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Updated: June 11, 2025
The embarrassment met his sterner mood in a head-on collision, so that for a moment the impulsive speech failed him. She spoke first. "That was Winkleman, I suppose," she said. "I did not want to appear. What is decided?" "Decided?" he stammered, not knowing where to look, but unable to keep his eyes from straying. "Yes. Is it too late? Can he prevail with this M'tela after all?"
"In the meantime," pursued Kingozi, "as he has much knowledge, and great magic, I shall talk much with him, and get that magic for the benefit of us both, oh, King. He cannot escape, for my magic is greater than his." This M'tela well believed, for the reports industriously circulated by Simba anent his magic bone had reached the King, and had not lost in transit.
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.
He had been sent to gain the friendship and active alliance of M'tela and his spears; and had been given carte blanche in the matters of equipment, methods, and time. Inside a year or so the International Boundary Commission would be running boundary lines through that country. Until then the Kabilagani could very well go on as they probably had gone on for the last five hundred years.
They made fire by the rubbing of sticks, shot poisoned arrows at game. From them Kingozi gained little but chatter. They knew accurately every permanent water, to be sure. This information, in view of the abundance of rain pools, was not at present valuable; nevertheless Kingozi questioned them minutely, and made many marks on the map he was preparing. Always he mentioned M'tela.
These lines converged at the far side of the ranges, united in one, and proceeded out across the plains. Kingozi counted days' journeys by the indicated water-holes up to eleven. Then the map ceased; but an arrow at the end of the red line was explained by a compass bearing, and the name M'tela.
But that does not matter are they Inglishee or Duyche?" "These shenzis do not know the difference." "That is true. How far away are they?" "Very near, bwana." "Get my gun. Have Simba follow me. Here, you lead the way." They marched rapidly through the forest path and past the palace of M'tela, which Kingozi had never seen. The savage king came out, and Winkleman and his bodyguard soon followed.
"I agree with you; you are probably right," said Kingozi at last, driven by sheer desperation to the endorsement of he knew not what scientific heresy. Winkleman snorted heavily in triumph, and returned the bone to a vastly relieved Simba. Kingozi interposed in haste before the introduction of a new topic. "Undoubtedly you will wish to see the palace of M'tela," said he with deep wile.
A few hours earlier than Kingozi had predicted, in fact not far after two o'clock, the wild dancing died to absolute immobility and absolute silence, and M'tela arrived. He appeared walking casually as though out for a stroll, emerging from the end of the wide forest path. Central African natives are never obese comic papers to the contrary notwithstanding.
"I congratulate you," he replied drily. "Stupid! Oh, stupid!" she cried. "Do you not see why I am glad? It is you! Now you shall not sit forever in the darkness. You shall go back to your doctor, who will arrange your eyes." "Why?" asked Kingozi. "Why!" she repeated, astonished. "But it is 'why not! Listen! Have you thought? Winkleman is now but a week's march from M'tela.
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