THE COMRADES.
Drifting away in various directions toward their homes the Cave and Shell
People still kept in groups, by instinct. Social functions terminated
before dark and guests going and coming kept together for mutual
protection in those days of the cave bear and other beasts. But on the day
of the Feast of the Mammoth there was somewhat less than the usual
precaution shown. There were vigorous and well-armed hunters at hand by
scores, and under such escort women and children might travel after dusk
with a degree of safety, unless, indeed, the great cave tiger,
Sabre-Tooth, chanced to be abroad, but he was more rarely to be met than
others of the wild beasts of the time. When he came it was as a
thunderbolt and there were death and mourning in his trail. The march
through the forest as the shadows deepened was most watchful. There was a
keen lookout on the part of the men, and the women kept their children
well in hand. From time to time, one family after another detached itself
from the main body and melted into the forest on the path to its own cave
near at hand. Thus Hilltop and his family left the group in which were Ab
and Oak, and glances of fire followed them as they went. The two girls,
Lightfoot and Moonface, had walked together, chattering like crows. They
had strung red berries upon grasses and had hung them in their hair and
around their necks, and were fine creatures. Lightfoot, as was her wont,
laughed freakishly at whatever pleased her, and in her merry mood had an
able second in her sturdy companion. There were moments, though, when even
the irrepressible Lightfoot was thoughtful and so quiet that the girl who
was with her wondered. The greater girl had been lightly touched with that
unnamable force which has changed men and women throughout all the ages.
The picture of Ab's earnest face was in her mind and would not depart. She
could not, of course, define her own mood, nor did she attempt it. She
felt within herself a certain quaking, as of fear, at the thought of him,
and yet, so she told herself again and again, she was not afraid. All the
time she could see Ab's face, with its look of longing and possession, but
with something else in it, when his eyes met hers, which she could not
name nor understand. She could not speak of him, but Moonface had upon her
no such stilling influence.
"They look alike," she said.
Lightfoot assented, knowing the girl meant Ab and Oak. "But Ab is taller
and stronger," Moonface continued, and Lightfoot assented as
indifferently, for, somehow, of the two she had remembered definitely one
only. She became daring in her reflections: "What if he should want to
carry me to his cave?" and then she tried to run away from the thought and
from anything and everybody else, leaping forward, outracing and leaving
all the company. She reached her father's cave far ahead of the others and
stood, laughing, at the entrance, as the family and Moonface, a guest for
the night, came trotting up.
And Ab, the buoyant and strong, was not himself as he journeyed with the
homeward-pressing company. His mood changed and he dropped away from Oak
and lagged in the rear of the little band as it wound its way through the
forest. Slight time was needed for others to recognize his mood, and he
was strong of arm and quick of temper, as all knew well, and, so, he was
soon left to stalk behind in independent sulkiness. He felt a weight in
his breast; a fiery spot burned there. He was fierce with Oak because Oak
had looked at Lightfoot with a warm light in his eyes. He! when he should
have known that Ab was looking at her! This made rage in his heart; and
sadness came, too, because he was perplexed over the girl. "How can I get
her?" he mumbled to himself, as he stalked along.
Meanwhile, at the van of the company there was noise and frolic. Assembled
in force, they were for the hour free from dread of the haunting terror of
wild beasts, and, satisfied with eating, the Cave and Shell People were in
one of the merriest moods of their lives, collectively speaking. The young
men were especially jubilant and exuberant of demeanor. Their sport was
rough and dangerous. There were scuffling and wrestling and the more
reckless threw their stone axes, sometimes at each other, always, it is
true, with warning cries, but with such wild, unconscious strength put in
the throwing that the finding of a living target might mean death. Ab,
engrossed in thoughts of something far apart from the rude sport about
him, became nervously impatient. Like the girl, he wanted to escape from
his thoughts, and bounding ahead to mingle with the darting and swinging
group in front, he was soon the swift and stalwart leader in their
foolishly risky sport, the center of the whole commotion. One muscled man
would hurl his stone hatchet or strong flint-headed spear at a green tree
and another would imitate him until a space in advance was covered and the
word given for a rush, when all would race for the target, each striving
to reach it first and detach his own weapon before others came. It was a
merry but too careless contest, with a chance of some serious happening.
There followed a series of these mad games and the oldsters smiled as they
heard the sound of vigorous contest and themselves raced as they could, to
keep in close company with the stronger force.
Ab had shown his speed in all his playing. Now he ran to the front and
plucked out his spear, a winner, then doubled and ran back beside the
pathway to mingle with the central body of travelers, having in mind only
to keep in the heart and forefront of as many contests as possible. There
was more shouting and another rush from the main body and, bounding aside
from all, he ran to get the chance of again hurling his spear as well. A
great oak stood in the middle of the pathway and toward it already a spear
or two had been sent, all aimed, as the first thrower had indicated, at a
white fungus growth which protruded from the tree. It was a matter of
accuracy this time. Ab leaped ahead some yards in advance of all and
hurled his spear. He saw the white chips fly from the side of the fungus
target, saw the quivering of the spear shaft with the head deep sunken in
the wood, and then felt a sudden shock and pain in one of his legs. He
fell sideways off the path and beneath the brushwood, as the wild band,
young and old, swept by. He was crippled and could not walk. He called
aloud, but none heard him amid the shouting of that careless race. He
tried to struggle to his feet, but one leg failed him and he fell back,
lying prone, just aside from the forest path, nearly weaponless and the
easy prey of the wild beasts. What had hurt him so grievously was a spear
thrown wildly from behind him. It had, hurled with great strength, struck
a smooth tree trunk and glanced aside, the point of the spear striking the
young man fairly in the calf of the leg, entering somewhat the bone
itself, and shocking, for the moment, every nerve. The flint sides had cut
a vein or two and these were bleeding, but that was nothing. The real
danger lay in his helplessness. Ab was alone, and would afford good eating
for those of the forest who, before long, would be seeking him. The scent
of the wild beast was a wonderful thing. The man tried to rise, then lay
back sullenly. Far in the distance, and growing fainter and fainter, he
could hear the shouts of the laughing spear-throwers.
