Part 6 (2/2)
”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.”
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