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 cocked 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_."

"And send Bibi-ya-chui to me."

The Leopard Woman sent word that she was bathing, but would come shortly. Kingozi sat fingering the letter, which he could not read. It was long and thick. He could feel the embossed frank of the Government Office. The situation was puzzling. It might contain secret orders, in which case it would be inadvisable to allow the Leopard Woman a sight of its contents. But Kingozi shook off this thought. At about the time he felt the cool shadow of the earth rise across his face as the sun slipped below the horizon, he became aware also by the faint perfume that the Leopard Woman had come.

"I am in a fix," he said abruptly. "Runners have just come in with this letter. It is official, and may be secret. I am morally certain you ought not to know its contents; but I don't see how I am to know them unless you do. Will you read it to me, and will you give me your word not to use its contents for your own or your government's purposes?"

She hesitated.

"I cannot promise that."

"Well," he amended after a moment, "you will stick to the terms of your other promise--that you will not attempt to leave my safari or send messages until we arrive."

"The fresh, even start," she supplied. "That promise is given."

He handed her the envelope.

A crackle of paper, then a long wait.

"I shall not read you this," she said finally in a strangled, suppressed voice.

"Why not?" he demanded sharply.

"It contains things I would not have you know."

He felt the paper thrust into his hands, reached for her wrists, and pinioned them. For once his self-control had broken. His face was suffused with blood and dark with anger.

But his speech was cut short by an uproar from the camp. Cries, shrieks, shouts, yells, and the sound of running to and fro steadily increased in volume. It was a riot.

In vain Kingozi called for Cazi Moto and Simba. Finally he grasped his _kiboko_ and started in the direction of the disturbance. The Leopard Woman sprang to his side, and guided him. He laid about him blindly with the _kiboko_, and in time succeeded in getting some semblance of order.

"Cazi Moto! Simba!" he shouted angrily.

"Bwana?" "Sah?" two panting voices answered.

"What is this?"

They both began to speak at once.

"You, Cazi Moto," commanded Kingozi.

"These men are liars," began Cazi Moto.

"What men?"

"These men who brought the _barua_. They tell lies, bad lies, and we beat them for it."

"Since when have you beaten liars? And since when have I ceased to deal punishment? And since when has it been permitted that such a _kalele_ be raised in my camp?" pronounced Kingozi coldly. "F............