of fascination. A good many were not averse to ivory poaching; and the happy hunting ground of ivory poaching was at that time the French Congo. It might be any of them. But how could they know of his whereabouts in this unknown country? And how could they know he was in this country at all? These last two points seemed to him important. Suddenly he threw his head back and laughed aloud.
"Self-centred egotist!" he addressed himself. "Cazi Moto, tell Bibi-ya-chui I wish to see her."
Cazi Moto departed to return immediately with the Leopard Woman who, at this hour, was still in her marching clothes. If she felt any surprise at this early abandonment of the day's march she did not show it. Twoaskaris, confided with the task of guarding her, followed a few paces to the rear. She glanced curiously at the bushy savages.
"Here," said Kingozi, holding out the letter, "is abaruafor you--from your friend Winkleman in the Congo."
The shock of surprise held her speechless for a moment.
"Your blindness is well! You can see!" she cried then.
Kingozi raised his head sharply, for there was a lilt of relief and gladness in her voice.
"No," he answered, "just ordinary deduction. Am I right?"
He heard her slowly unfolding the paper.
"Yes, you are right," she said in sober tones, after a moment. She uttered a happy exclamation, then another; then ran to his side and threw her arms around his neck in an impulsive hug. Kingozi remembered the waiting men and motioned them away. She was talking rapidly, almost hysterically, as people talk when relieved of a pressure.
"Yes, it is from Winkleman. He has come in from the Congo side. When this letter was written he was only ten days' march from M'tela."
"How do you know that?" interjected Kingozi sharply.
"Native information, he says. Oh, I am so glad! so glad! so glad!"
"That was the plan from the start, was it?" said Kingozi. "I don't know whether it was a good plan or that I have been thick. My head is in rather a whirl. It was Winkleman right along, was it?"
She laughed excitedly.
"Oh, such a game! Of course it was Winkleman. Did you think me one to be sent to savage kings?"
"It didn't seem credible," muttered Kingozi. "It is a humiliating question, but seems inevitable--were you actually sent out by your officials merely to delayme?"
"So that Winkleman might arrive first--surely."
"I see." Kingozi's accent was getting to be more formally polite. "But why you? Why did not your most efficient employers dispatch an ordinary assassin? I do not err in assuming that you all knew that this war was to be declared at this time."
"That is true." Her voice still sang, her high spirits unsubdued by his veiled sarcasm.
"Then since it is war, why not have me shot and done with it? Why send a woman?"
"That was arranged, truly. A man of the Germans was following you. He was as a sportsman, for it would not do to rouse suspicion. Then he had an accident. I was in Nairobi. I heard of it. I did not know you, and this German did not know you. It seemed to us very simple. I was to follow until I came up with you. Then I was to delay you until I had word that Winkleman had crossed then'yika."
"All very simple and easy," murmured Kingozi.
"It was not simple! It was not easy!" she cried in a sudden flash of resentment. "You are a strange man. When you go toward a thing, you see down a narrow lane. What is either side does not exist." Her voice gradually raised to vehemence. "I am a woman. I am weak and helpless. Do you assist me, comfort me, sustain me in dreadful situation? No! You march on, leaving me to follow! I think to myself that you are a pig, a brute, that you have no chivalry, that you know not the word gentleman; and I hate you! Then I see that I am wrong. You have chivalry, you are a true gentleman; but before you is an object and you cannot turn your eyes away. And I think so to myself that when this object is removed, is placed one side for a time, then you will come to yourself. Then will be my chance. For I study you. I look at your eyes and the fire in them, and the lips, and the wide, proud nostril; and I see that here is no cold fish creature, but a strong man. So I wait my time. And the moon rises, and the savage drums throb, throb like hearts of passion, and the bul-buls sing in the bush--and I know I am beautiful, and I know men, and almost I think you look one side, and that I win!"
"So all that was a game!" commented Kingozi.
"A game? But yes--then!"
"For the sake of winning your point--would you--would you----" "For the sake of winning my point did I not command to kill you--you--my friend?" she commented, her manner falling from vehemence to sadness. "If I could do that, what else would matter!" She paused; then went on in a subdued voice: "But even then your glance but wavered. You are a strong man; and you are a victim of your strength. When an idea grips hold of you, you know nothing but that. And so I saw the delaying of you was not so simple, so easy. It was not as a man to a woman, but as a man to a man. It was war. I did my best," she concluded wearily.
