"Guilty, I am afraid," he smiled; "but ready to take punishment."
"Very well." With a sinuous movement she turned on her elbow to face him. "Listen! It is this: you should not wear that beard."
She fell back, and raised the cigarette to her lips.
For a moment Kingozi stared at her speechless with surprise; but immediately recovered.
"I shall give to your advice the same respectful consideration you accord mine," he a.s.sured her gravely.
She laughed in genuine amus.e.m.e.nt.
"Only I have more excuse," continued Kingozi. "A woman--alone--so far away----"
"You said that before," she interrupted. "In other words, what in--what-you-call? Oh, yes! what in h.e.l.l am I doing up here? Is that it?"
She turned on him a wide-eyed stare. Kingozi chuckled.
"That"s it. What in--in h.e.l.l _are_ you doing up here?"
"Listen, my friend. In this world I do what I please--always. And when I find that which people tell me cannot be done, that I do--at once. My life is full of those things which could not be done, but which I have done."
"I believe you," said Kingozi, but he said it to himself.
"I have done them at home--where I live. I have done them in the cities and courts. Whatever the people tell me is impossible--"Oh, it cannot be done!"--with the uplifted hand and eye--you understand--that I do.
Four years ago I came to Africa, and in Africa I have done what they tell me women have never done. I have travelled in the Kameroons, in Nya.s.saland, in Somaliland, in Abyssinia. Then they tell me--"yes, that is very well, but you follow a track. It is a dim track; but it is there. You go alone--yes; but you have us at your back." And I ask them: "What then? where is this place where there is no track?" And they wave their hands, and say "Over yonder"; so I come!"
She recited all this dramatically, using her hands much in gesticulation, her eyes flashing. In proportion as she became animated Kingozi withdrew into his customary stolid calm.
"Quite so," he commented, "spirit of adventure, and all that sort of thing. Where did you get this lot?"
"What?"
He waved his hand.
"Your men."
She considered him a barely appreciable instant.
"Why--the usual way--from the coast."
"They are strange to me--I do not recognize their tribes," Kingozi replied blandly. "So you are pushing out into the Unknown. How far do you consider going?"
"Until it pleases me to stop."
Kingozi produced his pipe.
"If you do not mind?" he requested. He deliberately filled and lighted it. After a few strong puffs he resumed:
"The country, you say, is unknown to you."
"Of course."
"I imagined you told me this afternoon that you knew of this water. I must have been mistaken."
He blew a cloud, gazing straight ahead of him in obviously a.s.sumed innocence. She examined him with a narrow, sidelong glance.
"No," she said at last, "you were not mistaken. I did tell you so."
"Well?" Kingozi turned to her.
"I was very angry, so I lied," she replied naively. "Women always lie when they get very angry."
"Or tell the truth--uncomfortably," grinned Kingozi.
"Brava!" she applauded. "He does know something about women!" With one of her sudden smooth movements she again raised herself on her elbow.
"How much?" she challenged.
"Enough," he replied enigmatically.
They both laughed.
Across the accustomed night noises came a long rumbling snarl ending sharply with a snoring gasp. It was succeeded by another on a different key. The two took up a kind of antiphony, one against the other, now rising in volume, now dying down to a low grumble, again suddenly bursting like an explosion.
"The lions have found that rhino," remarked Kingozi indifferently.
For a moment or so they listened to the distant thunders.
"I have not sufficiently thanked you even yet for this afternoon," she said. "You saved my life--you know that."
"Happened to be there; and let off a rifle."
"I know shooting. It was a wonderful shot at that distance and in those circ.u.mstances."
"Chancy shot. Had good luck," replied Kingozi shortly.
Undeterred by his tone, she persisted.
"But you are said by many to be the best shot in Africa."
He glanced at her.
"Indeed! I think that a mistake. For whom do you take me?"
"You are Culbertson," she told him. She p.r.o.nounced the name slowly, syllable by syllable, as though English proper names were difficult to her.
He laughed.
"Whoever he may be. I am known as Kingozi hereabouts."