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Updated: June 14, 2025
A varied murmur came happily from outside, what the Africans call a kalele a compound of chatter, the noise of occupation, of movement, the inarticulate voice of human existence. He glanced across the hut. The Leopard Woman was gone. "Boy!" he shouted. At the sound of his voice the kalele ceased. Almost immediately Cazi Moto stooped to enter the doorway.
But it is an order, so I come, and I do my best. But now I am a prisoner, while I might be with the little people in the Congo. I talk much." "I fancy we are going to have a good deal to talk about," interjected Kingozi. "Ach! that is true! That is what I said that I am glad this is Culbertson who catches me. Yes! We must talk!" Cazi Moto glided to them. "Bath is ready, bwana," said he.
Across the way, a half or three-quarters of a mile distant, beyond the green papyrus swamp, on the slope from the edge of the forest, appeared a long file of men bearing burdens on their heads. Even at this distance she made out the colour of occasional garments of khaki cloth, or the green of canvas on the packs. She arrived at Kingozi's side simultaneously with Cazi Moto.
But Bwana Kingozi's low voice cut across the merriment. "Bandika!" he commanded. And immediately Cazi Moto and Simba took up the cry. "Bandika! bandika! bandika!" they vociferated over and over. Cazi Moto moved here and there, lively as a cricket, his eyes alert for any indication of slackness, his kiboko held threateningly. But there was no need for the latter.
"A safari comes, bwana," said the latter. "It is across the swamp." Kingozi's figure stiffened. "What kind of a safari?" he asked quietly. The Leopard Woman answered him. There was no note of jubilation in her voice. "It is a white man's safari," she told him. "I can see khaki and they are marching as a white man's safari marches." "Get my glasses," he told Cazi Moto.
We could not hope to equal this show, possibly. Our lay is to do the supercilious indifferent." He turned to his attentive satellite. "Cazi Moto," he ordered, "tell our people, quietly, to go back to their camps. They must not stand and stare at these shenzis. And tell M'pishi to make large balauris of coffee, and put in plenty of sugar." Cazi Moto grinned understandingly, and glided away.
"I am very pleased with you, Memba Sasa," said I. "You have done your cazi well. You are a good man." He accepted this with dignity, without deprecation, and without the idiocy of spoken gratitude. He agreed perfectly with everything I said! "Yes" was his only comment. I liked it.
"That bibi is a great memsahib," he told Mali-ya-bwana. "And this evening we will go to see her. Be you ready to go also." In the early darkness of equatorial Africa Kingozi, accompanied by Mali- ya-bwana with a lantern, crossed over to the other camp. Simba and Cazi Moto had come in almost at dusk; but they were very tired, and Kingozi considered it advisable to let them rest.
Well, good luck. Cazi Moto, take Mali-ya-bwana and two askari guns, and go with Bwana Nyele to the palace of M'tela." Scarcely had the group disappeared down the forest path when Kingozi was at the tent door of the Leopard Woman. "Hodie?" he pronounced the native word of one desiring entrance. "Who is there?" she asked in Swahili. "I Culbertson." A slight pause; then her voice: "Come."
Kingozi sat very still for a long time. Then he arose abruptly and commanded Cazi Moto to return with him to his own camp. There he caused his chair to be placed in the shade. "Cazi Moto," said he, "listen well. You are my other hands; now you must be something else. I am sick in the eyes; I can see nothing.
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