"Somehow," he mused, "in spite of your amiable activities, I have a certain confidence in you. It would be much more comfortable for both of us if you would give me your word not to try to escape, or to go back, or to leave my camp, or cause your men to leave my camp, or anything like that."
"Would you trust my word?"
"If you would give it solemnly--yes."
"But to do what I wished to do--as you say just now yourself--I am ready to use all means--even to killing. Why do you not think I would also break, my word to do my ends?"
"I think you would not."
"But do you think I would, what you call--consider your trust in me more great than my government"s trust in me?"
"No. I do not think that either."
"Well?"
"I do not think you will give your word to me unless you mean to keep it. If you do give it, I am willing to rely upon it."
The Leopard Woman moved impulsively to his side.
"Very well. I give it," she said with a choke.
"That you go with my safari, without subterfuge, without sending word anywhere--in other words, a fair start afresh!"
"Just that," she replied.
"That is your word of honour?"
"My word of honour."
"Give me your hand on it."
She laid her palm in his. His hand closed over hers, gripping it tightly. Her eyes were swimming, her breast heaved. Slowly she swayed toward him, leaned over him. Her lips touched his. Suddenly she was seized hungrily. She abandoned herself to the kiss.
But after a moment she tore herself away from him, panting.
"This must not be!" she cried tragically. "I know not what I do! This is not good! I am a woman of honour!"
Kingozi, his blind face alight, held out his arms to her.
"Your honour is safe with me," he said.
But he had mistaken her meaning. Step by step she recoiled from him until she stood at the distance of some paces, her hands pressed against her cheeks, her eyes fixed on him with a strange mixture of tenderness, pity, and sternness.
"What is it?" he begged, getting uncertainly to his feet. "Where are you?"
But she did not answer him. After a moment she slipped away.
CHAPTER XXI
THE MESSENGERS
The return trip began promptly the following morning, and progressed uninterruptedly for two weeks. One by one they picked up the water-holes found on the journey out.
A few details had to be adjusted to compensate for Kingozi"s lack of eyes. The matter of meat supplies, for example.
"Good luck I gave some attention to your shooting, old sportsman," he remarked to Simba in English, then in Swahili: "Here are five cartridges. Go get me a zebra and a kongoni."
Simba was no shot, but Kingozi knew he would stalk, with infinite patience and skill, fairly atop his quarry before letting off one of the precious cartridges.
In the matter of rhinoceros and similar dangers, they simply took a chance.
Kingozi marched at the end of a stick held by Simba. He gave his whole energies to getting over the day"s difficulties of all sorts. His relations with the Leopard Woman swung back. Perhaps vaguely, in the back of his mind, he looked forward to the interpretation of that unpremeditated kiss; but just now a mixed feeling of responsibility and delicacy prevented his going forward from the point attained. During the march they walked apart most of the time. The weariness of forced travel abridged their evenings.
Chake walked guarded, and slept in chains.
Whenever the location of water-holes permitted, the safari made long jumps. The two messengers sent out with a scrawled letter to Doctor McCloud--whom they knew as Bwana Marefu--were of course far ahead. With any luck Kingozi hoped to meet the surgeon not far from the mountains where dwelt the _sultani_ of the ivory stockade.
Thus the march went through a fortnight. The close of the fourteenth day found them camped near water in a _donga_. The dim blue of mountains had raised itself above the horizon ahead. This rejoiced the men. They were running low of _potio_, and they knew that from the _sultani"s_ subjects in these mountains a further supply could be had.
As a consequence, an unwonted _kalele_ was smiting the air. Each man chatted to his next-door neighbour at the top of his lungs, laughing loudly, squealing with delight. Kingozi sat enjoying it. He had been so long in Africa that this happy rumpus always pleased him. Suddenly it fell to silence. He c.o.c.ked his ear, trying to understand the reason.
Across the open veldt two figures had been descried. They were coming toward the camp at a slow dogtrot; and as they approached it could be seen that save for a turban apiece they were stark naked; and save for a spear and a water gourd apiece they were without equipment. One held something straight upright before him, as medieval priests carried a cross. The turbans were formed from their blankets; mid-blade of each spear was wound with a strip of red cloth; the object one carried was a letter held in the cleft of a stick.
By these tokens the safari men knew the strangers to be messengers.
The mail service of Central Africa is slow but very certain. You give your letter to two reliable men and inform them that it is for _Bwana_ So-and-so. Sooner or later _Bwana_ So-and-so will get that letter. He is found by a process of elimination. In the bazaars the messengers inquire whether he has gone north, south, east, or west. Some native is certain to have known some of his men. So your messengers start west.
Their progress thenceforward is a series of village visits. The gossip of the country directs them. 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 _Bwana_ M"Kubwa[10], _bwana_."
[10: _Bwana M"Kubwa_--the great lord, i.e., the chief officer of any district.]
"Have they no message?"
"They say no message, _bwana_."
"Take them and give them food, and see that they have a place in one of the tents."
"Yes, _bwana_."