nd
kicked half a dozen natives off the front bench to make room for us.

We were mistaken in supposing our case would be called first, or even
among the first. The floor in the midst of the court was clear except
for a long single line of natives and six askari corporals, each with a
whip in his hand. It was evident at once that these natives were all
ahead of us, even if those on the benches were not to be heard and
dealt with before our turn came.

"Look at the far end of the line!" whispered Fred.

Lo and behold Kazimoto, looking rather drawn and gray, but standing
bravely, looking neither to the right nor left. I judged he knew we
were in court--he could hardly have failed to notice our coming in--but
he sturdily refused to turn his head and see us.

"What has he done?" I wondered.

"Nothing more than told some Heinie to go to hell--you can bet your
boots!" said Will.

The lieutenant was in no hurry to enlighten us. Our boy stood at the
wrong end of the line to be taken first. The lieutenant called a name,
and two great askaris pounced on the trembling native at the other end
and dragged him forward, leaving him standing alone before the desk.

"Silence!" the lieutenant shouted, and the court became still as death.

He had a voice as mean as a hyena's--a voice that matched his face.
The insolent, upturned twist of his fair mustache showed both corners
of a thin-lipped mouth. He had the Prussian head, shaped square
whichever way you viewed it. There was strength in the
jaw-bones--strength in the deep-set bright eyes--strength in the
shoulders that were square as box-corners without any padding--strength
in the lean lithe figure; but it was always brute strength. There was
no moral strength whatever in the restless fidgeting--the savage
winding and unwinding of his left foot around the saber scabbard, or
the attitude, leaning forward over the table, of petulant pugnacity.
And the cruel voice was as weak as the hand was strong with which he
rapped on the table.

He questioned the boy in front of him sharply--told him he stood
charged with theft--and demanded an answer.

"With theft of what thing, and whose thing?"

The answer was bold. The trembling had ceased. Now that he faced
nemesis the strength of native fatalism came to his rescue, bolstering
up the pride that every uncontaminated Nyamwezi owns. He was not more
than seventeen years old, but he stood there at last like a veteran at
bay.