_When Wolf Meets Wolf_
When at last the river had been crossed, the tribe continued southward
for many days. Although there was no trace of a path and Mumlo the
Trail-Finder no longer knew the way, the people pressed on as best they
could along a route selected by Mumlo and Grumgra. In a disgruntled,
straggling group they pushed their way down the long corkscrew defiles
of the mountains, through the underbrush of unknown forests, around
the marshes of treeless valleys, and over boulder-strewn wildernesses
where serpents hissed and the lone wolf slunk. Many a tongue cried out
to complain that they did not know where they went; many a heart was
filled with terror at the tracks of huge beasts, or occasionally at
sight of some great horned form among the bushes. But, no matter how
they groaned and grumbled and lamented, the people no longer thought of
doing otherwise than to follow Grumgra as he led them on and on.
Of daily occurrence were the mutterings at the scarcity of food.
Roots, herbs, and berries were of course still to be had, and these
were supplemented by grasshoppers and grubs, and even at times by
ants and butterflies; but very little actual game was captured, and
day after day the people complained at their enforced vegetarian diet.
Once, indeed, they did all feast, when, led by Ru and his firebrands,
they drove the vultures and hyenas from the carcass of a newly dead
mammoth; occasionally they slew some small bird or beast with their
pebbles, or literally dug it out of its burrow; but such times were
rare, and to waylay the larger animals was beyond their power. There
were suggestions, to be sure, that they should pause for a day and hold
a hunt; but Grumgra vetoed this idea with a single gesture of his club,
and growled half under his breath that not even a day must be wasted.
And so, never actually starving and yet almost always hungry, the tribe
trudged along a weary course that seemed endless. Scarcely a night went
by but that the camp was disturbed by the wailings of some woman at the
death or threatened death of her babe; and there was hardly a day when
someone did not have a tale to tell of his close escape from the hoofs
of a rhinoceros or wild bull or from the trap of quicksand, precipice,
or lake. But where they were going, and to what end their sufferings
and dangers led, the people had only the vaguest idea.
Now, by a curious irony, all their grumblings began to concentrate
about a single object. If Ru and the river-god had not helped them
across the waters, then their troubles would all have ended; they
would have turned around and gone back to their abandoned cave--and
they would now have been living as happily as of old. The fault was
therefore Ru's for showing them how to cross the river. Thus, as the
gathering days brought fresh discontent, the people began to reason;
and now, when they muttered their complaints, the name of Ru was almost
invariably spoken--it was he who had brought them to suffer and pine so
far from home, he who had turned against them the spirits of the woods
and caves and streams and those more terrible spirits in the hearts of
the wild beasts!
And now Ru went about always with club in hand and with eyes alert.
Wherever he walked, he was greeted with hisses and snarls, or with
silent, unfriendly stares; sometimes, when he approached, his
tribespeople would withdraw into little groups, whispering among
themselves, with furtive glances in his direction; and the very
children--they who had once been his particular friends--would echo
the antagonism of their elders by shouting accusing names at him and
flinging stones.
Even his prestige--that prestige which he had enjoyed as an ally of
the river-spirit--was under partial eclipse. He was no longer Ru the
Eagle-Hearted, as in the days of the river-passage; the contemptuous
appellation "Sparrow-Hearted" had returned, despite Grumgra's promise
to the contrary; and always it was by this term that his tribesmen
addressed him.
It was Grumgra himself that had brought about the change. When the
tribe was halting for its first night's rest after crossing the river,
Ru had chanced upon Yonyo in a secluded corner of the encampment;
and, finding her face bright with smiles at his approach, he had
paused to speak with her. But scarcely had he uttered the first word
when a tall shadow intruded. With a low cry, Yonyo flitted away and
disappeared--and Ru found himself face to face with Grumgra.
"What is this? You dare to speak with my woman?" bellowed the
chieftain, in tones so loud as to attract many of his tribesmen to the
scene.
"She is not your woman!" denied Ru, with one eye watchfully upon
Grumgra's club.
