THE HONEYMOON.
The sun shone brilliantly, birds were singing and the balsam firs gave
forth their morning incense as Ab and Lightfoot issued from their cave.
They had eaten heartily, and came out buoyant and delighted with the
world which was theirs. The chattering of the waterfowl along the river
reached their ears faintly, the leaves were moved by a gentle breeze,
there was a hum of insects in the air and the very pulse of living could
be felt. Ab carried his new weapon proudly, hungering for the love and
admiration of this girl of his, and eager to show her its powers and to
exhibit his own skill. At his back hung his quiver of mammoth bone. His
bow, unstrung, was in his hand. In front of the cave was a bare area of
many yards in extent, then came a few scattering trees and, at a distance
of perhaps two hundred yards, the forest began. Across the open space of
ground, with its great mass of branches crushed together not far from the
cave's mouth, had fallen one of the gigantic conifers' of the time, and
was there gradually decaying, its huge limbs and bole, disintegrating,
and dry as punk, affording, close at hand, a vast fuel supply, the
exceptional value of which Ab had recognized when making his selection of
a home. Near the edge of the little clearing made by nature, Ab seated
himself upon a log, and drawing Lightfoot down to a seat beside him,
began enthusiastically to make clear the marvels of the weapon he had
devised and which he and Old Mok had developed into something startling
in its possibilities.
All details of the explanation made by the earnest young hunter, it is
probable, Lightfoot did not comprehend. She looked proudly at him,
fingering the flint pointed arrows curiously, yet seemed rather intent
upon the man than the wood and stone. But when he pointed at a great knot
in a tree near them and bent his bow and sent an arrow fairly into the
target, and when, even with her strength, Lightfoot could not pull the
arrow out, she was wild with admiration and excitement. She begged to be
taught how to use, herself, this wonderful new weapon, for she recognized
as readily as could anyone its adaptation to the use of one of inferior
strength. The delighted lover was certainly as desirous as she that she
should some day become an expert. He handed her the bow, retaining, slung
over his shoulder, fortunately, as it developed, the bone quiver full of
Old Mok's best arrows. He taught her, first, how to bend and string the
bow. There were failures and successes, and there was much laughter from
the merry-hearted Lightfoot. Finally, it happened that Ab was not just
content with the quality of the particular arrow which he had selected
for Lightfoot's use. He had taken a slender one with a clean flint head,
but something about the notch had not quite suited him. With a thin, hard
stone scraper, carried in a pouch of his furry garb, he began rasping and
filing at this notch to make it better fit the string of tendons, while
Lightfoot, with the bow still strung, stood beside him. At last, tired of
holding the thing in her hands, she passed it over her head and one
shoulder and stood there jauntily, with both hands free, while the man
scraped away with the one little flake of flint in his possession, and,
as he worked, paused from time to time note how well he was rounding the
notch in the end of the slight hardwood shaft. It was just as he was
holding up to her eyes the arrow, now made almost an ideal one, according
to his fancy, when there came to the ears of the two a sound, distinct,
ominous and implying to them deadly peril, a sound such that, though
nerves spoke and muscles acted, they were very near the momentary
paralysis which sometimes come from sudden fearful shock. From close
beside them came the half grunt and half growl of the great cave bear!
With the instinct born of generations, each leaped independently toward
the nearest tree, and, with the unconscious strength and celerity which
comes to even wild animals with the dread of death at hand, each
clambered to a treetop before a word was spoken. Scarcely had either left
the ground before there was a rush into the open glade of a huge brown
hairy form, and this was instantly followed by another. As Ab and
Lightfoot climbed far amid the branches and looked down, they saw
upreared at the base of each tree the figure of one of the monsters whose
hungry exclamations they knew so well. They had been careless, these two
lovers, especially the man. He had known well, but for the moment had
forgotten how beast-infested was the immediate area about his new home,
and now had come the consequence of his thoughtlessness. He and his wife
had been driven to the treetops within a few yards of their own
hearthstone, leaving their weapons inside their cave!