Kingozi was staring in her direction almost as though he could see.
"Why do you tell me all this?" he asked at length.
"I want you to know. And I am so glad!" The lilt had crept back into her voice.
"I congratulate you," he replied drily.
"Stupid! Oh, stupid!" she cried. "Do you not see why I am glad? It is you! Now you shall not sit forever in the darkness. You shall go back to your doctor, who will arrange your eyes."
"Why?" asked Kingozi.
"Why!" she repeated, astonished. "But it is 'why not!' Listen! Have you thought? Winkleman is now but a week's march from M'tela. And here, where we stand, it is perhaps twenty days, perhaps more. Winkleman would arrive nearly two weeks ahead of you. Tell me, how long would it take you to win M'tela's friendship so it would not be shaken?"
Kingozi's face lit with a grim smile.
"A week," he promised confidently.
"You see! And Herr Winkleman is equal to you; you have said so yourself. Is not it so?"
"It's so, all right."
"Then--you see?"
"I see."
"Then we shall go back to the doctor. Oh, do you not see it is for that I am glad--truly, truly! You must believe me that!"
"I believe you," said Kingozi. "Nevertheless, I do not think I shall go back."
"But that is madness. You cannot arrive in time. And it is to lose your eyes all for nothing, for a foolish idea that you do your duty!"
Kingozi shook his head. She wrung her hands in despair.
"Oh, I know that look of you!" she cried. "You see only down your narrow lane!"
That evening Kingozi called to him Cazi Moto, Simba, and Mali-ya-bwana. He commanded them to build a little fire, and when the light from the leaping flames had penetrated his dull vision, he told them to sit down before him. Thus they knew that a serious council was intended. They squatted on their heels below the white man in his chair, and looked up at him with bright, devoted eyes.
"Listen," he said. "The matter is this: theInglisheeare at war with theDuyche. Over from the Congo comes aDuycheknown asBwanaNyele.[14] It is his business to reach thisshenziking, M'tela, and persuade M'tela to fight on the side of theDuyche. It is our business to reach M'tela and persuade him to fight on the side of theInglishee. Is that understood?"
[14:BwanaNyele--the master with the mane, i.e., beard or hair.]
"It is understood,bwana" said they.
"But thisDuyche, BwanaNyele, is only one week's march from M'tela; and he undoubtedly has many gifts for M'tela and the Kabilagani. And we are many days' safari distant, and I am blind and cannot hurry." he three uttered little clucks of sympathy and interest.
"But for all that we may win. You three men are my eyes and my right hand. I have a plan, and this is what you must do: Cazi Moto must stay with me to be headman of safari, and to be my eyes when we come to M'tela's land. You Simba, and you Mali-ya-bwana, must go with six of the best men to whereBwanaNyele is marching. These two strangeshenziswill guide you. Then when you are near the safari ofBwanaNyele you must arrange so that theseshenziscan have no talk with any of the safari ofBwanaNyele. That is understood?"
"Yes,bwana," said Simba. "Do we kill theseshenzis?"
"No, do not kill them. Tie them fast."
"Yes,bwana, and then?"
"This is the most difficult. You must get hold ofBwanaNyele, and you must tie him fast also, and keep him from his safari. He is am'zungu[15], yes--but he is aDuyche, and my enemy, and these things are right, because I command it."
[15:M'zungu--white man.]
"Yes,bwana."
"Then you must keepBwanaNyele and these twoshenzisclose in camp, hidden where their safari cannot find them. And after two weeks you must send two men to M'tela's to find me, and to tell me where you are hidden. Now is all that understood? You, Simba, tell me what you are to do."
"Mali-ya-bwana, myself, six men and theseshenzistravel to where the safari ofBwanaNyele marches. When we are near that safari we tie up the twoshenzis. Then we getBwanaNyele and tie him up in a secret camp. Then after two weeks we send two men to tell thebwanawhere we are. But,bwana, how do we getBwanaNyele?"
