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Updated: June 26, 2025
Kingozi sat very still for a long time. Then he arose abruptly and commanded Cazi Moto to return with him to his own camp. There he caused his chair to be placed in the shade. "Cazi Moto," said he, "listen well. You are my other hands; now you must be something else. I am sick in the eyes; I can see nothing.
If he had spared any thought at all, it would have been self-congratulation that Simba and Cazi Moto were old and tried. For Simba relieved him of the necessity of watching for dangerous beasts, and Cazi Moto of the responsibility of keeping account of the men. At the rest periods Kingozi sat down on the ground. Then in the relaxation his intelligence emerged. He took stock of the situation.
We chose for our camp the shelter of a moto tree, one of the most lordly of all the growths of these islands. Not ten of them were left in all the Marquesas, said Le Brunnec as I admired its towering column and magnificent spread of foliage. "The whites who used the axe in these isles would have made firewood of the ark of the covenant."
He arose on his elbow and drew aside the flap of his tent. At the same instant Cazi Moto stopped outside. The usual formula ensued. "Hodie!" called Cazi Moto. "Karibu," replied Kingozi. Thus Cazi Moto at once awakened and greeted his master, and Kingozi acknowledged. Cazi Moto entered the tent and lighted the tiny lantern, for it was still an hour and a half until daylight.
"Hot water ready, bwana," said he; and for the first time Kingozi noticed that he carried a towel over his arm. "This is good, very good, Cazi Moto!" said he. "Backsheeshi m'kubwa for this; both for you and for Simba." "Thank you, bwana," said Gaza Moto. "Simba brought the water, and it saved us; and I thought that my bwana should not sleep on grass a second time before these shenzis."
It did not take long to find the right man among the revenue officers to talk with. Nor was Kennedy surprised to learn that Nichi Moto had been in fact a Japanese detective, a sort of stool pigeon in Clendenin's establishment working to keep the government in touch with the latest scheme.
They had covered probably thirty-five miles. Cazi Moto had found no water, and no traces of water. Furthermore, the game had thinned and disappeared. Only old tracks, old trails, old signs indicated that after the Big Rains the country might be habitable for the beasts. But Simba had discovered a concealed "tank" in a kopje.
A varied murmur came happily from outside, what the Africans call a kalele a compound of chatter, the noise of occupation, of movement, the inarticulate voice of human existence. He glanced across the hut. The Leopard Woman was gone. "Boy!" he shouted. At the sound of his voice the kalele ceased. Almost immediately Cazi Moto stooped to enter the doorway.
Two were getting individual treatment: Simba and Cazi Moto were putting them through a careful course in aiming and pulling the trigger on empty guns. Kingozi sat on a chop box in the shade, gripping his eternal pipe, and issuing curt orders and criticisms to the baker's dozen, before him. When he saw the Leopard Woman he arose and strolled in her direction.
While the white man was divesting himself of his accoutrements, Cazi Moto entered bearing a galvanized pail full of hot water which he poured into the tub. He disappeared only to return with a pail of cold water to temper the first. "Bath is ready, bwana," said he, and retired, carefully tying the tent flaps behind him. Fifteen minutes later Kingozi emerged.
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