Alarmed and panting, after settling down to a firm seat far aloft, each
looked about to see what had become of the other. Each was at once
reassured as to the present, and each became much perplexed as to the
future. The cave bear, like his weaker and degenerate descendant, the
grizzly of to-day, had the quality of persistence well developed, and
both Ab and Lightfoot knew that the siege of their enemies would be
something more than for the moment. The trees in which they perched were
very close to the wood, but not so close that the forest could be reached
by passing from branch to branch. Their two trees were not far from each
other, but their branches did not intermingle. There was a distinct
opening between them. The tree up which Lightfoot had scrambled was a
great fir towering high above the strong beech in which Ab had found his
safety. Branches of the fir hung down until between their ends and Ab's
less lofty covert there were but a few yards of space. Still, one trying
to reach the beech from the lofty fir would find an unpleasantly wide
gap.
Each of the creatures in the tree was unarmed. Ab still bore the quiver
full of admirable arrows, and across the breast of Lightfoot still hung
the strong bow which she had slung about her in such blithesome mood.
Soon began an exceedingly earnest conversation. Ab, eager to reach again
the fair creature who now belonged to him, was half frantic with rage,
and Lightfoot was far from her usual mood of careless gaiety. The two
talked and considered, though but to little purpose, and, finally, after
weary hours, the night came on. It was a trying situation. Man and woman
were in equal danger. The bears were hungry--and the cave bear knew his
quarry. The beasts beneath were not disposed to leave the prey they had
imprisoned aloft. The night grew, but either Ab or Lightfoot, looking
down, could see the glare of small, hungry eyes. There was gentle talk
between the two, for this was a great strait and, in straits, souls, be
they prehistoric, historic or of to-day, always come closer together.
Very much more loving lovers, even, than they were before, became the two
perched aloft that night. It was a comfort for the wedded pair to call to
each other through the darkness. After a time, however, muscles grew lax
with the continued strain. Weariness clouded the spirits of the couple
and almost overcame them and only the thing which has always, in great
stress, given the greatest strength in this world--the love of male and
female--sustained them. They stood the test pretty well. To sleep in a
tree top was an easy thing for them, with the precautions, simple and
natural, of the time. Each plaited a withe of twigs with which to be tied
to the tree or limb, and resting in the hollow nest where some great limb
joined the bole, slept as sleep tired children, until the awakening of
nature awoke these who were nature's own. When Ab awoke, he had more on
his mind than Lightfoot, for he was the one who must care for the two. He
blinked and wondered where he was. Then he remembered all, suddenly. He
looked across anxiously at a slender brown thing lying asleep, coiled so
close to the bole of the tree to which she was bound that she seemed
almost a part of it. Then he looked down, and, after what he saw, thought
very seriously. The bears were there! He looked up at the bright sky and
all about him, and inhaled all the fragrance of the forest, and felt
strong, and that he knew what he should do. He called aloud.
The girl awoke, frightened. She would have fallen had she not been bound
to the tree. Gradually, the full meaning of the situation dawned upon her
and she began to cry. She was hungry, her limbs were stiffened by her
bands, and there was death below. But there, close to her, was the Man.
His voice gradually reassured her. He was becoming angry now, almost
raging. Here he was, the lord of a cave, independent and master as much
as any other man whom he knew, perched in one tree while his bride of a
day was in the top of another, yet kept apart from her by the brutes
below!
He had decided what to do, and now he talked to Lightfoot with all the
frankness of the strong male who felt that he had another to care for,
and who realized his responsibility and authority together. As the
strength and decided personality of the young man came to her through his
voice, the young woman drew her scanty fur robe about her and checked her
tears. She became comparatively calm and reasonable.