"All women are my women!" growled Grumgra the Omnipotent. "She is not
yours--not yours, Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!"
By this time a dozen hairy forms had gathered near, and a dozen pairs
of eyes were regarding the contestants expectantly.
"I do not know Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!" came the angry reply. "I am Ru
the Eagle-Hearted!"
"No! Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!" Grumgra chuckled evilly, and his laughter
was echoed by the crowd. "Ru the Sparrow-Hearted! Or should it be the
Rabbit-Hearted?"
Again Grumgra chuckled derisively; and again his merriment found ready
response among the auditors.
"Do you forget your promise to me and the river-god?" demanded Ru; but
his words were drowned out by the roaring of the chieftain.
"We will see whether you are the Sparrow-Hearted!" the Growling Wolf
exclaimed. "We will see!" And his great club flashed high in air, and
he started toward Ru as if with murderous intent.
At that crisis Ru did precisely as he was expected to do. He did not
remain to meet the impact of the descending club; he sought the way of
safety and of flight. In an instant, his fleeing form had disappeared
behind a little rise in the land.
But after him rang the derisive howl of Grumgra: "See how the
Sparrow-Hearted runs!" And from a dozen mocking voices there came
gleeful screams and cries: "Sparrow-Hearted! Sparrow-Hearted!
Sparrow-Hearted!"
But though once again Ru had to face the hostility of his people and
of Grumgra, he found his hopes brightening in at least one respect.
Between him and Yonyo things were no longer as they had been. Ever
since that encounter in the woods, when he had fought for her and she
had screamed in terror at his peril, they had been drawn together as
never before. Forgotten now was Yonyo's treachery, her scornful ways,
her callousness; it was enough for Ru that she had given some sign of
a kindlier feeling. All the mysterious attraction she had exerted came
flashing back upon him, so that he felt himself again at the beck of
her sparkling glance, her self-willed nods and gestures, and roguish
smile.
His enthralment was all the more complete since Yonyo seemed to be
separated from him by an impassable bar--Grumgra still cast covetous
eyes upon her, and she lived in terror of his approach. Hence all
their little meetings were brief and fear-troubled; they saw each
other at odd times and places and clandestinely as children dreading a
parent's arrival; they were in constant alarm lest Grumgra should find
them together, or lest some gossip-loving tribesman should bear him
news of their rendezvous.
Yet in those stolen moments Ru found a joy beyond anything he had known
before. Yonyo was gracious to him now as never in the past; she could
still smile her tantalizing smile, but she would not jeer and mock;
her face would at times assume a look that was almost gentle, and her
tongue would murmur softly; she would peer at him with eyes in which he
caught an admiration that had never been there before, and at the same
time there was just the trace of a shyness that puzzled and provoked
him. Again and again Ru felt the old unaccountable impulse to fold his
arms about her and draw her close; and more than once that impulse was
about to be gratified, when with a sly laugh she slipped away and led
him a merry, hopeless chase through the forest. But, on each occasion,
he seemed nearer to success; and no doubt the moment of victory would
not have been long delayed except for the perpetual shadow of Grumgra.
Grumgra's attitude was still something of a mystery to Ru and Yonyo.
Now that the chieftain had safely crossed the river and had no further
dread of the river-god, he did not hesitate to taunt and ridicule Ru,
and even to assail him with his club. But, at the same time, a little
of the awe Ru had inspired seemed to remain--and it was no doubt this
that restrained him from pursuing Ru relentlessly and from hunting down
Yonyo as he would have hunted down any other woman whom he desired.
Prayers to the gods of the waters and of the winds were still
frequently on Ru's lips, and on sundry occasions were uttered within
the hearing of Grumgra; and while the chieftain perhaps doubted, still
he had more than once been heard to mutter uncertainly to himself while
listening to the Sparrow-Hearted's supplications; and in his tiny black
eyes Ru had beheld a glint of wonder which verged upon fear.
