"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