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THERE was a man of the Isisi whom all feared—even the very chief of that nation. He was no great warrior, nor was he skilled in magic. His name was M'anin and he was of the common people: a tall, thin man with a stammering voice, who did no more than talk. But his talk was very bitter and he respected nobody. Once, in the days of his beginnings, the chief of his village (afterwards chief of the tribe, and eventually hanged for the murder of a missionary) had taken a pliant chicotte and had gone in search of the talker. And M'anin had seen him coming and was panic-stricken, for he had spoken very evilly of this chief and certain of his wives. Yet, though his heart was like water, he met the chief with outward insolence, having in his soul the dim beginnings of a theory which happened to be right; and this theory was that he who talks and talks and supports one boldness with another may cow even the strongest and most enraged man or woman.

"I see you, chief," he greeted, his furious master. "Oh ko! You are like a monkey that is caught by a spear! Now I must tell you the truth—you have a bad face and you are no proper chief for this village. And if Sandi knows this he will, put you away."

So strong and bold were his words that the chief wilted before him.

"M'anin, have I spoken evilly of you? Have I done ill to you? And yet you make me foolish before my people."

M'anin looked at him thoughtfully.

"I speak truth, and if any man be hurt by truth that is his palaver. I speak as my mind is—even to Sandi."

He grew to maturity well hated but uninjured. Men, and women too, went out of their way to placate him; choice foods came to his house, lest the giver writhe under the lash of his criticism. Though the Isisi are river folk, and uncleanliness an abomination, none cavilled at M'anin, who never brought his body to the water. He dwelt apart with a fat woman, in shape like a beetle, and she was the audience on whom he practised when others failed. He neither hunted nor worked, and because he brought little to his own larder he was wont to sit at food with such families as advertised the excellence of their meals by the fragrance of their cooking pots. And none dared deny him for fear of his tongue.

And sometimes he would stand with his back to a tree, surrounded by young men, and talk of the badness of such things as were in their eyes good. In his eyes the wealthy Ogani, the hunter, and Wlini, whose canoes haunted the river, were an offence, and he reserved his bitterest gibes for those who had passed him in the race.

"Let all people look at Ogani, whom men call a great hunter. To me he is like a fish upon land, leaping here and there and opening and shutting his silly mouth...Oh, people, why do you shiver at Sandi? For is he not a man with one life and can he eat two meals at once? He is no great ruler, for did not the crops fail?"

Sanders may have heard of this, but he was very lenient with talking men, and M'anin, satisfied with his daring, did not repeat his slander.

Then one fatal night somebody spoke of Bones. Now Lieutenant Tibbetts might be a figure of fun to his immediate associates. He was undoubtedly a rather impetuous young man, who both said and did irresponsible things. But to the people of the upper river Tibbetti was lank vengeance who had stalked evil men and had hanged chiefs without mercy; the memory of the staccato rattle of his machine-gun remained with certain tribes for a long time.

"This Tibbetti is no more than a fool," said M'anin. "Also he has no eyes, but puts a little glass where his eye should be."

"Oh ko, M'anin!" said one of his shocked hearers. "Did he not destroy the Leopards that crept into our huts at night and left us without faces?"

He spoke of that strange secret society which is known in one form or another from one end of Africa to the other.

"Oh ko!" mocked M'anin. "Did he not bring soldiers by tens and tens to do this little work? And are not the Leopards friends of the people?"

His words created a sensation. Never before had any man openly defended these terrible people. Intoxicated by his success, M'anin, who would as readily have championed the forces of the law, given sufficient provocation, went on:

"These Leopards are wonderful folk and have a great ju-ju. And to-day they live. I with my eyes have seen them. They are very kind to poor men and very hard to rich men. He who is a Leopard is great in the eyes of ghosts and it is said that M'shimba M'shamba himself is their mighty spirit."

This was the beginning; the idle words of a talkative man bore fruit in the Isisi, but it was nipped in the blossoming stage by the chief of the Ochori.

By all standards wherewith despotic kings may be judged, Bosambo of the Ochori was a wise ruler. For he had the prime instinct of government —he knew to the second when he must give way and when he must stand, granite-like, be the prospect never so dark and the dangers appalling. He was not to be moved by such trifles as personal popularity or unpopularity, so that, when a small chief who was an admirer of M'anin made a bad song about Bosambo and likened him to a snake and a fish and a particularly comical ju-ju (one of those ju-jus of ancient times whose potency had atrophied) he sent no summons to the poet, nor did he visit upon him the weight of his anger.

Only in the days of the taxations, M'lipi, the chief in question, found that his contribution to the state was stolen en route to the Ochori city, and he had to levy yet another toll upon his cursing village.

And when his spies brought news of old men gathering secretly in the woods and speaking against him as an oppressor of the people (which he was not) and a rapacious foreigner (which he was), he said insulting things about the intelligence of old men and said no more. But when, in a quiet place, four men came together and said: "These are the days of women—Wa! I have not drawn blood with my claws," and that speech was reported, Bosambo called his six best captains to him.

"In such a village are four men who are Leopards. Go swiftly and kill, but let no man see the killing."

And the captains went out by night and travelled till dawn, when they slept through the day. At night they moved again and by diligent enquiry found the spot where the new Leopards held a lodge.

They were talking over the matter of initiations when the six appeared with their shields on their arms and their killing spears in their hands.

