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Updated: June 24, 2025
Hanson had come for him early in fact he had remained all night with the foreman, Jervis, that they might get an early start. The farewell exchanges between the Hon. Morison and his host were of the most formal type, and when at last the guest rode away Bwana breathed a sigh of relief. It had been an unpleasant duty and he was glad that it was over; but he did not regret his action.
For Winkleman was a big man in every way: tall, broad, thick, with a massive head, large features, and such a tremendous black beard! Well had he deserved his native name of Bwana Nyele the master with the mane. Simba awaited the moment of greatest confusion in the placing and pitching of the camp, and then advanced timidly, holding out the bone Kingozi had given him.
"What sort of appearing man is he?" continued Bwana. "About how old, should you say?" "I should say he was an Englishman, about my own age," replied Baynes; "though he might be older. He is remarkably muscled, and exceedingly tanned." "His eyes and hair, did you notice them?" Bwana spoke rapidly, almost excitedly. It was Meriem who answered him.
"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 called Campi ya Korungu when we passed before." "Make camp there." "The sun is at four hours , bwana." "It makes no difference." When camp had been pitched Kingozi caused the new messengers to be brought before him.
"Who carried in the loads? Not our porters?" "No, bwana, the shenzis." Kingozi glanced at his wrist watch. It was only ten o'clock. "When?" "Last night." "They went back last night?" "Yes, bwana. Mali-ya-bwana considered that it was bad to leave the loads. There might be hyenas or the shenzis " Kingozi slapped his thigh with satisfaction. This was a man after his own heart.
They would change places so skilfully that the occupant of the hammock could not have told when the shift took place. Alongside walked a tall, bareheaded, very black man. Kingozi's experienced eye was caught by differences. "Of what tribe is that man?" he asked. But Mali-ya-bwana was also puzzled. "I do not know, bwana. He is a shenzi ." The unknown was very tall, very straight, most well formed.
That long-legged scarecrow, not content with running to get us and then back again, had trailed us the whole distance of our mad chase over broken ground at terrific speed in order to be in at the death. And he was just about all in at the death. He could barely gasp his breath, his eyes stuck out; he looked close to apoplexy. "Bwana! bwana!" was all he could say. "Master! master!"
To one of the little fires came softly Lawrence Teck's tent boy, a turbaned Persian, lemon-hued, with the beak of a parrot and the mouth of a cruel woman. He sat down close beside a Swahili gun bearer, who was frying a mess of white ants. "Our Bwana has fallen asleep," he uttered in a voice that would have been inaudible to white men. "The other Bwana is sitting by the bed."
He heard Werper halloo; he saw the gates swing open, and he witnessed the surprised and friendly welcome that was accorded the erstwhile guest of Lord and Lady Greystoke. A light broke upon the understanding of Mugambi. This white man had been a traitor and a spy. It was to him they owed the raid during the absence of the Great Bwana.
"With my own hands I took him; and he lies bound in my camp." "These are lies," persisted the headman. "How can such things be? That you took a white man, a great bwana? That is foolishness. That has never been and could never be. How could you accomplish such a feat?" "I have a magic." "Ho!" cried the headman derisively. "Everybody knows that a magic is not good against the white man.
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