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They talked at great length, without bothering to remove the dead headman. The result was finally a continued respect for Simba, his magic bone, and his ready rifle; but a lingering though polite incredulity as to the matter of Winkleman Bwana Nyele. It was possible that Simba had killed the latter, of course. But to have taken him alive and to be holding him prisoner
Naturally as we did all this in the spirit of an idle joke our rewards and punishments were rather desultory. To our surprise, however, we soon found that our boys took Little Simba quite seriously. He was a fetish, a little god, a power of good or bad luck. We did not appreciate this point until one evening, after a rather disappointing day, Mahomet came to us bearing Little Simba in his hand.
Winkleman might as well have talked at a stone wall. He soon recognized this, as also that the man had been coached minutely. "Who is your bwana?" he asked at length. "He is a very great bwana," Simba replied. "His name?" "He has many names among many people." "What name do you call him?" Winkleman gave up this tack and tried another. "What is his business? What does he do here?"
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.
His sunken eyes glittered and his wrinkled lips moved over toothless gums as he mumbled weird incantations to the demons of his cult. For a time he felt no doubt as to the outcome the strange white man must certainly succumb to terrible Simba whoever heard of a lone man armed only with a knife slaying so mighty a beast!
Winkleman produced the saurian bone. And for the first time Kingozi noticed Simba hovering anxiously near. Request and blandishments had proved of no avail in getting the magic bone from Bwana Nyele. "It is all right," Kingozi reassured him. "We but use the magic for a little while. See; it has given me back my eyes." "A-a-a-a!" ejaculated Simba, deeply astonished.
Simba espied one of them, and pointed it out, just at the edge of the narrow border of softer mud. "There is the lion," said he. "A big one. He was here this morning. But no buffalo, bwana; and no elephant." The water in the pool was muddy and foul. Thousands of animals drank from it daily; and after drinking had stood or wallowed in it.
Simba looked about him. This was indeed a great safari, and a rich bwana. The tent, of green canvas, was what is known as a "four-man tent"; that is, it took four men to carry it. The pile of loads in the centre of the cleared space was high. There were three tin boxes and many chop boxes among them.
Memba Sasa and Simba, game as badgers, their fine eyes gleaming with excitement, their faces shining, crept along at the rear. B. knelt outside the thicket, straining his eyes for the slightest movement either side of the line of our advance. Often these wily animals will sneak back in a half circle to attack their pursuers from behind.
It was suggested that the various upper men of this safari accompany Simba to the place of incarceration. Declined for obvious reasons. Proposition modified to exclude all visitors but one. Still declined. The debate summarized in the above short paragraph consumed six hours. What is time in the face of an African eternity?
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