"That I will tell you soon. One thing you forgot: you must reach theDuychebefore he gets into M'tela's country. This means travel night and day--fast travel. Can this be done?"
"We shall pick good men,bwana, runners of the Wakamba. We shall do our best."
"Good. Each man four days'potio, and what biltong he can use. Simba, take my small rifle and fifty cartridges. Take some snuff, beads, and wire--only a little--to trade forpotioif you meet with other people. Understood?"
"Yes,bwana."
"Cazi Moto," he directed, "bring me the small box of wood from mysandoko."
He slid the cover off this box when it was delivered into his hands, fumbled a moment, and held up an object.
"What is this?" he asked.
"It is a bone,bwana."
"Yes, it is a bone; but it is more. It is a magic. With this you will takeBwanaNyele."
He could sense the stir of interest in the three men before him.
"Listen carefully. This is what you must do. When you have come near to this safari, you must follow it until it has put down its loads and is just about to make camp. Not a rest period on the road; not after camp is made--just at the moment when the men begin to untie the loads, when they begin to pitch the tents. That is the magic time. Understand?"
"Yes,bwana," they chorused breathlessly.
"Simba must be ready. He must take off his clothes, and he must oil his body and paint it, and put on the ornaments of ashenziof this country. For that purpose he must take with him the necklace, the armlets, anklets, and belt that I traded for with theshenzis, and which Cazi Moto will get from my tent. Do you know the style of painting of theseshenzisof the plains, Simba?"
"Yes,bwana."
"It is important that you make yourself ashenzi. This magic is a bad magic otherwise. Then at the moment I have named, Simba as ashenziwill take this magic bone and hold it out toBwanaNyele saying nothing.BwanaNyele will say words, perhaps in Swahili which Simba will understand; perhaps in some other language which he will not understand. Simba must point thus; and then must start in that direction.BwanaNyele will follow a few steps. Then Simba will say: 'Many more,bwana, over there only a little distance.'" Kingozi uttered this last sentence in atrocious Swahili. "You must say it in just that way, like ashenzi. Say it."
Simba repeated the words and accent.
"Yes, that is it. Then say nothing more, no matter what he asks; and do not let him touch the magic bone. Point. He will follow you; and when he has followed out of sight of the safari you will all seize him and tie him fast. The rest is as I have commanded."
"How doesbwanaknow how these things will happen thus?" breathed Simba in awestricken tones.
"It is a magic," replied Kingozi gravely.
Over and over he drilled them until the details were thoroughly understood. Then he dismissed them and leaned back with a sigh. The plan was simple, but ought to work. At the moment of making camp Winkleman would be less apt than at any other time to take with him an escort--especially if his interest or cupidity were aroused--for every one would be exceedingly busy. And no fear about the interest and cupidity! The "magic" bone Kingozi had confided to Simba was a fragment of a Pleistocene fossil. Kingozi himself valued it highly, but he hoped and expected to get it back. It made excellent bait, which no scientist could resist. Of course there might be a second white man with Winkleman, but from the reported size of the latter's safari he thought not. All in all, Kingozi had great reliance in his magic.
At the end of fifteen minutes Simba came to report.
"All is ready,bwana," he said, "and we start now. But ifbwanacould let me take a lantern, which I have in my hand, we could travel also at night."
The lantern, as Kingozi well knew, was not for the purpose of casting light in the path, but as some slight measure of protection against lions.
"Let me have it," he ordered. It was passed into his hands, and proved to be one of the two oil lanterns kept for emergencies.
But Kingozi sent the headman for one of the candle lanterns in everyday use, and a half-dozen short candles.
"These are better," he said; "andqua heri, Simba. If you do these things well, largebacksheeshifor you all."
"Qua heri, bwana" said Simba, and was gone.
To the bewilderment of the Leopard Woman the pace of the safari now slackened. Heretofore the marches had been stretched to the limit of endurance; now the day's journey was as leisurely as that of a sportsman's caravan. It started at daybreak, to be sure, but it ended at noon, unless exigencies of water required an hour or two additional. As a matter of fact, Kingozi knew that he had done everything possible. If Simba & Co. succeeded, then there was no immediate hurry; if they failed, hurry would be useless.
