Across the way, a half or three-quarters of a mile distant, beyond the green papyrus swamp, on the slope from the edge of the forest, appeared a long file of men bearing burdens on their heads. Even at this distance she made out the colour of occasional garments of khaki cloth, or the green of canvas on the packs.
She arrived at Kingozi's side simultaneously with Cazi Moto.
"A safari comes, bwana," said the latter. "It is across the swamp."
Kingozi's figure stiffened.
"What kind of a safari?" he asked quietly.
The Leopard Woman answered him. There was no note of jubilation in her voice.
"It is a white man's safari," she told him. "I can see khaki--and they are marching as a white man's safari marches."
"Get my glasses," he told Cazi Moto. Then to her, his voice vibrating with emotion too long controlled: "Look and tell me, fairly. I must know. Whatever the outcome you must tell me truth. It will not matter. I can do nothing."
"I will tell you the truth," she promised, raising the glasses.
For some moments she looked intently.