The Leopard Woman | Page 5

way to the water through the dense thicket that had kept it sweet;
others sought firewood; still others began to pitch the tiny drill
tents--each to accommodate six men--in a wide circle of which the pile
of loads was the centre. As the men fell into the ordered and habitual
routine their sullenness and weariness vanished.
Kingozi dropped into the canvas chair, fumbled for a pipe, filled and
lighted it. With a sigh of relief he laid aside his cork helmet. The day
had not only been a hard one, but an anxious one, for this country was
new to every member of the little expedition, native guides had been
impossible to procure, and the chances of water had been those of an
arid region.
The removal of the helmet for the first tune revealed the man's features.
A fine brow, upstanding thick and wavy hair, and the clearest of gray

eyes suddenly took twenty years from the age at first made probable by
the heavy beard. With the helmet pulled low this was late middle age;
now bareheaded it was only bearded youth. Nevertheless at the corners
of the eyes were certain wrinkles, and in the eyes themselves a direct
competent steadiness that was something apart from the usual
acquisition of youth, something the result of experience not given to
most.
He smoked quietly, his eye wandering from one point to another of the
new- born camp's activities. One after another the men came to report
the completion of their tasks.
"Pita ya maji tayiari," said Sanguiki coming from the new-made water
trail.
"I zuru," approved Kingozi.
"Hema tayiari," reported Simba, reaching his hand for the light rifle.
Kingozi glanced toward the tent and nodded. A licking little fire
flickered in the cook camp. The tiny porter's tents had completed their
circle, and in front of each new smoke was beginning to rise. Cazi
Moto glided up and handed him the kiboko, the rhinoceros-hide whip,
the symbol of authority. Everything was in order.
The white man rose a little stiffly and walked over to the pile of meat.
For a moment he examined it contemplatively, aroused himself with an
apparent effort, and began to separate it into four piles. He did not
handle the meat himself, but silently indicated each portion with his
kiboko, and Simba or Cazi Moto swiftly laid it aside.
"This for the gun-bearer camp," commanded Kingozi, touching with his
foot the heavy "backstraps" and the liver--the next choicest bits after
tenderloin. He raised his voice.
"Kavirondo!" he called.
Several tall, well-formed black savages of this tribe arose from one of

the little fires and approached. The white man indicated one of the piles
of meat.
"Wakamba!" he summoned; then "Monumwezi"; and finally
"Baganda!"
Thus the four tribes represented in his caravan were supplied. The men
returned to their fires, and began the preparation of their evening meal.
Kingozi turned to his own tent with a sigh of relief. Within it a cot had
been erected, blankets spread. An officer's tin box stood open at one
end. On the floor was a portable canvas bath. While the white man was
divesting himself of his accoutrements, Cazi Moto entered bearing a
galvanized pail full of hot water which he poured into the tub. He
disappeared only to return with a pail of cold water to temper the first.
"Bath is ready, bwana," said he, and retired, carefully tying the tent
flaps behind him.
Fifteen minutes later Kingozi emerged. He wore now a suit of pajamas
tucked into canvas "mosquito boots," with very thin soles. He looked
scrubbed and clean, the sheen of water still glistening on his thick wavy
hair.
The canvas camp chair had been placed before two chop boxes piled
one atop the other to form a crude table on which were laid eating
utensils. As soon as Cazi Moto saw that his master was ready, he
brought the meal. It consisted simply of a platter of curry composed of
rice and the fresh meat that had been so recently killed that it had not
time to get tough. This was supplemented by bread and tea in a tall
enamelware vessel known as a balauri. From the simplicity of this
meal one experienced would have deduced--even had he not done so
from a dozen other equally significant nothings--that this was no
sporting excursion, but an expedition grimly in earnest about
something.
The sun had set, and almost immediately the darkness descended, as
though the light had been turned off at a switch. The earth shrunk to a

pool of blackness, and the heavens expanded to a glory of tropical stars.
All visible nature contracted to the light thrown by the flickering fires
before the tiny white tents. The tatterdemalion crew had, after the
curious habit of Africans, cast