With the riches thus unexpectedly placed at his disposal, and legitimately his by the fortunes of war, Kingozi was enabled to proceed to the final grand exchange of gifts that assured his friendship with M'tela and sealed the alliance. He was spurred to his best efforts in this by the news, brought in by an alarmed Mali-ya-bwana, that Winkleman had escaped. However, by dint of rich presents, supplementing the careful diplomatic negotiations that had gone before, he arrived at an understanding.

"And now, oh, King, I must tell you this," he said boldly. "Of white men there is not merely one but many kinds, just as among the African peoples. There are strong men and weak men, good men and bad men, and men of different tribes. Of the tribes are the _Inglishee_ to which I belong, which is the most powerful of all--like your own people of the Kabilagani in this land--and also another tribe called the _Duyche_, only a little less powerful. These two tribes are now at war."

"A-a-a-a," observed M'tela interestedly.

"One of the _Duyche_ is in your country, oh, King. I have met him and defeated him by my magic. Some of these people you see here were his people; and of his goods I have everything."

"But it may be," suggested M'tela with a slight cooling of cordiality, "that many more _Duyche_ will follow this one."

"They cannot prevail against my magic. Talk with Simba, with my men, and know what virtue is in my magic. But beyond that, oh, King, have you not heard of the wars of the Wakamba? of Lobengula? of the Matabele and the Basuto? has not news come to you from the north of the battles of the Sudan? Have you not heard of Lenani, the king of all Masai, and of his advice to his people? All these wars were won by _Inglishee_; Lenani's words of wisdom spoke of _Inglishee_. Have you ever heard of the victories of the _Duyche?_ No. There were no such victories!"[18]

[Footnote 18: Kingozi here took shrewd advantage of the fact that German East Africa was peacefully occupied without necessity of the spectacular tribal wars of Matabeland, Zululand, Basutoland, and the Wakamba district of British East Africa. Lenani's advice to his people was given at the close of the Wakamba war. Said he: "There is no doubt that the Masai are a greater people than the Wakamba, and in case of war we could fight the white man harder than the Wakamba fought him. Undoubtedly, too, my people could kill a great many of the English. But this I have noticed: that when a Wakamba is dead, he remains dead; but when a white man is dead ten more come to take his place." In consequence of this advice the Masai--one of the most warlike of all the tribes--negotiated with the English, and today remain both at peace and unconquered.]

After an hour's elaboration of this theme Kingozi judged the moment propitious to return to the original subject. M'tela offered the opportunity.

"This _Duyche_ whom you have conquered--you killed him?"

"He escaped."

"A-a-a-a."

"He is still alive and in your land. Let order be given to search him out."

"That shall be done," said M'tela after a moment's thought.

Mali-ya-bwana and Simba set out with a posse of M'tela's men. They had no great difficulty in getting track of the missing Bavarian. Winkleman had arrived to find the camping site deserted. He had, indomitably, set out on the track of his safari. To eat he was forced at last to beg of the wild herdsmen. M'tela's dread name elicited from these last definite information. The search party found Winkleman, very dirty, quite hungry, profoundly chagrined, but still good humoured, seated in a smoky hut eating soured smoky milk. He wore sandals improvised from goatskin, a hat and spine-pad made from banana leaves ingeniously woven.

"_Ach!_" he cried, recognizing Kingozi's two men. "So it is you! What have you done with my safari?"

"I led it to my _bwana_," replied Simba.

"Where you may now lead me," said Winkleman resignedly. "By what means have you thought of these things, N'ympara?" "By the magic of this," replied Simba with becoming modesty, producing the precious bone.

"_Ach_ the _saurian!_" cried Winkleman. "I remember. It had gone from my mind. It is a curious type; I do not quite recognize. Let me see it."

But Simba was replacing carefully the talisman in its wrappings. He had no mind to deliver the magic into other hands--perhaps to be used against himself!

They led Winkleman directly to Kingozi's camp. Winkleman followed, looking always curiously about him. His was the true scientific mind. He was quite capable of forgetting his plight--and did so--in the interest of new fauna and flora, or of ethnological eccentricities. Once or twice he insisted on a halt for examination of something that caught his notice, and insisted so peremptorily when the savages would have forced him on, that they yielded to his wish.

It was early in the morning. Kingozi, as ever, sat in his canvas chair atop the hill. He was alone, for the Leopard Woman, always on the alert and always staring through her glasses, had caught sight of the little group before it plunged into the papyrus; and had retired to her tent. Winkleman plowed up the hill blowing out his cheeks in a full-blooded hearty fashion.

"Oho!" he cried in his great voice when he had drawn near. "This is not so bad! It is Culbertson!"

"I am sorry about this," said Kingozi briefly--"a man of your eminence-- very disagreeable."

Winkleman dropped heavily to the ground.

"That is nothing," he waved aside the half-apology, "though it would not be bad to have the bath and change these clothes. But fortunes of war--it is but the fortunes of war--I would have done worse to you. How long is it that you have arrived?"

"Long enough," replied Kingozi briefly. "Oh, Cazi Moto, bring tea! I have had your tent pitched, Doctor Winkleman; and you must bathe and change and rest. But before you go we must understand each other. This is war time, and you are my prisoner. You must give me your parole neither to try to escape nor to tamper with my men, with M'tela, or any of his people. If you feel you cannot do this I shall be compelled to hold you closely guarded."

Winkleman laughed one of his great gusty laughs.

"I give it willingly. What foolishness otherwise. What foolishness anyway, all this. War is nonsense. It destroys. It interferes. Consider, my dear Culbertson, here was I safely in the Congo forests, and for two, three months I have lived there, like a native quietly; and of all the world there is to amuse me only the fauna and the flora--which I know like my hand. But I discover a new species--a _papilio_. But all the time I live quiet, and I wait. And at last the people, the little forest people, little by little they get confidence; they come to the edge of the forest, they venture to camp, slow. Suppose I wave my hand like that--pouf! They have run away. But I wait; and they come forth. So I camp by myself in the forest--for I leave my safari away that it may not frighten this people. And by and by we talk. I am beginning to learn their language. Culbertson, I find these people speak the true click language, but also I find it true sex-denoting language most resembling in that respect the ancient Fula!"

"Where was this? Impossible!" cried Kingozi, interested and excited.

"Ah!" roared Winkleman with satisfaction. "I thought I would your interest catch! But it is true; and in the central Congo."

"But that would throw the prehistoric Libyan and Hamitic migrations farther to the west than----"

"Pre-cisely!" interrupted Winkleman.

"What sort of people were they? Did they show Hamitic characteristics particularly? or did they incline to the typical prognathous, short- legged, stealopygous type of the Bushmen?"

But Winkleman ............