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Thus every drop of water had to be transported up the hill, not only for the guest camp, but for all M'tela's thousands somewhere back in the mysterious forest. Except the very old, whose breasts had fallen, they were finely shaped. The rays of the sun outlined them. They seemed quite unaware of their nakedness.
In spite of a long march they walked jauntily. Two mounted white men brought up the rear. Now they entered the cool forest trail. The sound of distant drums became audible. Men straightened in their saddles. Captain Walsh gave crisp orders. They entered the cleared space before M'tela's palace with colours flying and snare drums tapping briskly.
"I know only this: that if in times of peace it was important to my government that M'tela's friendship be gained, it is ten times as important in time of war. I must go back and do my best." "But why?" she interjected eagerly. "This savage tribe it is in the remote hinterland; it knows nothing of the white man or the white man's quarrels. What difference can it make?" "That is not my affair.
Then after two weeks we send two men to tell the bwana where we are. But, bwana, how do we get Bwana Nyele?" "That I will tell you soon. One thing you forgot: you must reach the Duyche before he gets into M'tela's country. This means travel night and day fast travel. Can this be done?" "We shall pick good men, bwana, runners of the Wakamba. We shall do our best." "Good.
He uttered his greeting in deep chest tones that rumbled like distant thunder. "Jambo, n'ympara," responded Kingozi in a mild tone. By his use of the word n'ympara headman he indicated his perfect understanding of the fact that this man, for all his magnificence, for all the strength of his escort, was not M'tela himself, but only one of M'tela's ministers.
Now the sinuous course of the papyrus swamp could be followed for miles in its vivid green; and the tops of the forest trees lay spread like a mantle. The top of the "hog's-back" had been flattened, and on it stood M'tela's palace. The Leopard Woman stared curiously. There was not much to be seen.
And here, where we stand, it is perhaps twenty days, perhaps more. Winkleman would arrive nearly two weeks ahead of you. Tell me, how long would it take you to win M'tela's friendship so it would not be shaken?" Kingozi's face lit with a grim smile. "A week," he promised confidently. "You see! And Herr Winkleman is equal to you; you have said so yourself. Is not it so?" "It's so, all right."
She seemed never to have heard of the name of M'tela; yet this map's sole reason for being was that it indicated at least the beginning of a route to M'tela's country. Could she be on the same errand as himself? That sounded fantastic. Kingozi reviewed the circumstances. M'tela was a formidable myth, gradually taking shape as a reality. He was reported as a mighty chief of distant borders.
There came the sound of many running to and fro. "Damn!" ejaculated Kingozi fervently; and ran out of the tent. The whole camp was gathered about a number of M'tela's people, who were all talking at once. The din was something prodigious. Kingozi pushed his way rather angrily to the centre of disturbance. "Here, what is this?" he demanded to know.
To eat he was forced at last to beg of the wild herdsmen. M'tela's dread name elicited from these last definite information. The search party found Winkleman, very dirty, quite hungry, profoundly chagrined, but still good humoured, seated in a smoky hut eating soured smoky milk. He wore sandals improvised from goatskin, a hat and spine-pad made from banana leaves ingeniously woven.
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