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Updated: May 17, 2025
At the same instant the Leopard Woman, her alarm causing her to violate her instructions, came to Kingozi's camp. "They attack us!" she cried. "They come in thousands! How can we resist so many and you blind! Tell me what I shall do!" "There is no danger," Kingozi reassured her. "This is undoubtedly an escort. No natives ever attack at this hour of the day. Their time is just at first dawn."
The real point is that you have no business to ride in a hammock through a rhino country." The woman's control slipped a very little. "Who are you to teach me my business?" For the first time Kingozi's careless, candid stare narrowed to a focus. "You have not told me what your business is," he replied with an edge of intention in his tones.
I was wondering! So he has captured you, too, has he!" With a simple and unembarrassed gesture she laid her arm across Kingozi's shoulders. "But yes," she repeated softly. "He has captured me, too." At the tiny fire burning before the tent reserved for the headmen of the camp sat Simba, Cazi Moto, and Mali-ya-bwana. The bone of the saurian lay before Simba, who was bragging.
But had Kingozi looked down when he tightened his arms, instead of staring at the halo-encircled lantern, he would have seen her glance sidewise upward into his face, he would have discerned a fleeting smile upon her lips. Almost immediately the people were back with armfuls of the long grass that grows on the edge of mountainous country. Under Kingozi's directions they heaped it at one side.
"No but I don't know much about native tribes." Remembering her map Kingozi's lips compressed under his beard. What earthly object could she have in lying? unless her errand was as secret as his own. "Well, he is described as being very powerful. And of course he will hear of us. It is well to make friends with him before he has had a chance to think us over too long. I'll just go on and see him."
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.
They would change places so skilfully that the occupant of the hammock could not have told when the shift took place. Alongside walked a tall, bareheaded, very black man. Kingozi's experienced eye was caught by differences. "Of what tribe is that man?" he asked. But Mali-ya-bwana was also puzzled. "I do not know, bwana. He is a shenzi ." The unknown was very tall, very straight, most well formed.
Kingozi's attention, however, now narrowed to a smaller circle than the casual. Cautiously the two men began to back away. When they had receded some twenty yards, however, the huge beast leaped to its feet. The rapidity of its movements was extraordinary.
They came to a halt, raised their spears horizontally above their heads; the horns and drums redoubled their din; a mighty, concerted shout rent the air. Then abruptly fell dead silence. From the front rank a tall, impressive savage stepped forward, pacing with dignified stride. He walked directly to Kingozi's chair. "Jambo, bwana!"
"Cazi Moto is back there in the Thirst," suggested Kingozi, "and many others. And there is no water." "I will go, bwana, and take the shenzis with me." He set about gathering the water bottles and gourds that had not been emptied. Mali-ya-bwana and, unexpectedly, a big Kavirondo of Kingozi's safari, volunteered. The rest prepared to continue the journey. But another delay occurred.
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