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Updated: May 26, 2025
It was agreed that Simba was to return to his own camp, was to procure the proof agreed upon, and was promptly to return. The said proof was to be one of Bwana Nyele's fingers, which all agreed would be easily recognizable both as to identity and freshness!
Very glad was I when the morning came at length and, having looked my last upon Simba Town, I crossed the moats and set out homewards through the forest whereof the stripped boughs also spoke of death, though in the spring these would grow green again.
You are already dead, O Jana. You are already dead, O Simba the slave. You are scattered and lost, O dogs of the Black Kendah, and the home of such of you as remain shall be far away in a barren land, where you must dig deep for water and live upon the wild game because there little corn will grow. Now begone, and swiftly, lest you stop here for ever."
There might be a watercourse hidden in the folds of the earth; there might be a rainwater "tank," or a spring, on any of the kopjes. Simba and Cazi Moto were both experienced, and capable of a long round trip. The problem of days' journeys was not pressing at this moment.
On she came quite quietly, her wide, empty eyes fixed upon Jana. As she advanced the monster seemed to grow uneasy. Turning his head, he lifted his trunk and thrust it along his back until it gripped the ankle of the King Simba, who all this while was seated there in his chair making no movement.
"I used again the magic bone," replied Simba. "Simba, you jewel!" cried Kingozi in English, "you've saved the day! I should think shenzis did like these things! And oh, haven't I needed them! You old tar-baby, you!" And Simba replied as usual to this incomprehensible gibberish with his own full stock of English: "Yes, suh!" "You have done well, very well," Kingozi shifted to Swahili.
Kingozi, like most men whose natural efficiency has been hardened by wide experience, while impervious to either open or wily antagonism, melted at the first hint of surrender. A wave of kindly feeling overwhelmed the last suspicions absurd suspicions his analysis had made. He was prevented from replying by the approach of Simba at the head of eight of the askaris.
"Lord," said Simba, for the first time addressing me by a title of respect, "your magic is too strong for us. Great misfortune has fallen upon our land. Hundreds of people are dead, killed by the ice-stones that you have called down. Our harvest is ruined, and there is but little corn left in the storepits now when we looked to gather the new grain.
"It is this: I would have the magic bone for my own. For it is a very great magic," he added wistfully. Kingozi choked back an impulse to shout aloud. "It is yours," he said gravely. "Oh, bwana! bwana!" choked Simba. "Assanti! assanti sana!" His sob was echoed at Kingozi's elbow. "Oh," cried the Leopard Woman, "I know I should be sorry that this has come this way! But I'm not; I am glad!"
"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."
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