THE STRANGER
By the time the two men had gained the top of the hill the worst heat
of the day had passed. Kingozi seated himself on a flat rock and at
once began to take sights through a prismatic compass, entering the
observations in a pocketbook. Mali-ya-bwana, bolt upright, stared out
over the thinly wooded plain below. He reported the result of his
scouting in a low voice, to which the white man paid no attention
whatever.
"_Twiga[2] bwana_," he said, and then, as his eye caught the flash of
many sing-sing horns, "_kuru, mingi_." Thus he named over the different
animals--the topi, the red hartebeeste, the eland, zebra, some
warthogs, and many others. The beasts were anticipating the cool of the
afternoon, and were grazing slowly out from beneath the trees,
scattering abroad over the landscape.
[Footnote 2: Giraffe.]
From even this slight elevation the outlook extended. Isolated mountain
ranges showed loftier; the tops of unguessed hills peeped above the
curve of the earth; the clear line of the horizon had receded to the
outer confines of terrestrial space, but even then not far enough to
touch the cup of the sky. Elsewhere the heavens meet the horizon: in
Africa they lie beyond it, so that when the round, fleecy clouds of the
Little Rains sail down the wind there is always a fleet of them beyond
the earth disappearing into the immensities of the infinite. There is
space in African skies beyond the experience of those who have dwelt
only in other lands. They dwarf the earth; and the plains and
mountains, lying in weeks' journeys spread before the eye, dwarf all
living things, so that at the last the man of imagination here becomes
a humble creature.
For an hour the two remained on top the kopje. The details of the
unknown country ahead, toward which Kingozi gave his attention, were
simple. From the green line of the watercourse, near which the camp
showed white and tiny, the veldt swept away for miles almost unbroken.
Here and there were tiny parklike openings of clear grass; here and
there more kopjes standing isolated and alone, like fortresses. Far
down over the edge of the world showed dim and blue the tops of a short
range of mountains. Vainly did Kingozi sweep his glasses over the
landscape in hope of another line of green. No watercourse was visible.
On the other hand, the scattered growth of thorn trees showed no signs
of thickening to the dense spiky jungle that is one of the terrors of
African travel. There might be a watercourse hidden in the folds of the
earth; there might be a rainwater "tank," or a spring, on any of the
kopjes. Simba and Cazi Moto were both experienced, and capable of a
long round trip. The problem of days' journeys was not pressing at this
moment. Kingozi noted the compass bearings of all the kopjes; took back
sights in the direction from which he had come; closed his compass; and
began idly to sweep the country with his glasses. In an unwonted mood
of expansion he turned to Mali-ya-bwana.
"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 glasses. 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 glasses Kingozi could see every detail plainly.
After his fashion 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 nobody 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 Cockney Tom Fool on Haymarket."
He contemplated a problem frowningly. "Whoever it is will be a
nuisance--a _damn_ 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 shifted 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.]
The hammock came into view, swinging on the long pole. It was borne by
four men at each end--experienced _machele_ carriers who would keep
step with a gentle gliding. Eight more walked alongside as relay. They
would change places so skilfully that the occupant of the hammock could
not have told when the shift took place. Alongside walked a tall,
bareheaded, very black man. Kingozi's experienced eye was caught by
differences.
"Of what tribe is that man?" he asked.
But Mali-ya-bwana was also puzzled.
"I do not know, bwana. He is a _shenzi_[6]."
[Footnote 6: Wild Man.]
The unknown was very tall, very straight, most well formed. But his
face was extraordinarily ugly. His flat, wide nose, thick lips, and
small yellow eyes were set off by an upstanding mop of hair. His
expression was of extraordinary fierceness. He walked with a free and
independent stride, and carried a rifle.
"He is not of this country. He is from the west coast, or perhaps Nubia
or the Sudan," was Kingozi's conclusion.
"Many of these people are _shenzis_," Mali-ya-bwana pursued his own
thought.
"That is true," Kingozi acknowledged. "If this is a sportsman, from
what part did he hail to have got together this lot! We will see."
As the swinging hammock came opposite his concealment, Kingozi stepped
forward.
