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The sun had him to a certain extent; so that, although he could rouse himself at will, nevertheless, he moved mechanically in a sort of daze. He heard Simba's voice; and brought himself into focus. The gun bearer was staring at something on the ground. Kingozi followed the direction of his gaze. Before him lay a dead man.
"This is a great safari, Mali-ya-bwana. Four tin boxes and twelve askaris to guard them; and eighty or more porters; and sixteen men just to carry the machele! This must be a Bwana M' Kubwa." "That is what Kavirondos might think," replied Mali-ya-bwana calmly. Kingozi looked up at him with a new curiosity. "But not yourself?" "A man who is a Bwana M'kubwa does not have to be carried.
The loads were deposited by the side of the trail, and the delinquents, with every appearance of confidence, led the way back another hour's march to a veritable fork. Kingozi examined the earth for tracks. "Could you not see that the safari had gone this way and not that way?" he asked. "Yes, bwana," they said together; "we saw it after a little. That is why we came back."
Kingozi grunted, but said nothing. The nine men retraced their steps. Both porters were on a broad grin, laughing and talking in subdued tones to the askaris. The bwana strode on rapidly ahead. They followed at a little dogtrot, carrying their loads easily. At camp Kingozi ordered them to place the loads in place beneath the tarpaulin. "Simba," said he in a casual voice, "these men get kiboko."
I think we shall get through: but I am not at all certain. Go and sit down and save your strength." "I hate you!" she flashed. "I'd rather die here than accept your help! I command you to leave me!" "Bless you!" said Kingozi, as though this were a new thought. "I wasn't thinking especially of you; I am sorry for your boys."
There intervened none of the slow and clumsy upheaval one would naturally expect from an animal of so massive a body and such short, thick legs. One moment it slumbered, the next it was afoot, warned by some slight sound or jar of the earth or as some maintain by a telepathic sense of danger. Certainly, as far as they knew, neither Kingozi nor Mali-ya-bwana had disturbed a pebble or broken a twig.
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.
As each man was named, he was required to step forward to undergo Kingozi's scrutiny. Most were uneasy, many were excited. Kingozi passed them rapidly in review. But when Chake came forward, he paused in the machine-like regularity of his inspection. "Hullo, my bold buccaneer," said he in English, "what ails you?" The Leopard Woman had drawn near. Kingozi glanced at her over his shoulder.
Kingozi sat quietly, turning his head to either side, raising or lowering his chin as he was requested to do so. At last McCloud straightened his back. "It is glaucoma right enough," said he; "fairly advanced. The pilocarpin has been a palliative. An operation is called for iridectomy." He paused, wiping his mirror. Nobody dared ask the question that Kingozi himself at last propounded.
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!
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