Yet, at one of the tribal meetings, he had let it be known that Yonyo
was his woman, and that none but him must lay hands upon her. And thus
by a word he had ended the courtship of Kuff the Bear-Hunter and the
possible courtship of all the other tribesmen--with the sole exception
of Ru.
But the days went by, and little happened. Sometimes Grumgra, casting
greedy eyes upon Yonyo, would start toward her with a growl that was
perhaps meant for tenderness. But she would dash away, screaming with
fear, and he would turn aside indifferently, as though she were not
worth the trouble of a pursuit. This was not like Grumgra, and the
people wondered; and still more they wondered when Woonoo and Kuff
brought tales that Ru had been seen with Yonyo, and the chieftain
rewarded the informers with a snarl and a blow from his club.
Each day excited rumors circulated that Grumgra was about to take
vengeance upon Ru. Yet the expected outburst was long delayed--was
delayed, in fact, until the people had lost patience and almost ceased
to anticipate it--and when it did occur, the results were totally
unexpected. And the reason was that, in the interval, Ru had gained an
ally of a type unique in the history of the Umbaddu.
It chanced one day that half a dozen men of the tribe--Ru among
them--came across some new-made wolf tracks. "There may be some little
wolves in a cave," suggested one. "And little wolves are good to eat.
Let us find out." So curiosity and hunger prompted the men to follow
the trail through the wilderness.
As they slowly advanced, the clubs of all were poised alertly; the eyes
of all gleamed warily; not a murmur gave token of their excitement.
At length, to their delight, they came upon that which they had hoped
for--among a cluster of rocks there was a little hollow, and it was
from this retreat that the wolf had evidently emerged.
Very cautiously, creeping on hands and knees, they approached. The
stench of carrion came to their nostrils; confused low growls were
borne to their ears. For an instant they paused, then crawled on again;
actual pleasure was expressed in each wily eye; the clubs were lifted a
little more cautiously than before, but slowly and steadily they still
pressed forward.
At last the foremost of the party halted--not more than a yard from the
cave entrance. Then, while the others gripped their clubs more firmly
and a petrified silence held them all, the leader stole forward another
pace, and peered anxiously into the hollow.
Straightway a whoop of triumph split the air, and the huntsman waved
his arms exultantly. His comrades, crowding up to see, observed that
the cavern was empty--except for six furry little forms huddled
together against the farthest corner of the rocky wall.
Swinging his club with savage relish, one of the men crept in through
the entrance. The wolf cubs snarled, and their feeble jaws snapped;
then madly they scattered in all directions. But the club swung, and
then swung again, and then swung once more; and the air was filled with
the squeals and yelps and baby wailings of the slaughtered.
Yet there was one among the six that long eluded his persecutor. After
the last of his brothers and sisters lay blood-smeared and motionless
on the cave floor, he still darted about as distractedly as a rat in a
trap. Several times, when the smashing club descended, he escaped by
the bare fraction of an inch.
Shouting with glee, the men pressed close to watch. But the sequel was
not as they had expected. Just when the cub seemed to be cornered;
just when the club was coming down to do final execution, the intended
victim did a surprising thing. In a frenzy of terror, he gave a swift
furious leap, as though to plunge straight through the waiting line of
men. But his infant limbs were too feeble; he fell short of the mark,
and came down in--the arms of Ru!
Ru never knew just why it was that his hands reached out and seized
that desperate little living mite. But he did know that, once he had
grasped the cub, he was thankful for his action. He could feel the tiny
heart thumping fiercely upon his breast; he could feel the hot moist
breath coming fast against his palm; he could feel the furry little
form huddling close for safety--and a strange protective instinct came
over him, the swift stirrings of an emotion that was all gentleness and
pity.
Loud laughter convulsed Ru's companions as he caught the harassed
cub; but in the heart of Ru there was no laughter. And his arms, once
pressed about the little creature, were folded there as if not to be
released.
"Come, Ru, give us the beast," directed one of his tribesmen, when at
length their merriment was over. "We must make an end of it before the
she-wolf comes back."
