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Updated: July 14, 2025
They had covered probably thirty-five miles. Cazi Moto had found no water, and no traces of water. Furthermore, the game had thinned and disappeared. Only old tracks, old trails, old signs indicated that after the Big Rains the country might be habitable for the beasts. But Simba had discovered a concealed "tank" in a kopje.
There was no pain. After a while Cazi Moto came to report that the Leopard Woman was out and about. Kingozi's message had been delivered. "She says you shall come to her tent," concluded Cazi Moto. Kingozi considered. To insist that she should come to him might lead to a downright refusal, unless he sent her word of his condition. This he did not wish to do.
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 a barua for you, bwana," said Cazi Moto. Kingozi took the split wand with the letter thrust crosswise in the cleft. "Who sent them?" he asked.
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; ergo Winkleman 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.
Only a faint dark encircling of the eyes, and a certain graceful languor of attitude recalled the collapse of yesterday. "Oh, I am all right; but perishing for a cigarette. Have you one?" "Sorry, but I don't use them. Are not all your loads up yet?" "None of them." "Well, they should be in shortly. Cazi Moto has given you breakfast, of course." "Yes. But nobody has yet gone for my loads."
"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. Two askaris, confided with the task of guarding her, followed a few paces to the rear.
As he leaned forward to place another bottle for Cazi Moto to copy from, she gathered her forces, rushed forward between them, snatched the vial, and dashed it violently against a rock, where it naturally broke into innumerable pieces. Cazi Moto stared up at her, astounded into immobility. Kingozi, without a trace of emotion, leaned back in his chair. "I think I am losing my wits," he remarked.
They were bedecked fantastically: some of them were painted with white clay; one was clad in the skins of beasts. There was no rhythm or order to their entrance; but immediately they began to dash here and there shouting. "It is the Lion Dance, memsahib," Cazi Moto told her in a low voice. "That one is the lion; and they hunt him with spears in the long grass."
"The look of you; and just this moment I thrust suddenly at your face." Cazi Moto arrived with the medicine chest which he placed at his master's feet, and opened. Kingozi extracted the three bottles. "The table is directly in front of you," came the Leopard Woman's voice. He reached out, and after a moment deposited the vials on the table. "It's one of these," he said, "but I don't know which.
Cazi Moto worked painstakingly, his shrewd and wizened face puckered in absorption. He accomplished a legible Borroughs & Wellcome after many trials. Then he proceeded with the script. It seemed impossible to make a start; he did not even begin at the beginning, but was inclined to view the work as an entity and to begin drawing it at the top of the middle. Kingozi corrected that.
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