"Oh, bwana!" he said—and now for the first time we learned why he had chosen Fred to be his particular master. "I have been faithful! Stroke, then, that beard of yours as Bwana Courtney, my former master, used to stroke his. Then we shall both know what to do!"
Fred stroked his beard promptly, for the man needed comfort, not ridicule: but the concession to his superstition did none of us any good.
"Face this way!" the lieutenant shouted at him. "You are charged with being a deserter from German service. Also with giving information to foreigners. Also with serving foreigners in their effort to exploit the country, and with refusing to give proper answers when questioned by those in authority. Do you understand?"
"No," said Kazimoto in the most melancholy tone I ever heard from him.
"Are you a Nyamwezi? Now don't dare to lie to me!"
"Yes."
"You were born in this country?"
"Yes."
"Then you belong in this country!"
"I belong where my master takes me. My spirit is good. I am a true man," Kazimoto answered.