Bibi-ya-chui noticed the absence of two such prominent members of the safari as Simba and Mali-ya-bwana, of course, but readily accepted Kingozi's explanation that he had sent them "as messengers."
The little safari for the third time crawled its antlike way across the immensities of the veldt. Cazi Moto managed to keep them supplied with meat, but at an excessive expenditure of cartridges. As he used the Leopard Woman's rifle, this did not so much matter, for she was abundantly supplied. At last the blue ranges rose before them; each day's journey defined their outlines better. The foothills began to sketch themselves, to separate from the ranges, finally to surround the travellers with the low swells of broken country. Running water replaced the still water-holes. Cazi Moto reported herds of goats in the distance. One evening several of the goatherds ventured into camp. They spoke no Swahili, but at the name M'tela they nodded vigorously, and at the mention of Kabilagani they pointed at their own breasts.
"I wish I had eyes!" cried Kingozi petulantly. "What kind of people are they?"
The Leopard Woman told him as best she could--tall, well-formed, copper in hue, of a pleasing expression, clad scantily in goat skins.
"Their ornaments, their arms?" cried Kingozi with impatience.
"They are poor people," replied Bibi-ya-chui. "They have armlets of iron beaten out, and necklaces of shell fragments or bone. They carry spears with a short blade, broad like a leaf."
"Their armlets are not of wire? They have no cowrie shells?"
"No, it is beaten iron----"
"Good!" cried Kingozi. "There has been little or no trading here!"
One of the goatherds went with them as guide to M'tela.
"Without doubt," Kingozi surmised, "others have run on to warn M'tela of our coming."
Their way led on a gentle, steady up grade without steep climbs. The hills, at first only scattered, low hummocks, became higher, more numerous, closed in on them; until, before they knew it, they found themselves walking up the flat bed of a cañon between veritable mountains. The end of the view, the Leopard Woman said, was shut by a frowning, unbroken rampart many thousands of feet high.
"Then we are due for a climb," sighed Kingozi. "These native tracks never hunt for a grade! When they want to go up, why up they go!"
But the head of the cañon, instead of stopping against the wall, bent sharply to the left. A "saddle" was disclosed.
Toward this the hard-beaten track led. Shortly it began to mount steeply, and shortly after it entered a high forest growing on the abrupt slopes. Here it was cool and mysterious, with green shadows, and the swing of rope vines, and the sudden remoteness of glimpsed skies. The earth was soft and moist under foot; so the dampness of it rose to the nostrils. Vines and head-high bracken and feather growths covered the ground. In every shallow ravine were groves of tree ferns forty feet tall. A silence dwelt there, a different silence from that of the veldt at night; compounded of a few simple elements, such as the faint, incessant drip of hidden waters and occasional loud, hollowly echoing noises such as the bark of a colobus or the scream of a hyrax. There were birds, rare, flashing, brilliant, furtive birds, but they said nothing.
Through this forest on edge the path led steeply upward. Sometimes it was almost perpendicular; sometimes it took an angle; sometimes--but rarely--it paused at a little ledge wide enough to rest nearly the whole safari at once.
For an hour and a half they climbed, then topped the rim of the escarpment and emerged from the forest at the same time.
Immediately they were a thousand leagues from the Africa they knew. A gently rolling country stretched out before them with sweeps of green grass shoulder high, and compact groves of trees as though planted. For miles it undulated away until the very multitude of its low, peaceful hills shut in the horizon. Cattle grazed in the wide-flung hollows, and little herds of game; goats and sheep dotted the hills. The groves of trees were very green. Everything breathed of peace and plenty. Almost would one with proper childhood recollections listen for a church-going bell, search for spires and cottage roofs among the trees. Slim columns of smoke rose straight into the motionless air. The very sun seemed to have abated its African fierceness, and to have become mild.
Some of these things Kingozi learned from Cazi Moto; some from the Leopard Woman; each after his kind.
About a half-mile away a number of warriors in single file walked across the wide valley and disappeared in the forest to the left. They carried heavy spears and oval shields painted in various designs. A fillet bound long ostrich plumes that slanted backward on either side the head; and as they walked forward in the rather teetery fashion of the savage dandy these plumes waved up and down in rhythm.
