“Oh, yes, and much farther. Well, I was saying, I—”
“But, Moto,” broke in Selim again, “Ukonongo is the best country for shooting, is it not?”
“At certain seasons only. In the dry season, yes. Then all kinds of game travel to the neighbourhood of the Cow River, and shooting is plenty then, but for elephants give me Kawendi. I was just going to say, I—”
“But, Moto,” broke in a naked youngster called Niani, or the Monkey (Niani is a Kisawahili term for monkey), a nephew of Moto, “are there lions in Kawendi? because—”
But he was not permitted to finish, as Moto sprang up furious, with his kurbash (a hippopotamus-hide whip) in hand. Niani noticed the movement, and with the activity of his namesake, took a flying leap over the fire, and alighted in a huge dish half full of rice that was slowly simmering over some hot embers. There was a loud shriek, and clots of hot rice splashed in all directions, several falling on the nude shoulders of the group, which started them all to their feet. Then Selim laughed heartily at the catastrophe. Simba followed, then Moto stayed his hand and laughed, and the laugh was taken by all, and this was the cause of that which startled the camp and drew our attention.
“That is what some people get for interrupting a good story,” said Moto, sententiously addressing unfortunate Niani, who was rubbing his scalded feet and moaning piteously in a low tone; but the words were said as more of a hint to Selim.
“Well, go on, Moto; I will not disturb you another time,” said Selim.
“Ah, I did not mean you, dear master,” replied Moto. “You may disturb me as often as you like.”
“Well, well, go on with your story, and let it be a good one,” urged Selim.
“All right, master. Well, I had just said that I was in the caravan of Kisesa, travelling through Ukonongo, when that little monkey Niani interrupted me, and so got—”