The tree in which Lightfoot had found refuge had many long slender
branches lowering toward the giant beech into which the man had made his
retreat. Ab argued that it was possible--barely possible--for Lightfoot's
compact, agile, slender body to be launched in just the right way from
one of the branches of the taller tree, and, swinging in its descent
across the space between the two, lodge among the branches of the beech
with him. Strong arms ready to clasp her as she came and to withstand the
shock and to hold her safely he promised and, to enforce his plea, he
pointed out that, unless they thus took their fate in hand, there was
starvation awaiting them as they were, while carrying out his plan, if
any accident befell, there was only swift though dreadful death to reckon
with. There was one chance for their lives and that chance must be taken.
Ab called to his young wife:
"Crawl out upon a branch above me, swing down from it, swing hard and
throw yourself to me. I will catch you and hold you. I am strong."
The woman, with all faith in the man, still demurred. It was a great
test, even for the times and the occasion. But hunger was upon her and
she was cold and was, naturally, very brave. She lowered herself and
climbed down and reached an out-extending limb, and there, across the
gap, she saw Ab with his strong legs twined about the uprearing branch
along which he laid, with giant brown arms stretched out confidently and
with eyes steadily regarding her, eyes which had love and longing and a
lot of fight in them. She walked out along the limb, holding herself
safely by a firm hand-hold on the limb above, until the one her bare feet
rested upon swayed and tipped uncertainly. Then came her time of trial of
nerve and trust. Suddenly she stooped, caught the lower limb with her
hands and then swung beneath it, hanging by her hands alone, and, hand
over hand, passed herself along until she reached almost its end. Then
she began swaying back and forth. She was but a few yards above Ab now,
dangling in mid-air, while, below her, the two hungry bears had rushed
together and were looking upward with red, anticipating eyes, the ooze
coming from their mouths. The moment was awful. Soon she must be a
mangled thing devoured by frightful beasts, or else a woman with a life
renewed. She looked at Ab, and, with courage regained, prepared for the
great effort which must end all or gain a better lease of life.
She swung back and forth, each drawing up and outreach and flexible
motion of her arms giving more momentum to the sway and conserving force
for the launch of herself she was about to make. The desperation and
strength of a wood-wise creature, so bravely combined, alone enabled her
to obey Ab's hoarse command.
Ab, with his arms outreaching in their strength, feeling the fierce eyes
of the hungry bears below boring into his very heart, leaned forward and
upward as the swing of the woman reached its climax. With a cry of
warning, the woman launched herself and shot downward and forward, like a
bolt to its mark, a very desirable lump of femininity as appearing in
mid-air, but one somewhat forcible in its alighting.
Ab was strong, but when that girl landed fairly in his brawny arms, as
she did beautifully, it was touch and go, for a fraction of a second,
whether both should fall to the ground together or both be saved. He
caught her deftly, but there was a great shock and swing and then, with a
vast effort, there came recovery and the man drew himself, shaking, back
to the support of the branch from which he had been almost wrenched away,
at the same time placing beside him the object he had just caught.
There was absolute silence for a moment or two between these
unconventional lovers to whom had come escape from a hard situation. They
were drawing deep breaths and recovering an equilibrium. There they sat
together on the strong branch, each of them as secure and, for the
moment, as perfectly at home as if lying on a couch in the cave. Each of
them was panting and each of them rejoicing. It was unlikely that upon
their trained, robust nerves the life-endangering episode of a moment
could have a more than passing effect. They sat so together for some
minutes with arms entwined, still drawing deep breaths, and, a little
later, began to laugh chucklingly, as breath came to be spared for such
exhibition if human feeling. Gradually, the indrawing and expelling of
the glorious air shortened. The two had regained their normal condition
and Ab's face lengthened and the lines upon it became more distinct. He
was all himself again, but in no dallying mood. He gave a triumphant
whoop which echoed through the forest, shook his clenched hand savagely
at the brutes below and reached toward Lightfoot for the bow which hung
about her shoulders.