The dawn was breaking. It had rained all night and the ground was very
wet. When the first rain falls the earth is slow in absorbing it.
Little puddles form everywhere and little streams, increasing in volume
as they join others, make small lakes or rushing torrents, according to
the lie of the land.
Mokorongo was not comfortable. He had travelled far in the night and had
stumbled many times in the darkness. Moreover, he was drenched to the
skin and very cold. The paperweight consoled him, as it had kept up his
courage throughout his long journey. He remembered now the cry of a
hyena close to the path at midnight, which had sent his hand clutching
at the paperweight. Then some large, dark object stirred beside him and
bounded away, crashing through the bush. Mokorongo's heart had thumped
in time to the heavy hoof-beats.
However, the dawn had come and his talisman had proved itself a sure
shield and protection.
The messenger took off his sodden tunic and drew it over his shoulders
as a cloak against the wind which always heralds the coming day. He
replaced the paperweight inside his shirt, and buckling on his belt
again sat down on his heels to watch the village.
Presently smoke arose from the yard of one of the huts, then from
another. A man came out of a low doorway, stretched and yawned. A dog
barked, the cattle began to low and fowls to cluck--the day had come.
He had chosen his observation post well. In front of him lay the village
in a hollow. Behind him, a patch of thick bush. To his left ran the path
to the cultivated lands and to the next village. On his right was a
stretch of rough country, good only for baboons and other beasts: it was
unlikely that he would be disturbed from that or any other quarter.
The village soon showed signs of full life. When the sun came out
Mokorongo stripped and spread out his tunic, shirt and loin cloth to
dry, placing the paperweight and handcuffs on a little tuft of short
grass which was comparatively dry.
As the sun crept up the sky, Mokorongo's back was warmed and he felt
more comfortable. He watched the coming and going of men, women and
children until midday. He had easily recognised Chiromo. The father of
the dead boy had described the witch doctor minutely, but even without
that description he would have picked him out. He was fat and looked
prosperous; some half-dozen inflated gall bladders of small mammals were
tied to tufts of his hair. He wore chillies in the lobes of his ears, a
sure sign that he had killed a lion--or a man.
His hut, too, was larger than the rest and stood slightly apart. Yes,
this surely was Chiromo; did he not wear, suspended from a string round
his waist, the skin of a black tsipa cat? And had not the case-bearer of
yesterday said: "Chiromo has the skin of a black tsipa?"
Yes, Mokorongo was sure of his man, and as the sun was now hot he
gathered together his belongings and carried them into the shade of the
thicket, where he settled himself for a sleep.
At sunset he awoke. He felt hungry and thirsty, but as there were no
means of satisfying either he turned his mind to the work immediately
ahead.
He crept back to his original post. The cattle were being kraaled; the
goats were already settled for the night; women were preparing the
evening meal.
Mokorongo slipped on his tunic shirt and loin cloth and buckled his
belt. He put on his fez and tucked the paperweight inside his tunic. He
then made sure that the handcuffs snapped as they should and that no
amount of tugging would open them; having reset them he put the key in
the small pouch attached to his belt.
There is little twilight in Africa. Soon after the sun sets it is dark.
He could see Chiromo's fire and, in the glow of it, Chiromo sitting on a
low stool.
Presently the night sounds began. Someone was beating a drum at a
distant village. A jackal barked far down the valley. Something rustled
in a bush near by. The frogs set up their shrill chorus. A dog in the
village began to howl, but stopped with a yelp as some woman threw a
stick at it.
After a while the fires burnt down; there was silence, and Mokorongo
judged that the time for action had arrived.
He came down from the high ground and skirted the village until he came
to the path from Sijoba. Then he turned and walked boldly towards the
cluster of huts. The dogs began to bark loudly but it didn't matter now:
was he not a stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora?
He made his way to Chiromo's hut. The door was closed. Mokorongo
knocked.
"Who is it?"
"A stranger travelling from Sijoba to Katora."
"It is late, what do you want?"
"Yes, it is late. I ask for shelter for the night. I am in luck, for I
have found meat and I ask shelter of a friend."
There was a stir in the hut and the word meat was repeated several
times.
Mokorongo stood ready with the open handcuffs. Would the man never come
out? Meanwhile the occupants of adjacent huts were also astir and doors
were being opened. There would be many witnesses to the arrest of
Chiromo.
At length the door of the hut slid aside, a hand grasped either door
post and a woolly head appeared. Quick as lightning Mokorongo seized
Chiromo's right wrist and snapped the lock of the handcuff. Grasping the
black head, he pulled the startled Chiromo out of the doorway, and
before the witch doctor had recovered from his surprise, also secured
his left hand.
Mokorongo stepped back and surveyed his captive.
Chiromo said nothing, but the look in his eye made Mokorongo's hand fly
to the paperweight. The village was astir, and men came running, but,
seeing the uniform of authority, stood still.
Mokorongo was himself again. "What is this?" demanded Chiromo.
"The Morena calls you."
"What for?"
"How should I know the Morena's thoughts?"
"Loose my hands or ill-luck will come to you."
Mokorongo said nothing.
"Listen," said Chiromo.
Mokorongo listened and heard the laugh of a hyena.
"That," said Chiromo, "is a spirit."
Mokorongo clutched his paperweight: "It is a beast, and my master's
medicine is strong."
Chiromo looked round at the circle of fellow villagers; he could not see
their eyes, but felt that no help might be expected from them; they
would not come between him and a Government man.
Chiromo tried again.
"In my hut I have much white man's money and a gun--all are yours if you
will untie my hands; moreover, the iron hurts me and the Morena's orders
are that no man be hurt."
The mention of the money and the gun reminded Mokorongo of the medicine.
"Go in," he said, pushing Chiromo before him.
It is well that Mokorongo had the paperweight to support his courage.