Every one in sight looked in his direction, but none showed any
astonishment at this apparition out of the wilderness. The
sophisticated African has ceased to be surprised at anything a white
man may do. If he can make fire by rubbing a tiny stick _once_, why
should he not do anything under heaven he wants to? A locomotive, an
automobile, a flying machine are miracles, but no less--and no
greater--than ordinary matches. Once admit the ability to transcend
natural laws, once admit the possibility of miracles, why be surprised
at anything? If a white man chose to appear thus in an unknown country,
why not? If he chose again to vanish into thin air, again why not? Only
the fierce-looking savage carrying the rifle rolled his eyes uneasily.
But at this precise moment a diversion on the opposite side of the line
attracted attention enough. A galvanic shiver ran down the string of
porters, succeeded at once by a crashing of loads cast hastily to the
ground. With unanimity the bearers swarmed across the little open space
toward and to either side of Kingozi and his attendant. Reaching the
fringe of flat-topped trees they sprang into the low branches, heedless
of the long thorns, and scrambled aloft until at least partially
concealed. A few of the bolder members lurked behind the trunks, but
held themselves ready for an instant ascent. From a hundred throats
arose a confused cry of "_Faru! Faru!_"
Not joining this first flight remained only the _askaris_, the eight
men bearing the hammock, and the tall Nubian. Of these the _askaris_
were far ahead and to the rear; the hammock bearers were decidedly
panicky; only the Nubian seemed cool and self-possessed. The occupant
of the hammock thrust out a foot to descend.
But before this could be accomplished a rhinoceros burst fully into
view across the open space. His tail was up, he was snorting loudly,
and he headed straight for the hammock. That was large, moving, and
directly in his line of vision. The sight was too much for the bearers.
With a howl they dropped the pole and streaked it to join their
brothers in the thorn trees. The pole and the canopy of the hammock
tangled inextricably its occupant.
A ragged volley from the muskets of the _askaris_ merely seemed to add
to the confusion. With great coolness the Nubian discharged first one
barrel then the other of the heavy rifle he carried. The recoil,
catching him in a bad posture, knocked him backward. The bullets kicked
up a tremendous dust part way between himself and the charging beast.
He was now without defence. Nevertheless he stepped in front of the
entangled struggling figure on the ground.
Before the appearance of the rhinoceros into the open Kingozi had
exchanged rifles, and stood at the ready. He was a good hundred yards
from the hammock. Even in the rush of events he, characteristically,
found time for comments, although they did not in the least interfere
with his rapid movements.
"Hope they don't wing one another," he remarked of the _askaris'_
volley. "Rotten shooting! rotten!" as the Nubian stood his ground. At
the same time he pushed forward the safety catch and threw the heavy
rifle to his shoulder.
A charging rhinoceros--or one rushing near enough a man's direction to
be dangerous--is not a difficult problem. Given nerve enough, and
barring accidents--which might happen in a London flat--a man is in no
danger. If he opens fire too soon, indeed, he is likely to empty his
weapon without inflicting a stopping wound, but if he will wait until
the beast is within twenty yards or so, the affair is certain. For this
reason: just before a rhinoceros closes, he drops his head low in order
to bring his long horn into action. If the hunter fires then, over the
horn, he will strike the beast's backbone. The shot can hardly be
missed, for the range is very close and the outstanding flanges of the
vertebrae make a large mark. The formidable animal goes down like a
stone. In country open enough to preclude the deadly close-at-hand
surprise rush, where one has no chance to use his weapon at all, the
rhinoceros is not dangerous to one who knows his business.
But in this case Kingozi was nearer a hundred and twenty than twenty
yards from the animal. The mark to be hit was now very small; and it
was moving. In addition the heavy double rifle, while accurate enough
at that range, was not, owing to its weight and terrific recoil, as
certain as a lighter rifle. These things Kingozi knew perfectly. The
muscles under his beard tightened; his gray eyes widened into a glare
like that of Simba in sight of game.
Just before the rhinoceros dropped his head for the toss, the Nubian
stepped directly into the line of fire.
"_Lala!_--lie down!" Kingozi shouted.
Somehow the whip-snap of authority in his voice reached the Nubian's
consciousness. He dropped flat, and almost instantly the white man
fired.
At the roar of the great gun the rhinoceros collapsed in mid career,
going down, as an animal always does under a successful spine shot,
completely, without a struggle or even a quiver.
"That was well shot, master," said Mali-ya-bwana.
Kingozi reloaded the rifle and started forward. At the same time the
occupant of the hammock finally emerged from the tangle and came erect.