"Askaris not pukha[[5]] askaris of the government. Those are not Sniders they carry--don't know that kind of musket. Those boxes are not the usual type--wonder where they were bought!"
[[5:] Genuine--regular.]
The hammock came into view, swinging on the long pole. It was borne by four men at each end--experienced machele carriers who would keep step with a gentle gliding. Eight more walked alongside as relay. They would change places so skilfully that the occupant of the hammock could not have told when the shift took place. Alongside walked a tall, bareheaded, very black man. Kingozi's experienced eye was caught by differences.
"Of what tribe is that man?" he asked.
But Mali-ya-bwana was also puzzled.
"I do not know, bwana. He is a shenzi[[6]]."
[[6]: Wild Man.]
The unknown was very tall, very straight, most well formed. But his face was extraordinarily ugly. His flat, wide nose, thick lips, and small yellow eyes were set off by an upstanding mop of hair. His expression was of extraordinary fierceness. He walked with a free and independent stride, and carried a rifle.
"He is not of this country. He is from the west coast, or perhaps Nubia or the Sudan," was Kingozi's conclusion.
"Many of these people are shenzis," Mali-ya-bwana pursued his own thought.