"M'tela," said theshenzigoatherd waving his hand abroad.
They camped at the edge of a pleasant grove near running water. The donkey that the Leopard Woman rode fell to the tall lush grasses with a thankfulness beyond all expression. All the safari was in high spirits. They sawpotioin sight again; and, immediately, long grass for beds.
Visitors came in shortly--a dozen armed men, like the warriors seen earlier in the day, and a dignified older man who spoke a sufficient Swahili. Kingozi received these in a friendly fashion, did not permit them to sit, but at once began to cross-question them. The Leopard Woman emerged from her tent.
"Stay where you are," Kingozi called to her in decided tones. "You must in this permit me to judge of expediencies. I forbid you to hold any communication with these people. I hope you will not make it necessary for me to take measures to see that my wishes are carried out."
She showed no irritation, not even at the "forbid," but smiled quietly, and without reply returned to her tent.
"Yes," said the old man, "this was M'tela's country, these were M'tela's people." He disclaimed having been sent by M'tela.
At this point Kingozi, apparently losing all interest, dismissed them into the hands of Cazi Moto. The latter, previously instructed, took his guests to his own camp. There he distributed roast meat, onebalauriof coffee to the old man, and many tales, some of them true. These people had never before laid eyes on a white man, but naturally, at this late date in African history, all had heard more or less of the phenomenon. Cazi Moto found that the distinction betweenInglisheeandDuychewas known. He left a general impression that Kingozi was the favourite son of the King, come from sheer friendship and curiosity to see M'tela, whose fame was universal. For two hours the warriors squatted, or walked about camp examining with carefully concealed curiosity its various activities and strange belongings. Then all disappeared. No more people appeared that day.
Kingozi knew well enough that this was a spying party sent directly from M'tela's court; and that, pending its report, nothing more was to be done. Cazi Moto's detailed description of what had been said and done cheered his master wonderfully. By all the signs the simplest of the white man's wonders were brand new to the visitors;ergoWinkleman could not have arrived. If he were not yet at M'tela's court, the chances seemed good that Simba and the magic bone had succeeded.
Nothing at present could be done. Kingozi sent Cazi Moto out to kill an abundance of game. The little headman returned later to report the extraordinary luck of two zebra to two cartridges (at thirty yards to be sure!) and that after each kill very manyshenzisgathered to examine the bullet wound, the gun, and the distance. They were immensely excited, not at all awestricken, entirely friendly. There was no indication of any desire to rob the hunters. Evidently, Kingozi reflected, they were familiar with firearms by hearsay, and were deeply interested at this first hand experience.
The safari remained encamped at this spot all the next day, and the day succeeding. Natives came into camp, at first only the men, hesitatingly; then the women. A brisk little trade sprang up for yams, bananas,m'wembemeal, eggs, and milk. No shrewder bargainer exists than your African safari man, and these soon discovered that beads and wire possessed great purchasing power in this unsophisticated country. The bartering had to be done in sign language, as Swahili seemed to be unknown; and no man in the safari understood this unknown tongue. Kingozi sat in state before his tent, smoking his pipe--which he still enjoyed in spite of his blindness--and awaiting events in that vast patience so necessary to the successful African traveller. Occasionally a group of the chatting natives would drift toward his throne, would fall into awestricken silence, would stare, would drift away again; but none addressed him. The Leopard Woman, obeying rules that Kingozi had managed to convey as very strict, held apart. Only in the evening, after the lion-fearing visitors had all departed, did they sit together sociably by the fire. The nights at this elevation were cool--cold they seemed to the heat-seasoned travellers.
There was not much conversation. Kingozi was lost in a deep brooding, which she respected. The occasion was serious, and both knew it. During the moment of decision the man's duty and principle had been the most important matters in the world. Once the decision was irrevocably made, however, these things fell below the horizon. There loomed only the thought of perpetual blindness. Kingozi faced it bravely; but such a fact requires adjustment, and in these hours of waiting the adjustments were being made.
Only once or twice did Bibi-ya-chui utter the thoughts that continually possessed her.
"It seems so foolish!" she complained to him. "You are making yourself blind for always; and you are going to be a prisoner for long! If you would go back, you would not be captured and held by Winkleman when you reach M'tela!"
