It was evidently an angry woman, to judge by her gestures and the
deprecating attitude of the Nubian. Kingozi surmised that she probably did
not fancy being dumped down incontinently before an angry rhinoceros.
After a moment, however, her attitude lost its rigidity, she gestured
toward the dead monster, evidently commending the savage. He shook his
head and motioned in Kingozi's direction. The woman turned, showing an
astonished face.

Kingozi was now close up. He saw before him a personality. Physically she
was beautiful or not, according as one accepted conventional standards.
The dress she wore revealed fully the fact that she had a tall, well-knit
figure of long, full curves; a thoroughly feminine figure in conformation,
and yet one that looked competent to transcend the usual feminine
incompetencies. So far she measured to a high but customary standard. But
her face was as exotic as an orchid. It was long, narrow, and pale with
three accents to redeem it from what that ordinarily implies--lips of a
brilliant carmine, eyes of a deep sea-green, and eyebrows high, arched,
clean cut, narrow as though drawn by a camel's-hair brush. Indeed, in
civilization no one would have believed them to have been otherwise
produced. In spite of the awkward sun helmet she carried her head
imperiously.

"If you _will_ ride in a hammock, you ought to teach your men to shoot,"
was Kingozi's greeting. "It's absurd to go barging through a rhino country
like this. You look strong and healthy. Why don't you walk?"

Her crest reared and her nostrils expanded haughtily. For a half-minute
she stared at him, her sea-green eyes darkening to greater depths. This
did not disturb Kingozi in the least: indeed he did not see it. His eyes