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Updated: May 26, 2025
He fights literally to the death; and when he is so crippled that he can no longer keep his feet, he drags himself forward, and dies facing his opponent dauntlessly. No other beast furnishes the same danger, the same thrill. His mere appearance stirs the most sluggish spirit. "Simba! Simba! Simba!" the exclamation ran back the line of the safari, the sibilant hissed excitedly.
Mali-ya-bwana was instructed to lead the way following the scraped places on the earth, the twigs bent over, and the broken branches by which Simba had marked his route for them. Kingozi himself brought up the rear. Reluctantly, apathetically, the Leopard Woman's men got to their feet.
"That we shall know presently," replied Harût in a suave voice. "It depends upon whether the Heavenly Child or the devil Jana is the more powerful in the land. Still, as we would avoid bloodshed if we may, we desire to explain to you, messengers of King Simba, that we are here upon a peaceful errand.
Gradually, but with increasing certainty, their course defines itself, until at last months later they come trotting into camp. These two jogged in broadly agrin. Cazi Moto and Simba led them at once to Kingozi's chair. "These men bring a barua for you, bwana," said Cazi Moto. Kingozi took the split wand with the letter thrust crosswise in the cleft. "Who sent them?" he asked.
The muscles under his beard tightened; his gray eyes widened into a glare like that of Simba in sight of game. Just before the rhinoceros dropped his head for the toss, the Nubian stepped directly into the line of fire. "Lala! lie down!" Kingozi shouted. Somehow the whip-snap of authority in his voice reached the Nubian's consciousness. He dropped flat, and almost instantly the white man fired.
But now the safari, topping the hill, swept down with a rapid fire of safari sticks against the loads and a chorus whose single word was "n'yama!" Simba was already at the carcass, Kisu M'kubwa, his thin-bladed knife, in his hand. The men eased their loads to the ground, and stood about with eagerly gleaming eyes, as would well-trained dogs in like circumstances.
Then suddenly her resistance to circumstances broke. She hurled the automatic pistol at the porter, and flopped down on the tent load, hiding her face in her hands. Kingozi paid her no further attention. "Simba!" he called. "Yes, suh!" "Take one man. Collect all water bottles. Take a lantern. Go as rapidly as you can to find water. Fill all the bottles and bring them back.
Simba, in his wars, had made clean work of the northern part of Uzavira, and we encountered nothing worse than a view of the desolated country, which must have been once judging from the number of burnt huts and debris of ruined villages extremely populous. A young jungle was sprouting up vigorously in their fields, and was rapidly becoming the home of wild denizens of the forest.
Simba pondered this. "Every one knows that a white man is a great Lord," urged Mali-ya-bwana, "and that it is useless for the black man to fight against him. This is true always. Every man knows this." "Black men have killed white men," Simba objected. "Only when the numbers were many. Even then many more black men also have died, so that the painting for mourning went through many tribes.
Kingozi's heart bounded, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped his rifle. "Bwana hapana piga?" Simba implored. "Is not bwana going to shoot?" But Kingozi shook his head. The temptation was strong, but he resisted it. He refrained from shooting at the lions for exactly the same reason that he had insulated himself against the Leopard Woman's charms.
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