For a long time he sat gazing at the ground, his arms folded across his knees, his chin resting on them. The girl watched him intently; those level, grey eyes seemed to be evaluating him. For the first time since she had met him she was examining his face carefully. Through the unkempt beard she saw strong, regular features, saw that the man was handsome in spite of the dirt and the haggard look caused by deprivation and anxiety. Neither was he as old as she had thought him. She judged that he must still be in his twenties.
"Do you know," she remarked presently, "that I do not even know your name?"
He hesitated a moment before replying and then said, "The Kid calls me Old Timer."
"That is not a name," she remonstrated, "and you are not old."
"Thank you," he acknowledged, "but if a man is as old as he feels I am the oldest living man."
"You are tired," she said soothingly, her voice like the caress of a mother's hand; "you have been through so much, and all for me." Perhaps she recalled the manner in which she had replied to his recent question, and regretted it. "I think you should rest here as long as you can."
"I am all right," he told her; "it is you who should rest, but it is not safe here. We must go on, no matter how tired we are, until we are farther away from the Betete country." He rose slowly to his feet and offered her his hand.
Across the stream, through which he carried her despite her objections that he must not overtax his strength, they came upon a wider trail along which they could walk abreast. Here he stopped again to cut two staffs. "They will help us limp along," he remarked with a smile; "we are getting rather old, you know." But the one that he cut for himself was heavy and knotted at one end. It had more the appearance of a weapon than a walking stick.
Again they took up their weary flight, elbow to elbow. The feel of her arm touching his occasionally sent thrills through every fiber of his body; but recollection of Jerry Jerome dampened them. For some time they did not speak, each occupied with his own thoughts. It was the girl who broke the silence.
"Old Timer is not a name," she said; "I cannot call you that-it's silly."
"It is not much worse than my real name," he assured her. "I was named for my grandfather, and grandfathers so often have peculiar names."
"I know it," she agreed, "but yet they were good old substantial names. Mine was Abner."
"Did you have only one?" he bantered.
"Only one named Abner. What was yours, the one you were named for?"
"Hiram; but my friends call me Hi," he added hastily.
"But your last name? I can't call you Hi."
"Why not? We are friends, I hope."
"All right," she agreed; "but you haven't told me your last name."
"Just call me Hi," he said a little shortly.
"But suppose I have to introduce you to some one?"
"To whom, for instance?"
"Oh, Bobolo," she suggested, laughingly.
"I have already met the gentleman; but speaking about names," he added, "I don't know yours."
"The natives called me Kali Bwana."
"But I am not a native," he reminded her.
"I like Kali," she said; "call me Kali."
"It means woman. All right, Woman."
"If you call me that, I shan't answer you."
"Just as you say, Kali." Then after a moment, "I rather like it myself; it makes a cute name for a girl."
As they trudged wearily along, the forest became more open, the underbrush was not so dense, and the trees were farther apart. In an open space Old Timer halted and looked up at the sun; then he shook his head.
"We've been going east instead of south," he announced.
"How hopeless!"
"I'm sorry; it was stupid of me, but I couldn't see the sun because of the damned trees. Oftentimes inanimate objects seem to assume malign personalities that try to thwart one at every turn and then gloat over his misfortunes."
"Oh, it wasn't your fault," she cried quickly. "I didn't intend to imply that. You've done all that anyone could have."
"I'll tell you what we can do," he announced.
"Yes, what?"
"We can go on to the next stream and follow that to the river; it's bound to run into the river somewhere. It's too dangerous to go back to the one we crossed back there. In the meantime we might as well make up our minds that we're in for a long, hard trek and prepare for it."
"How? What do you mean?"
"We must eat; and we have no means of obtaining food other than the occasional fruits and tubers that we may find, which are not very strengthening food to trek on. We must have meat, but we have no means for obtaining it. We need weapons."
"And there is no sporting goods house near, not even a hardware store." Her occasional, unexpected gaieties heartened him. She never sighed or complained. She was often serious, as became their situation; but even disaster, added to all the trials she had endured for weeks, could not dampen her spirits entirely nor destroy her sense of humor.
"We shall have to be our own armorers," he explained. "We shall have to make our own weapons."
"Let's start on a couple of Thompson machine guns," she suggested. "I should feel much safer if we had them."
"Bows and arrows and a couple of spears are about all we rate," he assured her.
"I imagine I could make a machine gun as readily," she admitted. "What useless things modern women are!"
"I should scarcely say that. I don't know what I should do without you." The involuntary admission slipped out so suddenly that he scarcely realized what he had said-he, the woman-hater. But the girl did, and she smiled.
"I thought you didn't like women," she remarked, quite seriously. "It seems to me that I recall quite distinctly that you gave me that impression the afternoon that you came to my camp."
"Please don't," he begged. "I did not know you then."
"What a pretty speech! It doesn't sound at all like the old bear I first met."
"I am not the same man, Kali." He spoke the words in a low voice seriously.
To the girl it sounded like a confession and a plea for forgiveness. Impulsively she placed a hand on his arm. The soft, warm touch was like a spark to powder. He wheeled and seized her, pressing her close to him, crushing her body to his as though he would make them one; and in the same instant, before she could prevent it, his lips covered hers in a brief, hot kiss of passion.
She struck at him and tried to push him away. "How-how dared you!" she cried. "I hate you!"
He let her go and they stood looking at one another, panting a little from exertion and excitement.
"I hate you!" she repeated.
He looked into her blazing eyes steadily for a long moment. "I love you, Kali," he said, "my Kali!"
Chapter 21. Because Nsenene Loved
ZU-THO, the great ape, had quarrelled with To-yat, the king. Each had coveted a young she just come into maturity. To-yat was a mighty bull, the mightiest of the tribe, for which excellent reason he was king; therefore Zu-tho hesitated to engage him in mortal combat. However, that did not lessen his desire for the fair one; so he ran away with her, coaxing some of the younger bulls who were dissatisfied with the rule of To-yat to accompany them. They came and brought their mates. Thus are new tribes formed. There is always a woman at the bottom of it.
Desiring peace, Zu-tho had moved to new hunting grounds far removed from danger of a chance meeting with To-yat. Ga-yat, his life-long friend, was among those who had accompanied him. Ga-yat was a mighty bull, perhaps mightier than To-yat himself; but Ga-yat was of an easy-going disposition. He did not care who was king as long as he had plenty to eat and was not disturbed in the possession of his mates, a contingency that his enormous size and his great strength rendered remote.