But such expostulations she knew to be vain, even as she uttered them.
At about nine o'clock of the third day Cazi Moto reported a file of warriors, many warriors--"like the leaves of grass!" armed with spears and shields, wearing black ostrich plumes, debouching from the grove a mile across the way. At the same instant the Leopard Woman, her alarm causing her to violate her instructions, came to Kingozi's camp.
"They attack us!" she cried. "They come in thousands! How can we resist so many--and you blind! Tell me what I shall do!"
"There is no danger," Kingozi reassured her. "This is undoubtedly an escort. No natives ever attack at this hour of the day. Their time is just at first dawn."
She sighed with relief. Then a new thought struck her.
"But if they had wished to attack--at dawn--we have had no extra guards--we have not fortified! What would prevent their killing us all?"
"Not a thing," replied Kingozi calmly. "We are too weak for resistance. That is a chance we had to take. Now please go back to your tent. Cazi Moto, strike camp, and get ready to safari."
The warriors of M'tela debouched on the open plain, seemingly without end. The sun glinted from their upraised, polished spears; their ostrich plumes swayed gently as though a wind ruffled a field of sombre grain tassels; the anklets and leg bracelets clashed softly together to produce in the aggregate a rhythmic marching cadence. Their front was nearly a quarter of a mile in width. Rank after rank in succession appeared: literally thousands. Drums roared and throbbed; and the blowing of innumerable trumpets, fashioned mostly from the horns of oryx and sing-sing, added to the martial ensemble.
The members of the safari were gathered in little knots, staring, wide eyed with apprehension. Upon them descended zealous Cazi Moto. Even hiskibokohad difficulty in breaking up the groups, in setting the men at the commonplace occupations of breaking camp. Yet that must be done, in all decent dignity; and at length it was done.
The first ranks were now fairly at the outskirts of camp; the last had but just left the woods. The plains were literally covered with spearmen. A magnificent sight! They came to a halt, raised their spears horizontally above their heads; the horns and drums redoubled their din; a mighty, concerted shout rent the air. Then abruptly fell dead silence.
From the front rank a tall, impressive savage stepped forward, pacing with dignified stride. He walked directly to Kingozi's chair.
"Jambo, bwana!" He uttered his greeting in deep chest tones that rumbled like distant thunder.
"Jambo, n'ympara," responded Kingozi in a mild tone. By his use of the wordn'ympara--headman--he indicated his perfect understanding of the fact that this man, for all his magnificence, for all the strength of his escort, was not M'tela himself, but only one of M'tela's ministers.
"Jambo, bwana m'kubwa!" rolled the latter.
"Jambo" replied Kingozi.
"Jambo, bwana m'kubwa-sana!"
"Jambo."
"Jambo, bwana m'kubwa-sana!"
"Jambo."
Having thus climbed by easy steps to the superlative greeting, the minister uttered his real message. As befitted his undoubted position in court, he spoke excellent Swahili.
"I am come to take you to themanyattaof M'tela," he announced.
"That is well," replied Kingozi calmly. "In one hour we shall go."
They set off through the beautiful country in their usual order of march. The warriors of M'tela accompanied them, walking ahead, behind, and on either flank. The drums roared incessantly, the trumpets of horn sounded. It was a triumphal procession, but rather awe-inspiring. The safari men did their best to imitate Kingozi's attitude of indifference; and succeeded fairly well, but their eyes rolled in their heads.
The Leopard Woman sat her donkey, and surveyed it all with appreciative eyes. In spite of Kingozi's reassuring words, the impression of savage power as the warriors debouched from the wood had been vivid enough to give emphasis to a strong feeling of relief when their intentions proved peaceful. The revulsion accentuated her enjoyment of the picturesque aspects of the scene. The shining, naked bodies, the waving ostrich plumes, the glitter of spears, the glint of polished iron, the wild, savage expression of the men, the throb of barbaric music appealed to her artistic sense. In a way her mind was at rest. At least the striving was over. Kingozi had made his decision; it was no use to struggle against it longer. She had no doubt that now they were virtually prisoners, that they were being conducted in this impressive manner to a chieftain already won over by Winkleman. The latter had had more than the time necessary to carry out his purpose. Kingozi's persistence was maddeningly futile; but it was part of the man, and she could not but acquiesce.
