The Leopard Woman | Page 9

were tiny parklike openings of clear grass; here and there more kopjes standing isolated and alone, like fortresses. Far down over the edge of the world showed dim and blue the tops of a short range of mountains. Vainly did Kingozi sweep his glasses over the landscape in hope of another line of green. No watercourse was visible. On the other hand, the scattered growth of thorn trees showed no signs of thickening to the dense spiky jungle that is one of the terrors of African travel. 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. Kingozi noted the compass bearings of all the kopjes; took back sights in the direction from which he had come; closed his compass; and began idly to sweep the country with his glasses. In an unwonted mood of expansion he turned to Mali-ya-bwana.
"We go there," he told the porter, indicating the blue mountain-tops.
"It is far," Mali-ya-bwana replied.
Kingozi continued to look through his glasses. Suddenly he stopped them on an open plain three or four miles back in the direction from which he had come the day before. Mali-ya-bwana followed his gaze.
"A safari, bwana," he observed, unmoved. "A very large safari," he amended, after a moment.
Through his prismatic glasses Kingozi could see every detail plainly. After his fashion of talking aloud, he reported what he saw, partly to the black man at his side, but mostly to himself.
"Askaris,"[3] he said, "six of them. The man rides in a _machele_[4]--he is either a German or a Portuguese; only those people use _macheles_-- unless he is sick! Many porters--four are no more white men. More _askaris!_" He smiled a little contemptuously under his beard. "This is a great safari, Mali-ya-bwana. Four tin boxes and twelve askaris to guard them; and eighty or more porters; and sixteen men just to carry the _machele!_ This must be a _Bwana M' Kubwa_."
[Footnote 3: Native troops, armed with Snider muskets.]
[Footnote 4: A hammock slung on a long pole, and carried by four men at each end.]
"That is what Kavirondos might think," replied Mali-ya-bwana calmly.
Kingozi looked up at him with a new curiosity.
"But not yourself?"
"A man who is a _Bwana M'kubwa_ does not have to be carried. He does not need askaris to guard him in this country. And where can he get potio for so many?"
"Hullo!" cried Kingozi, surprised. "This is not porter's talk; this is headman's talk!"
"In my own country I am headman of many people," replied Mali-ya-bwana with a flash of pride.
"Yet you carry my tent load."
But Mali-ya-bwana made no reply, fixing his fierce eyes on the distant crawling safari.
"It must be a sportsman's safari," said Kingozi, this time to himself, "though what a sportsman wants in this back-of-beyond is a fair conundrum. Probably one of these chappies with more money than sense: wants to go somewhere nobody else has been, and can't go there without his caviare and his changes of clothes, and about eight guns--not to speak of a Complete Sportsman's Outfit as advertised exclusively by some Cockney Tom Fool on Haymarket."
He contemplated a problem frowningly. "Whoever it is will be a nuisance--a damn nuisance!" he concluded.
"_N'dio, bwana_," came Mali-ya-bwana's cheerful response to this speech in a language strange to him.
"You have asked a true question," Kingozi shifted to Swahili. "Where is potio to be had for so large a safari? Trouble--much trouble!" He arose from the flat stone. "We will go and talk with this safari."
At an angle calculated to intercept the caravan, Kingozi set off down the hill.
After twenty minutes' brisk walk it became evident that they were approaching the route of march. Animals fled past them in increasing numbers, some headlong, others at a dignified and leisurely gait, as though performing a duty. The confused noise of many people became audible and the tapping of safari sticks against the loads.
At the edge of a tiny opening Kingozi, concealed behind a bush, reviewed the new arrivals at close range, estimating each element on which a judgment could be based. As usual, he thought aloud, muttering his speculations sometimes in his own language, sometimes in the equally familiar Swahili.
"Askaris not _pukha[5] askaris_ of the government. Those are not Sniders they carry--don't know that kind of musket. Those boxes are not the usual type--wonder where they were bought!"
[Footnote 5: Genuine--regular.]
The hammock came into view, swinging on the long pole. It was borne by four men at each end--experienced machele carriers who would keep step with a gentle gliding. Eight more walked alongside as relay. They would change places so skilfully that the occupant of the