An instant later Chaké darted into the tent and fell to the ground. His face was the sickly gray of a negro in terror, his eyes rolled in his head, his teeth chattered, his every muscle trembled.
"Memsahib! Memsahib!" he gasped.
Her eyes were blazing with an anger the more fierce in that some of it was reaction.
"Fool!" she spat at him.
"I killed him, memsahib! I drove the shenzi spear through his back! I left him lying there! He is a god! He has come back from the dead!"
"Fool!" she repeated, and swung her feet to the floor. "Stay here! Do not go out!" she commanded, when she had assumed her mosquito boots. She slipped out between the tent flaps.
Torches were everywhere flickering about. She stopped one of the men as he passed.
"A shenzi has killed Mavrouki with a spear," the man answered her question.
She stood for some time watching the torches. Then she saw Kingozi himself take his place by the pile of loads.
"Fall in!" he commanded sharply.