They marched across the open grassy plain, and into the woods beyond. A wide, beaten track took them through, as though they walked in a lofty tunnel with green walls through which one could look, but beyond which one might not pass. Then out into the sunlight again, skirting a swamp of plumed papyrus with many waterfowl, and swarms of insects, and birds wheeling swiftly catching the insects, and other larger birds soaring grandly above on the watch-out for what might chance. This swamp was like a green river flowing bank high between the hills. It twisted out of sight around wooded promontories. And the hills, constantly rising in height, crowned with ever-thickening forests, extended as far as the eye could reach.
At the end of the straight vista they turned sharp to the right and climbed a tongue of land--what would be called a "hog's-back" in the West. It was grown sparsely with trees, and commanded a wide outlook. Now the sinuous course of the papyrus swamp could be followed for miles in its vivid green; and the tops of the forest trees lay spread like a mantle. The top of the "hog's-back" had been flattened, and on it stood M'tela's palace.
The Leopard Woman stared curiously. There was not much to be seen. A high stockade of posts and wattle shut off the view, but over it could be distinguished a thatched roof. It was rectangular instead of circular and appeared to be at least forty feet long--a true, royal palace. Smaller roofs surrounded it. Outside the gate stood several more of the gorgeous spearmen, rigidly at attention. Not another soul was in sight.
But whatever seemed to lack either in the cordiality or curiosity of the inhabitants was more than made up for by the escort. With admirable military precision, a precision that Kingozi would have appreciated could he have seen it, they deployed across the wide open space at the front of the plateau. The drums lined up before them. In the echoing enclosure of the forest walls the noise was prodigious. And then abruptly, as before, it fell. In the silence the voice of the old headman was heard:
"Here will be found the way to the guest houses," he urged gently.
The ragged safari, carrying its loads, plunged again into a forest path, walking single file, a tatterdemalion crew. And yet a philosophic observer might have caught a certain nonchalance, a faint superiority of bearing on the part of these scarecrows; ridiculous when considered against the overwhelming numbers, the military spruceness, the savage formidability of the wild hordes that surrounded them. And if he had been an experienced as well as a philosophic observer he could have named the quality that informed them. Even in these truly terrifying, untried conditions it persisted--the white man'sprestige.
The forest path, wide and well-trodden, led them a scant quarter mile to a cleared wide space on the very edge of the hill, which here fell abruptly away. A large circular guest house occupied the centre point, and other smaller houses surrounded it at a respectful distance. To the right hand were the tops of trees on a lower elevation; to the left and at the rear the solid wall of forest; immediately in front a wide outlook over the papyrus swamp and the partly clothed hills beyond.
Their guides--for there were several--indicated the guest houses, and silently disappeared. The safari was alone with its own devices.
Kingozi's practical voice broke the slight awe that all this savage magnificence had imposed.
"Cazi Moto!" he commanded, "tell me what is here."
He listened attentively while the wizen-faced little headman gave a detailed account, not only of the present dispositions, but also of what had been seen during the short march to M'tela's stronghold. At the conclusion of this recital he called to the Leopard Woman.
"I am here, near you," she answered.
"You must be my eyes for this," he told her. "Look into the large guest house. Is it clean? Is it fairly new?"
She reported favourably as to these points.
"I am sorry, but I must take it over for myself," he said. "Matter not of comfort, but of prestige. You would do best to pitch your tent somewhere near. Cazi Moto, let the men make camp as usual."
