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