THE LEOPARD WOMAN
In the early darkness of equatorial Africa Kingozi, accompanied by
Mali-ya-bwana with a lantern, crossed over to the other camp. Simba and
Cazi Moto had come in almost at dusk; but they were very tired, and
Kingozi considered it advisable to let them rest. They had covered
probably thirty-five miles. Cazi Moto had found no water, and no traces
of water. Furthermore, the game had thinned and disappeared. Only old
tracks, old trails, old signs indicated that after the Big Rains the
country might be habitable for the beasts. But Simba had discovered a
concealed "tank" in a kopje. He had worked his way to it by "lining"
the straight swift flight of green pigeons, as a bee hunter on the
plains used to line the flight of bees. The tank proved to be a deep,
hidden recess far back under overhanging rocks, at once concealed and
protected from the sun and animals. Its water was sweet and abundant.
"No one has used that water. It is an unknown water," concluded Simba.
"How far?"
"Four hours."
"_Vema_." Kingozi bestowed on him the word of highest praise.
The stranger woman's camp was not far away; in fact, but just across
the little dry stream-bed. Her safari was using the same pool with
Kingozi's.
At the edge of the camp he paused to take in its disposition. From one
detail to another his eye wandered, and in it dawned a growing
approval. Your native, left to his own devices, pitches his little
tents haphazard here, there, and everywhere, according as his fancy
turns to this or that bush, thicket, or clump of grass. Such a camp
straggles abominably. But here was no such confusion. Back from the
water-hole a hundred yards, atop a slight rise, and under the thickest
of the trees, stood a large green tent with a projecting fly. A huge
pile of firewood had been dumped down in front of it, and at that very
moment one of the _askaris_, kneeling, was kindling a fire. Behind the
big tent, and at some remove, gleamed the circle of porters' tents each
with its little blaze. Loads were piled neatly, covered with a
tarpaulin, and the pile guarded by an _askari_.
Kingozi strode across the intervening space.
Before the big tent a table had been placed, and beside the table a
reclining canvas chair of the folding variety. On a spread of figured
blue cloth stood a bottle of lime juice, a sparklets, and an enamelware
bowl containing flowers. The strange woman was stretched luxuriously in
the chair smoking a cigarette.
She wore a short-sleeved lilac tea gown of thin silk, lilac silk
stockings, and high-heeled slippers. Her hair fell in two long braids
over her shoulders and between her breasts, which the thin silk
defined. Her figure in the long chair fell into sinuous, graceful,
relaxed lines. As he approached she looked at him over the glowing
cigarette; and her eyes seemed to nicker with a strange restlessness.
This contrast--of the restless eyes and the relaxed, graceful
body--reminded Kingozi of something. His mind groped for a moment; then
he had it.
"_Bibi ya chui!_" he said, half to himself, half to his companion, "The
Leopard Woman!"
And, parenthetically, from that moment _Bibi-ya-chui_--the Leopard
Woman--was the name by which she was known among the children of the
sun.
She did not greet him in any way, but turned her head to address
commands.
"Bring a chair for the _bwana_; bring cigarettes; bring _balauri--lime
juice_----"
Kingozi found himself established comfortably.
She moved her whole body slightly sidewise, the better to face him. The
soft silk fell in new lines about her, defining new curves. Her red
lips smiled softly, and her eyes were dark and inscrutable.
"I was what you call horrid to-day," she said. "It was not me: it was
the frightenedness from the rhinoceros. I was very much frightened, so
I had the porters beaten. That was horrid, was it not? Do you
understand it? I suppose not. Men have no nerves, like women. They are
brave always. I have not said what I feel. I have heard of you--the
most wonderful shot in Central Africa. I believe it--now."
Kingozi's eyes were lingering on her silk-clad form, the peep of ankles
below her robe. She observed him with slanted eyes, and a little breath
of satisfaction raised her bosom. Abruptly he spoke.
"Aren't you afraid of fever mosquitoes in that rig?" said he.
Her body stirred convulsively, and her finely pencilled eyebrows, with
their perpetual air of surprise, moved with impatience; but her voice
answered him equably:
"My friend, at the close of the hard day I must have my comfort. There
can be no fever here, for there are no people here. When in the fever
country I have my 'rig'"--subtly she shaded the word--"just the same.
But I have a net--a big net--like a tent beneath which I sit. Does that
satisfy you?"
She spoke with the obvious painstaking patience that one uses to
instruct a child, but with a veiled irony meant for an older
intelligence.
Kingozi laughed.
"I do appear to catechize you, don't I? But I am interested. It is
difficult to realize that a woman alone can understand this kind of
travel."
He had thrown off his guarded abstraction, and smiled across at her as
frankly as a boy. The gravity of his face broke into wrinkles of
laughter; his steady eyes twinkled; his smile showed strong white
teeth. In spite of his bushy beard he looked a boy. The woman stared at
him, her cigarette suspended.
"You have instructed me about my camp; you have instructed me about my
men; you have instructed me about my marching; you have even instructed
me about my clothes." She tallied the counts on her slender fingers.
"Now I must instruct you."
"Guilty, I am afraid," he smiled; "but ready to take punishment."
