He always stood, quite rigid, waiting for me to speak.

"Well, Memba Sasa?" I would inquire, after I had enjoyed the show
a little.

In a few restrained words he put the case before me, always
briefly, always with a scornful dignity. This shenzi has done
so-and-so.

We will suppose the case fairly serious. I listened to the man's
story, if necessary called a few witnesses, delivered judgment.
All the while Memba Sasa stood at rigid attention, fairly
bristling virtue, like the good dog standing by at the punishment
of the bad dogs. And in his attitude was a subtle triumph, as one
would say: "You see! Fool with my bwana, will you! Just let
anybody try to get funny with US!" Judgment pronounced-we have
supposed the case serious, you remember-Memba Sasa himself
applied the lash. I think he really enjoyed that; but it was a
restrained joy. The whip descended deliberately, without
excitement.

The man's devotion in unusual circumstances was beyond praise.
Danger or excitement incite a sort of loyalty in any good man;
but humdrum, disagreeable difficulty is a different matter.

One day we marched over a country of thorn-scrub desert. Since
two days we had been cut loose from water, and had been depending
on a small amount carried in zinc drums. Now our only reasons for
faring were a conical hill, over the horizon, and the knowledge
of a river somewhere beyond. How far beyond, or in what