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"Where are you?" But she did not answer him. After a moment she slipped away. The return trip began promptly the following morning, and progressed uninterruptedly for two weeks. One by one they picked up the water-holes found on the journey out. A few details had to be adjusted to compensate for Kingozi's lack of eyes. The matter of meat supplies, for example.
As each man was named, he was required to step forward to undergo Kingozi's scrutiny. Most were uneasy, many were excited. Kingozi passed them rapidly in review. But when Chake came forward, he paused in the machine-like regularity of his inspection. "Hullo, my bold buccaneer," said he in English, "what ails you?" The Leopard Woman had drawn near. Kingozi glanced at her over his shoulder.
Without further parley she fired. Although the distance was short, she missed, the bullet throwing up a spurt of sand beneath the man's armpit. He did not stir, nor did his face change. Kingozi's bent form had straightened. An authority, heretofore latent, flashed from his whole personality. "Stop!" he commanded. She turned toward him a look of convulsed rage.
Do you understand it? I suppose not. Men have no nerves, like women. They are brave always. I have not said what I feel. I have heard of you the most wonderful shot in Central Africa. I believe it now." Kingozi's eyes were lingering on her silk-clad form, the peep of ankles below her robe. She observed him with slanted eyes, and a little breath of satisfaction raised her bosom. Abruptly he spoke.
"You have no men strong enough to carry a load: and mine will need all the strength they have left before they get in." He went on arranging the loads under the tarpaulins. "Those loads are my tent," she said, as Kingozi turned away. "We cannot take them." Her eyes flashed. She whirled with the evident intention of issuing her commands direct. Kingozi's weary, slow indifference fell from him.
When the sun grew large at the world's edge he threw himself flat on his belly and wormed his way to a position a few yards from Kingozi's tent. There he left the spear. When he had gained a spot a hundred yards away, he arose to his feet and walked quietly into camp. A moment later he was sitting on his heels before his fire, eating his evening meal.
It was worth it; he had done his bit! Whatever the price, it was worth it! The account finished, Captain Walsh began questioning in his turn. "Excellent!" he greeted Kingozi's account. "Couldn't be better! We have reasons to believe that the water-holes on this route are mapped by the Germans." "They are," interrupted Kingozi.
"But this man is an artist!" murmured Bibi-ya-chui. "He understands effect! This is stage managed!" The sultani approached without haste. He stopped squarely before Kingozi's chair. The latter did not rise. The two men stared into each other's eyes for a full minute, without embarrassment, without contest, without defiance. Then the black man spoke. "Jambo, bwana," he rumbled in a deep voice.
The expressions on the faces of the newcomers were varied enough, to be sure, but all had a common groundwork of fair imbecility. She seemed to be unaware of even their presence. When. McCloud had pronounced his opinion, she glided forward and laid her hand on Kingozi's shoulder. "I am glad but I am afraid," she said softly. Kingozi covered her hand with one of his own.
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?"
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