"Very well." With a sinuous movement she turned on her elbow to face
him. "Listen! It is this: you should not wear that beard."
She fell back, and raised the cigarette to her lips.
For a moment Kingozi stared at her speechless with surprise; but
immediately recovered.
"I shall give to your advice the same respectful consideration you
accord mine," he assured her gravely.
She laughed in genuine amusement.
"Only I have more excuse," continued Kingozi. "A woman--alone--so far
away----"
"You said that before," she interrupted. "In other words, what
in--what-you-call? Oh, yes! what in hell am I doing up here? Is that
it?"
She turned on him a wide-eyed stare. Kingozi chuckled.
"That's it. What in--in hell _are_ you doing up here?"
"Listen, my friend. In this world I do what I please--always. And when
I find that which people tell me cannot be done, that I do--at once. My
life is full of those things which could not be done, but which I have
done."
"I believe you," said Kingozi, but he said it to himself.
"I have done them at home--where I live. I have done them in the cities
and courts. Whatever the people tell me is impossible--'Oh, it cannot
be done!'--with the uplifted hand and eye--you understand--that I do.
Four years ago I came to Africa, and in Africa I have done what they
tell me women have never done. I have travelled in the Kameroons, in
Nyassaland, in Somaliland, in Abyssinia. Then they tell me--'yes, that
is very well, but you follow a track. It is a dim track; but it is
there. You go alone--yes; but you have us at your back.' And I ask
them: 'What then? where is this place where there is no track?' And
they wave their hands, and say 'Over yonder'; so I come!"
She recited all this dramatically, using her hands much in
gesticulation, her eyes flashing. In proportion as she became animated
Kingozi withdrew into his customary stolid calm.
"Quite so," he commented, "spirit of adventure, and all that sort of
thing. Where did you get this lot?"
"What?"
He waved his hand.
"Your men."
She considered him a barely appreciable instant.
"Why--the usual way--from the coast."
"They are strange to me--I do not recognize their tribes," Kingozi
replied blandly. "So you are pushing out into the Unknown. How far do
you consider going?"
"Until it pleases me to stop."
Kingozi produced his pipe.
"If you do not mind?" he requested. He deliberately filled and lighted
it. After a few strong puffs he resumed:
"The country, you say, is unknown to you."
"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 assumed
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
circumstances."
"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 pronounced 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."
"You are not Cul-bert-son?"
"I am anything it pleases you to have me. And who are you?"
She had become the spoiled darling, pouting at him in half-pretended
vexation.
"You are playing with me. For that I shall not tell you who I am."
"It does not matter; I know."
"You know! But how?"
"I know many things."
"What is it then? Tell me!"
He hesitated, smiling at her inscrutably. The flames from the fire were
leaping high now, throwing the lantern-light into eclipse. An _askari_,
wearing on his head an individual fancy in marabout feathers, leaned on
his musket, his strong bronze face cast into the wistful lines of the
savage countenance in repose. The lions had evidently compounded their
quarrel. Only an occasional rasping cough testified to their presence.
But in the direction of the dead rhinoceros the air was hideous with
the plaints of the waiting hyenas. Their peculiarly weird moans came in
chorus; and every once in a while arose the shrill, prolonged titter
that has earned them the name of "laughing hyena."
"_Bibi-ya-chui_," he told her at length.
She considered this, her red lower lip caught between her teeth.
"The Leopard Woman," she repeated, "and it is thus that I am known!
You, Kingozi--the Bearded One; I, Bibi-ya-chui--the Leopard Woman!" She
laughed. "I think I like it," she decided.
"Now we know all about each other," he mocked.
"But no: you have asked many questions, which is your habit, but I have
asked few. What do you do in this strange land? Is
it--what-you-call--'spirit of adventure' also?"
"Not I! I am an ivory hunter."
"You expect to find the elephant here?"
"Who knows--or ivory to trade."
"And then you get your ivory and make the magic pass, and presto! it is
in Mombasa," she said, with a faint sarcasm.
"You mean I have not men enough to carry out ivory. Well, that is true.
But you see my habit is to get my ivory first and then to get _shenzis_
from the people roundabout to act as porters," he explained to her
gravely.
Apparently she hesitated, in two minds as to what next to say. Kingozi
perceived a dancing temptation sternly repressed, and smiled beneath
his beard.
"I see," she said finally in a meek voice.
But Kingozi knew of what she was thinking. "She is a keen one," he
reflected admiringly. "Caught the weak point in that yarn straight off!"
He arose to his feet, knocking the ashes from his pipe.
"You travel to-morrow?" he asked politely.
"That I have not decided."
"This is a dry country," Kingozi suggested blandly. "Of course you will
not risk a blind push with so many men. You will probably send out
scouts to find the next water."
"That is possible," she replied gravely; but Kingozi thought to catch a
twinkle in her eye.
He raised his voice:
"Boy!"
Mali-ya-bwana glided from one of the small porters' tents.
"_Qua heri_." Kingozi abruptly wished her farewell in Swahili.
"_Qua heri_," she replied without moving.
He turned into the darkness. The tropical stars blazed above him like
candles. Kingozi lapsed into half-forgotten slang.
"Downy bird!" he reflected, which was probably not exactly the
impression the Leopard Woman either intended or thought she had made.