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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.
Kingozi's witnesses would have been called solely for the purpose of furnishing information to himself. He needed only one piece of information here, and that only one witness could furnish him the man before him. "Why did you kill Mavrouki?" he demanded. "I did not kill Mavrouki, bwana." "That is a lie," rejoined Kingozi calmly. Chake became voluble.
In a few minutes more the swift darkness would fall. After delivering the astonishing volley the troops wheeled and under Kingozi's guidance proceeded down the forest path to the great clearing. It was the close of a long, hard day, but under the scrutinizing eyes of these thousands of proud shenzis the Sudanese stepped forth jauntily. Camping places were designated.
He drew aside the tent flaps and entered. She was half reclining on the cot, her back raised by pillows stuffed with sweet grass. Her silk garment, carelessly arranged, had fallen partly open, so that the gleam of her flesh showed tantalizingly here and there. The blood leaped to Kingozi's forehead. She did not alter her pose. Suddenly he realized: of course, she thought him blind!
After a moment, however, her attitude lost its rigidity, she gestured toward the dead monster, evidently commending the savage. He shook his head and motioned in Kingozi's direction. The woman turned, showing an astonished face. Kingozi was now close up. He saw before him a personality. Physically she was beautiful or not, according as one accepted conventional standards.
But his face was extraordinarily ugly. His flat, wide nose, thick lips, and small yellow eyes were set off by an upstanding mop of hair. His expression was of extraordinary fierceness. He walked with a free and independent stride, and carried a rifle. "He is not of this country. He is from the west coast, or perhaps Nubia or the Sudan," was Kingozi's conclusion.
The Leopard Woman ceased to exist, not because she had lost importance, but because Kingozi's mind was focussed on a single point. And she. Perhaps she understood this; perhaps the tearing antagonism of her own purposes, duties, and desires stunned or occupied her who knows? The outward result was the same as in the case of her companion.
Without paying even casual attention to his surroundings he seated himself on a third chop box and began to eat. Kingozi's methods of eating had in them little of the epicure. He simply ate all he wanted of the first things set before him. After this he drank all he wanted from the tall balauri. Second courses did not exist for Kingozi.
A mild wonder appeared in Kingozi's gray eyes. "Do you kiboko your askaris?" he asked. She jerked her head in his direction. "Do you presume to question my actions?" "By no means; I am interested in methods." She paid him no more attention. Kingozi waited patiently until this second bout of punishment was over.
You'll pull out in a day or so." But the Leopard Woman pulled out in a second or so after Kingozi's departure. As soon as he was safe away, she threw back the covers and swung to the edge of the cot. At her call Chake, the Nubian, appeared. To him she immediately began to give emphatic directions, repeating some of them over and over vehemently.
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