Part 3 (1/2)

”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 gla.s.ses. 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 gla.s.ses Kingozi could see every detail plainly.

After his fas.h.i.+on 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 n.o.body 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 c.o.c.kney Tom Fool on Haymarket.”

He contemplated a problem frowningly. ”Whoever it is will be a nuisance--a _d.a.m.n_ 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 s.h.i.+fted 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.]