Mali-ya-bwana glided from one of the small porters' tents.

"_Qua heri_." Kingozi abruptly wished her farewell in Swahili.

"_Qua heri_," she replied without moving.

He turned into the darkness. The tropical stars blazed above him like
candles. Kingozi lapsed into half-forgotten slang.

"Downy bird!" he reflected, which was probably not exactly the impression
the Leopard Woman either intended or thought she had made.



CHAPTER VII


THE WATER-HOLE

A seasoned African traveller in ordinary circumstances sleeps very
soundly, his ear attuned only to certain things. So Kingozi hardly stirred
on his cork mattress, although the lions roared full-voiced satisfaction
when they left the rhinoceros, and the yells of the hyenas rose to a
pandemonium when at last they were permitted to join the feast. Likewise
the nearer familiar noises of men rising to their daily tasks at four
o'clock--the yawning, stretching, cracking of firewood, crackling of fire,
low-voiced chatter--did not disturb him. Yet, so strangely is the human
mind organized, had during the night a soft whisper of padded feet, even
the deep breathing of a beast, sounded within the precincts of the camp,