The strong young man, thus left alone to death almost inevitable, did not
altogether despair. He had still with him his good stone ax and his long
and keen stone knife. He would, at least, hurt something sorely before he
was eaten, he thought grimly to himself. And then he pressed leaves
together on the cut upon his leg, and laid himself back upon the leaves
and waited.
He did not have to wait long. He had not thought to do so. How full the
woods were of blood-scenting and man-eating things none knew better than
he. His ear, keen and trained, caught the patter of a distant approach.
"Wolves," he said to himself at first, and then "Hyenas," for the step was
puzzling. He was perplexed. The step was regular, and it was not in the
forest on either side, but was coming up the path. A terror came upon him
and he had crawled deeper into the shades, when he noted that the steps
first ceased, and then that they wandered searchingly and uncertainly.
Then, loud and strong, rang out a voice, calling his name, and it was the
voice of Oak! He could not answer for a moment, and then he cried out
gladly.
Oak had, in the forward-rushing group, seen Ab's hurt and fall, but had
thought it a trifling matter, since no outcry came from those behind, and
so had kept his course away and ahead with the rest. But finally he had
noted the absence of Ab and had questioned, and then--first telling some
of his immediate companions that they were to lag and wait for him--had
started back upon a run to reach the place where he had last seen his
friend. It was easy now to arrange wet leaves about Ab's crippling, but
little more than temporary, wound. The two, one leaning upon the other and
hobbling painfully, and each with weapons in hand, contrived, at last, to
reach Oak's lingering and grumbling contingent. Ab was helped along by two
instead of one then, and the rest was easy. When the pathway leading to
home was reached, Oak accompanied his friend, and the two passed the night
together.
Ab, once on his own bed, with Oak couched beside him, was surprised to
find, not merely that his physical pain was going, but that the greater
one was gone. The weight and burning had left his breast and he was no
longer angry at Oak. He thought blindly but directly toward conclusions.
He had almost wanted to kill Oak, all because each saw the charm of and
wanted the possession of a slender, beautiful creature of their kind. Then
something dangerous had happened to him, and this same Oak, his friend,
the man he had wished to kill, had come back and saved his life. The sense
which we call gratitude, and which is not unmingled with what we call
honor, came to this young cave man then. He thought of many things,
worried and wakeful as he was, and perhaps made more acute of perception
by the slight, exciting fever of his wound.
He thought of how the two, he and Oak, had planned and risked together, of
their boyish follies and failures and successes, and of how, in later
years, Oak had often helped him, of how he had saved Oak's life once in
the river swamp, where quicksands were, of how Oak had now offset even
that debt by carrying him away from certain ending amid wild beasts. No
one--and of the cave men he knew many--no one in all the careless, merry
party had missed him save Oak. He doubtless could not have told himself
why it was, but he was glad that he could repay it all and have the
balance still upon his side. He was glad that he had the secret of the bow
and arrow to reveal. That should be Oak's! So it came that, late that
night, when the fire in the cave had burned low and when one could not
wisely speak above a whisper, Ab told Oak the story of the new weapon, of
how it had been discovered, of how it was to be used and of all it was for
hunters and fighters. Furthermore, he brought his best bow and best arrows
forth, and told Oak they were his and that they would practice together in
the morning. His astonished and delighted companion had little to say over
the revelation. He was eager for the morning, but he straightened out his
limbs upon the leafy mattress and slept well. So, somewhat later, did the
half-feverish Ab.
Morning came and the cave people were astir. There was brief though hearty
feeding and then Ab and Oak and Old Mok, to whom Ab had said much aside,
went away from the cave and into the forest. There Oak was taught the
potency of the new weapon, its deadly quality and the safety of distance
it afforded its user. It was a great morning for all three, not excepting
the stern and critical old teacher, when they thus met together in the
wood and the secret of what two had found was so transmitted to another.
As for Oak, he was fairly aflame with excitement. He was far from slow of
mind and he recognized in a moment the enormous advantage of the new way
of killing either the things they ate, or the things they dreaded most. He
could scarcely restrain his eagerness to experiment for himself. Before
noon had come he was gone, carrying away the bow and the good arrows. As
he disappeared in the wood Ab said nothing, but to himself he thought:
"He may have all the bows and arrows he can make, but I will have
Lightfoot myself!"
Ab and Mok started for the cave again, Ab, bow in hand and with ready
arrow. There was a patter of feet upon leaves in the wood beside them and
then the arrow was fitted to the string, while Old Mok, strong-armed if
weak-legged, raised aloft his spear. The two were seeking no conflict with
wild beasts today and were but defensive and alert. They were puzzled by
the sound their quick ears caught. "Patter, patter," ever beside them, but
deep in the forest shade, came the sound of menacing followers of some
sort.
There was tension of nerves. Old Mok, sturdy and unconsciously fatalistic,
was more self-contained than the youth at his side, bow-armed and with
flint ax and knife ready for instant use. At last an open space was
reached across which ran the well-worn path. Now the danger must reveal
itself. The two men emerged into the glade, and, a moment later, there
bounded into it gamboling and full of welcome, the wolf cubs, which had
played about the cave so long, who were now detached from their own kind
and preferred the companionship of man. There was laughter then, and a
more careless demeanor with the weapon borne.