United States or Sri Lanka ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Kingozi's heart bounded, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped his rifle. "Bwana hapana piga?" Simba implored. "Is not bwana going to shoot?" But Kingozi shook his head. The temptation was strong, but he resisted it. He refrained from shooting at the lions for exactly the same reason that he had insulated himself against the Leopard Woman's charms.
Simba, who had listened with deference until his bwana should finish this jargon, grinned. "Yes, suh!" he used two of his English words at a bang. Kingozi ate his breakfast by firelight. With the exception of his camp chair and the eating service, the camp was by now all packed, and the men were squatting before their fires waiting. But there was a hitch.
A few moments later he could be heard robustly splashing in the tent. A roar summoned Cazi Moto. "Tell your bwana I want n'dowa medicine understand? Need some boric acid," he yelled at Kingozi. "Eyes in bad shape." Kingozi ordered Cazi Moto to take over the entire medicine chest; then sent a messenger for M'tela, who shortly appeared. "This enemy of mine is taken, thanks to your men, oh, King.
Do you remember I asked you once when you were boasting your efficiency, whether you had ever tried your men? Your work was done smartly and well better than my work was done. But my men will help me in a fix, and yours will not." "You are quite a preacher," she rejoined. "And you are exasperating. Why don't you do something?" "I am going to," replied Kingozi calmly.
The old man swept forward with considerable dignity; the younger, one hand held high in the most affected fashion, teetered gracefully along as mincingly as any dandy. The visitor came superbly up to where Kingozi sat, and uttered a greeting in Swahili. He proved to possess a grand, deep, thunderous voice. "Jambo!" he rolled.
At the roar of the great gun the rhinoceros collapsed in mid career, going down, as an animal always does under a successful spine shot, completely, without a struggle or even a quiver. "That was well shot, master," said Mali-ya-bwana. Kingozi reloaded the rifle and started forward. At the same time the occupant of the hammock finally emerged from the tangle and came erect.
This did not disturb Kingozi in the least: indeed he did not see it. His eyes were taking in the surroundings. The dead rhinoceros lay a scant fifteen paces distant; loads were scattered everywhere; the askaris, their ancient muskets reloaded, had drawn near in curiosity. From the thorn trees across the tiny grass opening porters were descending, very gingerly, and with lamentations.
"Wakamba!" he summoned; then "Monumwezi"; and finally "Baganda!" Thus the four tribes represented in his caravan were supplied. The men returned to their fires, and began the preparation of their evening meal. Kingozi turned to his own tent with a sigh of relief. Within it a cot had been erected, blankets spread. An officer's tin box stood open at one end. On the floor was a portable canvas bath.
"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. The sultani's eyes lit up with an almost childish delight, but his countenance showed no emotion.
Kingozi called two men with pangas who speedily cut out the centre, leaving a little round green room in the heart of the shadow. Thither Kingozi caused to be conveyed his chop-box table, his canvas chair, and his tin box; and there he spent the entire morning writing in a blank book and carefully drawing from field notes in a pocketbook a sketch map of the country he had traversed.
Word Of The Day