"I will not give it to you," refused the Sparrow-Hearted. "You shall
not make an end of it."
New laughter racked the frames of the spectators. "What! Not give it to
us?" they roared. "Do you want to eat it alive?"
"I do not want to eat it at all!" cried Ru, with a trace of anger. "I
am going to keep it!"
"Keep it?" they all echoed, in unfeigned amazement. "Keep a wolf? But
it will devour you!"
"It will not devour me!" came Ru's vehement denial. And after a
second, while his fellows stood regarding him as though certain that
his wits had fled, he added that he would work a charm over the
creature to prevent it from harming him.
"It is not easy to work a charm over a wolf," commented one of the men,
shrugging his shoulders, as he went to gather the carcasses of the
slain whelps from the cavern floor. "You will want to kill it after it
bites you!"
But the others, after enjoying some further laughter at Ru's expense,
were tempted to try more forceful tactics--and were confronted by an
irate Ru, who swore that if they so much as touched the cub he would
bring down against them all the evil spirits of the woods and caves.
Hesitatingly and somewhat doubtfully, they decided to leave Ru to
himself. "Only the Sparrow-Hearted would fight about such a little
animal," they concluded. And so it happened that, when Ru rejoined the
tribe, the young wolf still nestled safely in his arms.
Yet, having rescued the animal, Ru had no idea what to do with him.
At first he had perhaps some vague notion of releasing him to find
his way back to his kindred; but from the cub's quivering, frightened
manner of huddling against him, he knew the creature was helpless--and,
though he could not have said why, he had no desire to abandon him to
the talons of some roving eagle or hawk. There was something in those
timid, bright little eyes that awakened his sympathy, something that
made him feel almost a sense of fellowship. And gradually--since
there seemed to be no other way--the thought came to him that he might
himself feed and care for the cub.
And thus began the memorable partnership between Ru and Wuff the Little
Wolf. The people stared in amazement to see Ru sheltering a wolf cub.
They laughed merrily as they told one another how the beast would
bite and tear Ru for his trouble. They crowded close to watch when Ru
fed him with bones and the skin and discarded remains of slaughtered
animals. They jeered and hooted as Ru indulged in all sorts of games
and queer antics with his new-found companion, leading him a merry race
through the woods while the cub pursued in puppylike glee, or wrestling
with him for a stick or bone, or merely holding him in his arms and
fondling him. Wherever Ru went, Wuff went with him; at night the wolf
huddled close at his side, and during the day trotted contentedly at
his heels. So, in less than a week, Wuff had apparently forgotten all
about his lost home, and he became as devoted to Ru as a dog to its
master.
[Illustration: _Ru plays with Wuff_]
Ru meanwhile found himself increasingly attached to Wuff. Several
times, with outbursts of ferocious anger, he saved his young charge
from assaults by his tribespeople; and he threatened such horrible
vengeance upon anyone who harmed Wuff that in the end the people were
careful not to come within touching distance of the beast.
Curiously enough, the cub throve under Ru's treatment. He grew at a
prodigious rate; and, as the days and weeks went by, his legs became
long and scrawny, his jaw lengthened and grew heavier, and his teeth
waxed dangerously sharp; while the shining little eyes gleamed ever
more alertly. "Ru's wolf will devour him yet," prophesied the people,
as they saw the cub daily assuming more of the characteristics of his
race. When he snapped his jaws and snarled in harmless play, they
foretold how he would soon snap and snarl in earnest--with Ru as the
victim; and when Wuff began to go dashing eagerly although unavailingly
after every stray rabbit, squirrel, and butterfly, they predicted that
not many months would pass before the wolf's assaults would be more
successful--and would be turned against his protector.
