"In that case you would have to kill yourself, too; and then it would not matter to either of us."
"I find you insufferable!" she cried, getting to her feet.
She moved away in the direction of her camp. The faithful Nubian folded her chair and followed. At the doorway of her tent she looked back. Kingozi, his black pipe in his mouth, was bending absorbedly over his map.
[CHAPTER XI]
THE IVORY STOCKADE
The Leopard Woman, emerging from her tent shortly after sunup the next morning, saw across the opening her own askaris being drilled by Kingozi, Simba, and Cazi Moto. Evidently the instruction was in rifle fire. Two were getting individual treatment: Simba and Cazi Moto were putting them through a careful course in aiming and pulling the trigger on empty guns. Kingozi sat on a chop box in the shade, gripping his eternal pipe, and issuing curt orders and criticisms to the baker's dozen, before him. When he saw the Leopard Woman he arose and strolled in her direction.
"That's the worst lot of so-called askaris I ever saw," he remarked. "Where did you pick them up?"
His manner was entirely unconscious of any discussions or dissentions. He looked into her eyes and smiled genially.
"I took them from the recruiting man, as they came," she replied. As always the deeps of her eyes were enigmatical; but the surfaces, at least, of her mood answered his.
"They know how to load a gun, and that is about all. I don't believe one of them ever fired a weapon before this trip. They haven't the most rudimentary ideas of aiming. Don't even know what sights are for. My boys will soon whip them into some sort of shape. I came over to see how much ammunition you have for their muskets. They really ought to fire a few rounds--after a week of aiming and snapping. Then they'll be of some use. Not much, though."