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"Yes, bwana." "And if any man grumbles, or if any man objects even one word to what I do or where I go, bring him to me at once. Understand?" "Yes, bwana." "Bassi." "What is it you intend to do now?" asked the Leopard Woman curiously. "Go back, of course." "Back where?" "To M'tela." She gasped. "But you cannot do that! You have not considered; you have not thought." He shrugged his shoulders.
They spread in all directions, advancing in fan-formation. Evidently the scouts. Then more tiny figures, figures on horseback. Kingozi counted them. There were, as M'tela had said, just thirty-one; a gallant little band, but at this distance indistinguishable. They rode out some distance. And at last the first files of the black troops appeared.
The friendship of M'tela and his umpty-thousand spears became important. His hostility could cause endless trouble and delay. Kingozi's present job was to lay the foundations for this friendship. "You have a free hand, Culbertson," the very high official had said to him. "We are not going to suggest or advise. Choose your own men; take as many or as few as you please.
These people had never before laid eyes on a white man, but naturally, at this late date in African history, all had heard more or less of the phenomenon. Cazi Moto found that the distinction between Inglishee and Duyche was known. He left a general impression that Kingozi was the favourite son of the King, come from sheer friendship and curiosity to see M'tela, whose fame was universal.
It is our business to reach M'tela and persuade him to fight on the side of the Inglishee. Is that understood?" "It is understood, bwana" said they. "But this Duyche, Bwana Nyele, is only one week's march from M'tela; and he undoubtedly has many gifts for M'tela and the Kabilagani.
"Fancy it will be all right," said Captain Walsh vaguely. He was thinking, quite properly, of ways and means and dispositions. "About this sultan, now; what do you advise " They rode forward slowly through the high, aromatic grasses, discussing earnestly every angle of policy to be assumed in regard to M'tela. At its close all the white men were called together and given instructions.
So when Winkleman came swashbuckling up the hill M'tela was prepared. The blue-black beard and hearty, deep-chested carriage of the Bavarian impressed him greatly. "But this is a great bwana, papa," he said to Kingozi. "Like you and me." "This is the prisoner of which I spoke to you," said Kingozi in a loud voice.
M'tela was over yonder a long distance who knows how far? He possessed more or less mythical characteristics, ranging from a height of forty or fifty feet down to the mere possession of a charm by which he could kill at a distance. Then, as the journey went on, the vagueness began to define. M'tela took form as a big man with a voice like the lion at night. His surroundings began to be described.
Tales of ten thousand spears drifted back to official attention. Allowing the usual discount, M'tela still loomed as a powerful figure. Nobody had paid very much attention to him until this time, but now his distant border had become important. Through it a new road from the north was projected. The following year the route was to be explored.
"My men report thirty-one white men and many black men." "I go now," advised Kingozi, "to look upon these men. Give me guides, and a messenger to send back with news of what I find." M'tela issued the orders. A moment later Kingozi started on. Winkleman, who had spoken no word, waved him a friendly good-bye. Before they had reached the forest edge the great war drums began to roar.
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