"Come with us," said the chief of the six, and led them away to a deep ravine, and there they killed them, leaving what was to be left to the real leopards who live here in families.

Bosambo's great hut was on the river side of the city, and between his hut and the water were only his fields of corn and the huts of his guard. For a time might come when he would need the open space that led to where his three big canoes were ranged on the beach.

Here, in huts so near to the river that you might fish from them, dwelt the young men who were spear-men or paddlers as occasion demanded. They were tall, straight young men, very strong and terribly brave, and very proud, for each man wore a scarlet cotton handkerchief bound about his head which was the livery of the king.

Bosambo sat in the shade of a large grass mat one sweltering day, speaking to the chief of his guard, Bosongo, and the talk was of a woman of the Isisi. None of his intimate guard was married; marriage meant retirement to the mass which did not wear handkerchiefs about their heads.

"Lord Bosambo, I think my time is come, for this woman is very wonderful to me and her father is rich. I will build a hut and be your man and you will make me the head of a fighting regiment, as you made T'furi and M'suri Balana and other men."

Bosambo pulled steadily at his long-stemmed pipe, and obscured the still air with a cloud of rank-smelling smoke.

"This I will do, Bosongo, but the Isisi are a strange folk and will not let their women cross the river to live in a strange land. Now here in the Ochori are women in plenty."

Bosongo nodded, which meant his disagreement.

"This girl is strong for me, and when her father has given me the salt and rods and goats which come with her, I will bring her by night in a canoe to this land and that will be the end."

But Bosambo was not so easily convinced. A breach or two of national custom meant little to him, but here was a possibility of trouble, for the Isisi at this moment was in its most truculent mood. The harvest had been good, men were rich in corn and salt, and in such circumstances the risk of war was great.

"If there is a killing palaver what may I say to my lord Saudi, who is almost my brother? For did we not go to the same mission school and learn of Marki, Luki and Johnni which are white men's mysteries? I will think of this, Bosongo, and in one day and two days I will tell you what is in my mind."

"Lord," said Bosongo eagerly, "there will be no bad palaver; for this woman has often come to my house with her father and his paddlers."

Bosambo stared at him blankly.

"I have seen no little chief of the Isisi in this city," he said.

Bosongo grew uncomfortable.

"He brought her by night, knowing how I love this woman. In the morning he took her away."

Bosambo said nothing more, but with a lordly wave of his hand dismissed his guard.

That evening between the lights came a spy of his from the Isisi, for Bosambo took no chances. The Leopardism which four machine-guns and a company of Houssas had stamped out three years before was rampant again from the Lower Akasava to the Upper Isisi, though the rope that hanged the chief of the Leopards still swung its ravelled strands in the breeze.

For an hour they sat in conference in the dark of his hut, the spy and the chief of the Ochori. Then in the darkness the spy crept away, followed the river's course for a mile till he came to a canoe with five paddlers, and in the bottom of the canoe a man bound with native rope and gagged uncomfortably. He spoke a few words and, stooping, the paddlers lifted their prisoner from the bottom of the canoe, stayed long enough to pull the boat high and dry before they cut the bonds of the man's feet and took the gag out of his mouth.

"Walk with me, little Leopard," said the spy.

They gave the man a drink of water.

"If you speak what is true to Bosambo he will do you no hurt," they told him, and with this assurance he walked silently in their midst until they came to the edge of the Ochori city, through which they led him by back ways to Bosambo's great hut, where it was his practice to sleep alone.

And there he talked and talked and talked, being rendered the more loquacious by large draughts of native beer. In the end Bosambo was well satisfied. That night came three Isisi Leopards who had learnt in some mysterious way of the killings in the ravine. They came noiselessly in one black canoe, and, threading their way between the habitations of his guard, came to the king's hut. And on their hands were gloves of leopard pads with ripping steel claws, which is the insignia of the society. One wormed his way into Bosambo's hut and struck with the knife he carried, and when he felt the body shudder, he used his clawed pad as the ritual directed..

The murderer was crawling to the door when a huge hand gripped his neck and thrust his face downward, in another second a knee was in the small of his back. He tried to fight up, but only for a second. A short club of dried-rubber struck him. When he recovered consciousness he was sitting with his back against a tree; the ghastly glow of dawn was in the sky, and even as he blinked from left to right the sun was up.

"O man, I see you," said Bosambo. "Behold this evil thing which you have done!"

He looked to the right and the prisoner's eyes followed. He saw the captured Leopard lying stark and awful to see. The two paddlers who had accompanied him he did not see, for they were dead in the river.

"This man you have killed, therefore you go to Sandi for his judgment," said Bosambo virtuously; "for I cannot kill you because I have spoken my word, and in the country where I govern for Sandi and his king no man breaks the law. But first you will tell me who sent you, also who is the new chief of your Leopards and many other interesting and beautiful things."

The prisoner glared at him.

"The Leopard hates and dies," he said conventionally. "Well you know, Bosambo, that we Leopards do not speak of our dreadful ju-ju."

"You shall speak to me," said Bosambo, "and if you hate, then by Ewa! which is death, you shall hate me worse before you die at the end of Sandi's long rope, with all his soldiers mocking at you."

An hour later he squatted down at a box and began a laborious epistle, all the more laborious because he wrote on that which was as thin as cigarette paper, using a pen. When he had finished, the pigeon was waiting, and the message was bound about one red leg.

"Go swiftly, little friend of soldiers," said Bosambo, and flung the bird high.