"Very well," she agreed to her part of this program. Her manner was very gentle; and she looked on him, could he have known it, with eyes of a tender compassion. His was a brave heart, but Winkleman must long since have arrived----
She moved slowly away to superintend the placing of her tent, reflecting on these matters. It was decent of Winkleman to keep himself in the background just at first. Time enough to convince poor blind Kingozi that the game was up when he had to some extent recovered from the strain and fatigue of the long journey. But Winkleman was a good sort. She knew him: a big, hearty, bearded Bavarian, polyglot, intensely scientific, with a rolling deep voice. He must have had ten days--a week anyway--to use his acknowledged arts and influence on the savage king. Kingozi had said a week would be enough--and Kingozi knew! She sighed deeply as she thought of the doom to which his own obstinacy had condemned that remarkable man. Her eyes wandered to where he sat in his canvas chair, superintending through the ever-efficient Cazi Moto the details of the camp. His shoulders were sagging forward wearily, and his face in repose fell into lines of infinite sadness. Her heart melted within her; and in a sudden revulsion she flamed against Winkleman and all his diabolical efficiency. After all, this little corner of an unknown land could not mean so much to the general result, and it would be so glorious a consolation to a brave man's blindness! Then she became ashamed of herself as a traitor. Her tent was now ready; so she entered it, bathed, clad herself in her silks, and hung the jewel on her forehead. Once more the serene mistress of herself, she came forth to view the sights.
It was by now near the setting of the sun. The forest shadows were rising. Colobus were calling, and birds. Up a steep trail from the swamp came a long procession of women and little girls. They were all stark naked, and each carried on her head an earthen vessel or a greater or lesser gourd according to her strength. They passed near the large guest house, and there poured the water from their vessels into a series of big jars. Thus every drop of water had to be transported up the hill, not only for the guest camp, but for all M'tela's thousands somewhere back in the mysterious forest. These women were of every age and degree of attractiveness; but all were slender, and each possessed a fine-textured skin of red bronze. Except the very old, whose breasts had fallen, they were finely shaped. The rays of the sun outlined them. They seemed quite unaware of their nakedness. Their faces were good-humoured; and some of them even smiled shyly at the white woman standing by her tent. Having poured out the water, they disappeared down the forest path.
Thence shortly appeared other women with huge burdens of firewood carried by means of a strap, after the fashion of the Canadian tump-line; and still others withm'wembe, bananas, yams, eggs,n'jugunuts, and gourds of smoked milk. Evidently M'tela did not do things by halves.
The customary routine of the camp went on. Supper was served as usual; and as usual the Leopard Woman joined Kingozi for the meal. The occasion was constrained on her side, easy on his. He asked her various questions as to details of the surroundings which she answered accurately but a little absently. She spoke from the surface of her mind. Within herself she was listening and waiting--listening for the first sound of shod feet, wailing for the moment when Winkleman should see fit to declare himself and end the suspense.
So high was this inner tension that she fairly jumped from her chair as a demoniac shrieking wail burst from the forest near at hand. It was answered farther away. Other voices took up the cry. It was as though a thousand devils in shuddering pain were giving tongue.
"Tree hyraxes," Kingozi reassured her.
"Those tiny beasts!" she cried incredulously.
"Just so. Sweet voices, haven't they? Some of these people must be wearing hyrax robes."
And indeed she remembered seeing some of the soft, beautiful karosses.
But now from the direction of M'tela's palaces arose a confused murmur that swelled as a multitude drew near. The drums began again. Soon, the Leopard Woman described, torches began to flash through the trees. At the same moment Cazi Moto came to report.
"Build up a big fire," commanded Kingozi. He turned to the Leopard Woman.
"This is likely to be an all-night session," he said resignedly. "If you want to get out of it, I advise you to go now. Not that you'll be able to get any sleep. But if you stay, you must stick it out. It would never do to leave in the middle of the performance. Some of it you won't like."
"What is it to be?"
"Ceremonial dances, I fancy."
"I think I shall stay," she said slowly.
In her heart she thought it extremely unlikely that the performance would last all night. Indeed her own opinion was that Kingozi would be a prisoner within an hour.
Kingozi settled himself stolidly in his chair before the fire that was now beginning to eat its way through an immense pile of fuel, where, during all subsequent events, he remained in the same attitude.
The Leopard Woman, on the contrary looked with all her eyes. The torches came nearer. People began to pour out from the woods. There were warriors in full panoply; lithe, naked men carrying only wands peeled fresh to the white; women hung heavily with cowries; other women with neither garment nor ornament, their bodies oiled and glistening. A deep, rolling chant arose from hundreds of throats, punctuated and carried by a sort of shrill, intermittent ululation. The drums were there, but for the moment they were not being beaten in cadence, only rubbed until they roared in undertone to the men's chanting.