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"What's she driving at?" he asked the uncomprehending Simba in English. He considered the question for some moments. "Don't even know her name or nationality," he confessed to himself after a while. "She's a queer one. I suppose I'll have to give her a man or so to help her back across the Thirst." He pondered again, "I might take her askaris. Country will feed them now.
This Simba was a fine and rather terrifying person with a large moustache and a chin shaved except for a little tuft of hair which he wore at its point like an Italian. His eyes were big and dark, frank-looking, yet now and again with sinister expression in the corners of them.
But the possession of the magic bone gave him a confidence from outside himself. For the time being he slipped genuinely into the attitude of the white man; became a super-Simba, as it were. This dignity and sureness commenced to have its effect. Almost they began to believe that Simba's words might be true! At three o'clock the battle closed in. "My men need potio" said Simba.
"It is a rich safari, bwana," Cazi Moto reported; "many loads." His voice sharpened with surprise, but he did not raise his tones. "Simba is there," said he. "Simba! So they caught him," muttered Kingozi. "Well, that play failed. Do you see the white man?" he asked. "No, bwana. The white man has not yet come. But Simba now sees us, and is coming." "He is guarded?" "No, bwana; he is alone."
"What!" exclaimed Kingozi sharply. "Why did you not start men for them when you first awakened?" She smiled at him ruefully. "I tried. But they said they were very tired from yesterday. They would not go." "Simba!" called Kingozi. "Suh!" "Bring the headman of Bibi-ya-chui. Is he that mop-headed blighter?" he asked her. "Who? Oh, the Nubian, Chake. No; he is just a faithful creature near myself.
Certainly Winkleman had not yet arrived, and he was long overdue. On the other hand, neither had Simba nor Mali-ya-bwana reported; and they were equally overdue. These were ticklish times; and Kingozi had great difficulty in sitting calmly in his canvas chair listening to the endless inconsequences of a savage. The Leopard Woman could not understand how he did it.
Firearms were familiar to them. The usual sequence to Simba's deed would have been an immediately defunct Simba. But his serene confidence in his magic caught their credulity. The white man's prestige and privileges were invested in him. "Yours is undoubtedly a great magic," said Winkleman's gun bearer politely. "Let us talk."
"His business is to fight." "Ah!" ejaculated Winkleman. "To fight!" "Yes. His business is to fight the elephant." Winkleman swore. He could get at nothing this way. He must give his mind to escape. Early the next morning Simba started. He took with him, of course, his magic bone; but, like a canny general, he carried also the rifle.
If you will not promise what we ask, we will not help you. We will burn our powder and melt our lead, so that the guns we have cannot speak with Jana and with Simba, and after that we will do other things that I need not tell you.
Finally we came upon Mavrouki and Simba under a bush. From them, in whispers, we learned that the buffalo were karibu sana-very near; that they had fed this far, and were now lying in the long grass just ahead. Leaving the men, we now continued our forward movement on hands and knees, in single file.
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