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Updated: May 17, 2025
Himself and Kingozi, two equals, were settling themselves for an informal little chat in the midst of solitudes. His large intelligent eye passed over the Leopard Woman, but if her appearance aroused in him any curiosity or other interest no flicker of expression betrayed the fact. As he heard the form of address a brief gleam of satisfaction crossed Kingozi's face.
Kingozi saw a tall figure without a coat, dressed in brown shirt, riding breeches, and puttees. The Nubian had retrieved a spilled sun helmet even before the stranger had scrambled erect, so the head and face were invisible. Kingozi's countenance did not change, but a faint contempt appeared in his eyes.
This white man did not intend to camp here then where there was no water! He did not mean to make them march with loads! He knew! He was a great lord, and wise, as Mali-ya-bwana had said! One or two arose wearily and stiffly, and dragged their loads to the pile. Others followed. Kingozi's men helped the weakest.
She seemed to the vague remnant of Kingozi's thinking perceptions like a priestess her slim, beautiful form erect, her small head bound with the golden fillet from which, he knew, hung the jewel on her forehead. As though meeting this thought she raised both arms toward the moon, standing thus for a moment in the conventional attitude of invocation.
A remarkable tribute to Kingozi's influence, not only over his own men, but over those of the new safari, might have been read from the fact that there was brought for correction not one grumble, either over the halving of the potio or the apparently endless counter- marching. As far as the white members were concerned the journey was one of doggedness and gloom.
Winkleman, a twinkle in his wide eyes, but with his countenance composed to gravity, stepped forward, salaamed, and placed his forehead beneath Kingozi's hand in token of submission. Thus proper relations were established. Winkleman seated himself humbly on the sod, and kept silence, while high converse went forward. At length M'tela departed.
"Jambo, bwana," said Simba's voice a moment later. Something in his tone caught Kingozi's ear. "Yes, Simba?" was all he replied. "All has been done as you ordered, bwana. This is the fourteenth day, and I am here to tell you." Kingozi caught his breath sharply. "Bwana Nyele was captured?" "Mali-ya-bwana holds him prisoner at a certain water." "There was no trouble?" "None, bwana.
"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.
They had reached Kingozi's camp under the great tree. He began to unbuckle his equipment. "I'll just lay all this gorgeousness aside," said he apologetically. But the Leopard Woman did not proceed to her own camp. "I am interested," said she. "This Winkleman he has vast influence? More than yourself?" "That is hard to say," laughed Kingozi. "I should suppose so."
"If you will ride in a hammock, you ought to teach your men to shoot," was Kingozi's greeting. "It's absurd to go barging through a rhino country like this. You look strong and healthy. Why don't you walk?" Her crest reared and her nostrils expanded haughtily. For a half-minute she stared at him, her sea-green eyes darkening to greater depths.
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