"That box is indispensable to me," she insisted haughtily.
"You have no men strong enough to carry a load: and mine will need all the strength they have left before they get in."
He went on arranging the loads under the tarpaulins.
"Those loads are my tent," she said, as Kingozi turned away.
Her eyes flashed. She whirled with the evident intention of issuing her commands direct. Kingozi's weary, slow indifference fell from him. In one bound he faced her, his chin thrust forward. His blue eyes had focussed into a cold, level stare.
"Don't dare interfere!" he ordered. "If you attempt it, I shall order you restrained--physically. Understand? I do not know how far you intend to travel--or where; but if you value your future authority and prestige with your own men, do not make yourself a spectacle before them."
The tenseness relaxed. Kingozi became again the slow-moving, slouching, indifferent figure of his everyday habit.
"Oh, I can dare almost anything--when I have to. You do not seem to understand. You have come a cropper--a bad one. Left to yourselves you are all going to die here. If I am to help you to your feet, I must do it without interference. I think we shall get through: but I am not at all certain. Go and sit down and save your strength."
"I hate you!" she flashed. "I'd rather die here than accept your help! I command you to leave me!"
"Bless you!" said Kingozi, as though this were a new thought. "I wasn't thinking especially of _you_; I am sorry for your boys."
Mali-ya-bwana, under his directions, had undone the loads containing the lanterns. Everything seemed now ready for the start. All of Kingozi's safari had arrived except Cazi Moto and five men.
"Have you any water left?" Kingozi asked the Leopard Woman.
She stared straight ahead of her, refusing to answer. Unperturbed, Kingozi turned to the Nubian.
The Nubian silently indicated two of the three hung on his person. Kingozi shook them, and found them empty. His own contained still about a pint, and this he poured into one of hers. She appeared not to notice the act.
The march was resumed. Mali-ya-bwana was instructed to lead the way following the scraped places on the earth, the twigs bent over, and the broken branches by which Simba had marked his route for them. Kingozi himself brought up the rear. Reluctantly, apathetically, the Leopard Woman's men got to their feet. Kingozi was everywhere, urging, encouraging, shaming, joking, threatening, occasionally using the _kiboko_ he had taken from one of the _askaris_. At last all were under way. The Leopard Woman sat still on the load, the Nubian crouched at her back. The long, straggling, staggering file of men crawled up the dry bank and disappeared one by one over the top. Each figure for a moment was silhouetted against the sky, for the sun was low. Kingozi toiled up the steep, his head bent forward. In his turn he, too, stood black and massive on the brink, the outline of his powerful stooped shoulders gold-rimmed in light. She watched him feverishly, awaiting from him some sign that he realized her existence, that he cared whether or not she was left behind. He did not look back. In a moment he had disappeared. The prospect was empty of human life.