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Kingozi had listened attentively. "Well, Cazi Moto?" he demanded. "But this is a lie; a bad lie," said Cazi Moto, "to say that white men make war on white men!" "Nevertheless it is true," rejoined Kingozi quietly. "These other white men are the Duyches , and they make war." He turned and walked back to his camp unassisted. He groped for his chair and sat down. His hand encountered the letter.
Here Cazi Moto came up in great perturbation to announce that two of the memsahib's porters were missing. The little headman did not understand how it happened, as he had zealously brought up the rear. Unless, of course, it was a case of desertion. Kingozi looked thoughtful, then ordered camp to be pitched. Accompanied by Simba, Mali-ya-bwana, and three askaris he took the back track.
Cazi Moto sharpened a stick, smoothed out a piece of earth, and squatted beside it. The Central African native is untrained either to express himself or to see pictorially. We have been so trained since the building blocks of our infancy, so that a photograph of a scene is to us an exact replica of that scene in miniature.
But now from the direction of M'tela's palaces arose a confused murmur that swelled as a multitude drew near. The drums began again. Soon, the Leopard Woman described, torches began to flash through the trees. At the same moment Cazi Moto came to report. "Build up a big fire," commanded Kingozi. He turned to the Leopard Woman. "This is likely to be an all-night session," he said resignedly.
Mali-ya-bwana, under his directions, had undone the loads containing the lanterns. Everything seemed now ready for the start. All of Kingozi's safari had arrived except Cazi Moto and five men. "Have you any water left?" Kingozi asked the Leopard Woman. She stared straight ahead of her, refusing to answer. Unperturbed, Kingozi turned to the Nubian. "Which is memsahib's canteen?"
And catch him doing anything outside his strict "cazi" except for US. We were always very ceremonious and dignified in our relations on such occasions. Memba Sasa would suddenly appear, deposit the rifle in its place, and stand at attention. "Well, Memba Sasa?" I would inquire. "I have found the men; they are in camp." Then I would give him his reward.
"You may well thank me. I have saved your life!" she cried hysterically, and was gone. Kingozi did not examine the meaning of this; indeed, it hardly registered at all as it was to him evidently the product of excitement. He forgot even the scandalized Cazi Moto squatting at his feet. For a long time he stared sightlessly straight ahead. He could not explain this woman.
Kingozi gazed after him, his blue eyes wide with their peculiar aggressive blank stare. A low hum of conversation swept through the squatting warriors. Those who understood Swahili murmured eagerly to those who did not. These uttered politely the long drawn "A-a-a-a!" of savage interest. "Cazi Moto, where is my chair?"
They walked apart, ate apart, lived each in his superb isolation, going forward like sleep-walkers to what the future might hold. Thus they travelled for ten days. In mid-march, then, Cazi Moto came to tell Kingozi that two more messengers had arrived. "They are not people of our country," he added. "They are shenzis such as no man here ever saw before." "What sort of shenzis?"
Kingozi had said a week would be enough and Kingozi knew! She sighed deeply as she thought of the doom to which his own obstinacy had condemned that remarkable man. Her eyes wandered to where he sat in his canvas chair, superintending through the ever-efficient Cazi Moto the details of the camp. His shoulders were sagging forward wearily, and his face in repose fell into lines of infinite sadness.
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