"My friend, at the close of the hard day I must have my comfort. There can
be no fever here, for there are no people here. When in the fever country
I have my 'rig'"--subtly she shaded the word--"just the same. But I have a
net--a big net--like a tent beneath which I sit. Does that satisfy you?"

She spoke with the obvious painstaking patience that one uses to instruct
a child, but with a veiled irony meant for an older intelligence.

Kingozi laughed.

"I do appear to catechize you, don't I? But I am interested. It is
difficult to realize that a woman alone can understand this kind of
travel."

He had thrown off his guarded abstraction, and smiled across at her as
frankly as a boy. The gravity of his face broke into wrinkles of laughter;
his steady eyes twinkled; his smile showed strong white teeth. In spite of
his bushy beard he looked a boy. The woman stared at him, her cigarette
suspended.

"You have instructed me about my camp; you have instructed me about my
men; you have instructed me about my marching; you have even instructed me
about my clothes." She tallied the counts on her slender fingers. "Now I
must instruct you."

"Guilty, I am afraid," he smiled; "but ready to take punishment."

"Very well." With a sinuous movement she turned on her elbow to face him.
"Listen! It is this: you should not wear that beard."