Yet with Ru, Wuff showed a gentleness that seemed to belie his savage
ancestry--and never once did Ru receive so much as a scratch from him
even in play. Toward most of the other tribesfolk, however, the cub
exhibited a growling hostility. Yonyo alone he would endure, for Ru
made him vaguely understand that she was to be tolerated; but upon
the approach of any of the other people he would show his teeth and
snarl. And--by some strange chance that delighted Ru--Wuff seemed to
take an especial dislike for one man in particular. Whenever the wolf's
nostrils would catch the scent of Grumgra, he would seem to go mad; his
jaws would snap, his eyes shine with a light that was truly wolfish,
his black hair would bristle, and low mutterings would issue from his
throat. And more than once, had not Ru interfered, Wuff might have
leaped to his death in the effort to set teeth in Grumgra's throat.
Grumgra, meanwhile, took little notice of the hatred of the beast. Once
or twice, in his contempt for the creature, he went so far as to kick
the cub with his enormous unshod foot--and, on each such occasion, it
was only Ru's prompt interference that saved Wuff from striking back
and ending with his skull crushed.
But thanks to Ru's watchfulness, Wuff survived the peril from the
archenemy. And before finally the animal showed how fierce was his
hatred of Grumgra, many a week had gone by and Wuff was no longer a
mere cub but had attained the imposing proportions of a half-grown wolf.
Then, with amazing suddenness, the suppressed fires burst forth. One
evening the tribe had paused to make its encampment in the glade of
a hillside forest, when Ru, strolling with Wuff near the verge of
the woods, was startled by a sharp cry from the thickets. Alarmed,
he paused to listen; the cry was repeated, a distressed feminine cry
that he recognized. Then there came a half-human grunt, followed by a
groan that he thought he also knew, and the noise of a scuffle in the
underbrush.
Meanwhile Wuff was sniffing significantly at a new-made trail. A low
growl issued from his throat; his eyes shone angrily, and the hair upon
his back began to bristle.
"Come!" commanded Ru. And, followed by the willing beast, he glided
into the woods.
Not many seconds later he paused--directly before him was that which he
had anticipated.
Clasped in two enormous brawny arms, with head bent back helplessly
and long hair streaming, a woman was feebly struggling; while Grumgra,
chuckling in evil glee, drew her to him tightly, then bent down and
pressed his thick ugly lips to her reluctant ones.
Not an instant did Ru waste. "Go!" he muttered to Wuff, and pointed an
angry hand at Grumgra.
Wuff, needing no second invitation, sprang with a snarl at the
chieftain and buried his teeth deep in the flesh of the sinewy neck.
Grumgra, taken by surprise, was for a moment defenseless. His club lay
on the ground, hopelessly out of reach; he could only release Yonyo
as suddenly as if she had been a hot coal, and, howling with pain and
rage, grapple instinctively for the throat of his aggressor. Meanwhile
the sharp teeth cut deeper and deeper; a warm stream began to trickle
down Grumgra's neck and chest; he could feel the fierceness of the
living fury that was rending away at his flesh.... A madness such as
even he had rarely known came over him as his hands closed about a
hairy throat; with desperate power he pressed, squeezed and pressed
with all the vehemence of hatred and the lust for life. And gradually
the tormenting fangs were withdrawn and the body of his foe crumpled up
in his grasp.
Then, while a murderous frenzy possessed him and he was about to break
the neck of his adversary, a club came down violently upon his arm.
Who it was that struck him he did not know--screaming with agony, he
unclenched his fingers. As he did so, someone behind him snatched
the furry form away, and his ears caught the patter of retreating
footsteps. Blinded as he was by frenzy and pain, he wheeled about a
fraction of a second too late; he saw no more than the foliage closing
above two dark, swift-moving figures.
That night, around the tribal camp-fire, Grumgra was unusually sullen
and morose. More than one erring tribesman felt the chastisement
of his club; and it was noted that several times he started with a
growl toward Ru, and that Ru, followed by his pet wolf, made haste to
disappear amid the shadows. It was also noted that Grumgra's throat
bore a great ragged new-made wound; and the rumor circulated that he
had received this injury while wrestling single-handed with a bear.