the little fires and approached. The white man indicated one of the piles
of meat.

"Wakamba!" he summoned; then "Monumwezi"; and finally "Baganda!"

Thus the four tribes represented in his caravan were supplied. The men
returned to their fires, and began the preparation of their evening meal.

Kingozi turned to his own tent with a sigh of relief. Within it a cot had
been erected, blankets spread. An officer's tin box stood open at one end.
On the floor was a portable canvas bath. While the white man was divesting
himself of his accoutrements, Cazi Moto entered bearing a galvanized pail
full of hot water which he poured into the tub. He disappeared only to
return with a pail of cold water to temper the first.

"Bath is ready, _bwana_," said he, and retired, carefully tying the tent
flaps behind him.

Fifteen minutes later Kingozi emerged. He wore now a suit of pajamas
tucked into canvas "mosquito boots," with very thin soles. He looked
scrubbed and clean, the sheen of water still glistening on his thick wavy
hair.

The canvas camp chair had been placed before two chop boxes piled one atop
the other to form a crude table on which were laid eating utensils. As
soon as Cazi Moto saw that his master was ready, he brought the meal. It
consisted simply of a platter of curry composed of rice and the fresh meat
that had been so recently killed that it had not time to get tough. This
was supplemented by bread and tea in a tall enamelware vessel known as a
_balauri_. From the simplicity of this meal one experienced would have