Kingozi glanced at his wrist watch. It was only ten o'clock. "When?"
"Last night."
"They went back last night?"
"Yes, bwana. Mali-ya-bwana considered that it was bad to leave the loads. There might be hyenas--or the shenzis----"
Kingozi slapped his thigh with satisfaction. This was a man after his own heart.
"Call Mali-ya-bwana," he ordered.
The tall Baganda approached.
"Mali-ya-bwana," said Kingozi. "You have done well. For this you shall have backsheeshi. But more. You need not again carry a load. You will be--" he hesitated, trying to invent an office, but reluctant to infringe upon the prerogatives of either Simba or Cazi Moto. "You will be headman of the porters; and you, Cazi Moto, will be headman of all the safari, and my own man besides."
The Baganda drew himself erect, his face shining. Placing his bare heels together, he raised his hand in a military salute. Kingozi was about to dismiss him, but this arrested his intention.
"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked sharply.