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"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 the manyatta of M'tela," he announced.
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. Could she be on the same errand as himself? That sounded fantastic. Kingozi reviewed the circumstances. M'tela was a formidable myth, gradually taking shape as a reality. He was reported as a mighty chief of distant borders.
And, indeed, though no mountains as yet raised their peaks above the horizon, fleets of clouds setting sail from the distant ranges winged their way joyously down a growing wind. The Leopard Woman fell ill and kept her tent. Kingozi waited two days, then sought her out. His patience over delay was about gone.
The process was noisy. Four askaris, 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.
Kingozi abruptly wished her farewell in Swahili. "Qua heri," she replied without moving. He turned into the darkness. The tropical stars blazed above him like candles. Kingozi lapsed into half-forgotten slang. "Downy bird!" he reflected, which was probably not exactly the impression the Leopard Woman either intended or thought she had made.
There remain now nine days to wait until we must bring this m'zungu to Bwana Kingozi at the manyatta of M'tela." "It is indeed great magic," agreed Mali-ya-bwana. "How many days is the manyatta?" "I do not know. These shenzis should know; but they talk only monkey talk. Here, let us try." He drew one of the prisoners one side. "M'tela," he enunciated slowly.
The two took up a kind of antiphony, one against the other, now rising in volume, now dying down to a low grumble, again suddenly bursting like an explosion. "The lions have found that rhino," remarked Kingozi indifferently. For a moment or so they listened to the distant thunders. "I have not sufficiently thanked you even yet for this afternoon," she said. "You saved my life you know that."
The muscles under his beard tightened; his gray eyes widened into a glare like that of Simba in sight of game. Just before the rhinoceros dropped his head for the toss, the Nubian stepped directly into the line of fire. "Lala! lie down!" Kingozi shouted. Somehow the whip-snap of authority in his voice reached the Nubian's consciousness. He dropped flat, and almost instantly the white man fired.
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."
Without paying even casual attention to his surroundings he seated himself on a third chop box and began to eat. Kingozi's methods of eating had in them little of the epicure. He simply ate all he wanted of the first things set before him. After this he drank all he wanted from the tall balauri. Second courses did not exist for Kingozi.
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