_By the Light of the Half-Moon_
The following day passed without event. The beast-men remained encamped
near the river within plain view of the cave entrance, and still showed
no inclination to leave; but neither did they seem disposed to launch
another attack. Meanwhile the Umbaddu held carefully to their safe
rocky fastnesses, and never once did any tribesman descend within a
stone's throw of the enemy. So far as any observer might have judged,
the contest was developing into a perpetual deadlock.
But although the day witnessed not so much as a hint of action, yet the
approach of evening was the signal for unusual agitation within the
cave. Men and women were bustling about in a thousand directions on a
thousand eager errands; some were busily sharpening flint implements,
some affectionately smoothing the edges of their clubs; some were
fastening pouches of pebbles in convenient positions on their deerskin
mantles; some were gustily eating, some industriously chattering, some
merely pacing back and forth, back and forth in savage impatience; a
few were praying silently to the gods of the woods and the fire, and
one or two of the women were weeping; while over them all brooded an
atmosphere of expectation, of apprehension, of hope tempered by a sense
of impending peril and even of disaster.
The patch of light that marked the cave entrance had dwindled to the
gray of twilight, and then been lost in the opaqueness of night before
Grumgra, stalking out of the shadows with club portentously swinging,
bellowed the signal that sent scores of hearts beating pell-mell. He
looked unusually impressive this evening, with his circlet of wolf's
fangs fastened conspicuously about his head and his wolfskin robe
hideously black against his black form; and never had his people been
quicker to make way before him and to murmur obedience to his orders.
"Are all of us here?" he began, eying his followers not without
satisfaction. "Is every tribesman here?"
"I am here!" volunteered Woonoo the Hot-Blooded, striding forward
ostentatiously.
"I am here!" echoed Kori the Running Deer.
"I am here!" chorused Targ the Thick Club, Kuff the Bear-Hunter, and
Mumlo the Trail-Finder.
"Does anyone look for any tribesman, and not find him?" thundered
Grumgra, scowling his severest.
There was an interval of confusion, while each man turned to search
inquiringly among his neighbors. "Where is Karv the Leaping Stallion?"
"Where is Zuno the Wily Fox?" "Where is Ugwung the Wolf-Faced?" came
the voices of baffled seekers. But always, after an instant, there
would be a reply, perhaps from across the cave, "Here am I, Ugwung the
Wolf-Faced!" or, "Here he is, Zuno the Wily Fox!" And so, after some
minutes' delay, the roll was completely called, and it was found that
every man in the tribe was present--with only one exception.
"Where is Ru the Sparrow-Hearted?" shouted Grumgra, after the
whereabouts of all the others had been established.
But there came no reply.
"No one knows where Ru is," Zunzun at length reported, with a malicious
smile. "No one has seen him since two suns have set."
"Ru the Sparrow-Hearted does not act like a man!" grumbled the
chieftain. "Truly, he is like a sparrow! He runs away when we need him
most!"
"Ru runs away when we need him most!" echoed a score of angry voices.
"He will not be able to run away from my club!" growled Grumgra, half
under his breath. "He will not be able to run away from my club--when I
see him next!"
And the tribesmen turned to one another, and muttered, "Ru will not be
able to run away from Grumgra's club!" Whereat some tittered gleefully,
and from the lips of others came suppressed chuckles.
But their merriment was interrupted by the voice of Zunzun the
Marvel-Worker, who began solemnly to invoke the fire-god, entreating
victory for his kinsmen in the hazardous undertaking of the night. And
straightway the people forgot all about Ru and joined fervently in the
prayers, crying out their hopes and their terror in tones so loud that
the fire-god must certainly have heard.
Having duly summoned that powerful deity to their aid, the men began
to follow Grumgra in a slow, cautious procession toward the cave
entrance. All wielded their clubs as if to do instant execution upon
the foe; many muttered audibly their defiance of the beast-men. But as
that grim-faced, straggling band filed from the firelit cavern into
the outer darkness, the murmurings of the men were almost drowned out
by the lamentations of the women. "May the good spirits of the cave
be with you! May you eat out the hearts of the beast-men!" cried the
wives and mothers of the tribe; and many, flinging their arms about
the shoulders of the departing males, screamed and wailed as though
thus to detain the bold ones, until in the end their hands had to be
disengaged by sheer force and they were left to voice their sorrow to
their sorrowing sisters. At the same time some of the younger women,
more given to action than to words, seized clubs and quietly trailed in
the wake of the men.
It was a silent, crawling party of marauders that descended the face
of the cliff by the light of the half-moon. With snail-like patience
and slowness, the men and women moved through the night; with infinite
caution they crept from rock to rock, guided more by the sense of
feeling than of sight. Each warrior could dimly distinguish above him
the shadowy form of the next in line; each warrior could see below
him a warily retreating figure that sometimes lay flat against the
rocks, sometimes seemed to mingle with the vague ledge and to vanish,
and sometimes did vanish to reappear again around the windings of the
precipitous trail. Not a voice could be heard in that ghostly darkness,
though now and then the stillness was broken by a pebble which,
dislodged by chance, went plunging below with unearthly rattling and
clatter.
Down and down, on a common impulse that had no need of words, that
stealthy procession continued; down and down, with the alertness of
mountain-sheep and the caution of prowling cats. When at times they
paused and the apprehensive eyes wandered away from the rocks close at
hand, the vision of all was fastened upon a glowing red, wavering patch
beneath, from which the golden sparks darted and flashed....
At length, after a period impossible to compute, the first of the band
reached the flat, open space at the base of the cliff. And there,
without a word, he waited, while one by one his companions took their
places at his side. Many minutes went by, and each moment the party
silently grew, until scores of dim figures stood motionless in the
moonlight. But it was long before Grumgra, convinced that the last of
his followers had joined him, lifted his club in token of command, and,
still speechless, started along the river bank in the direction of the
crimson flames.
If the progress of the party had been by inches before, it was now
hardly by half-inches. Crouching low beside the river, the warriors
worked their way at a worm's rate among the rocks and through the
underbrush, cautious not to disturb a pebble or rustle a leaf. At the
distance of a dozen paces, one could have seen little more than a
succession of vague shapes drifting phantomlike through the darkness....
After a few minutes, the foremost of the raiders emerged from a clump
of bushes into a boulder-strewn open space. Directly across from him,
the red fires flashed and beamed, brighter and more vigorous than
before, with angry leaping tongues of flame that illuminated dimly the
ragged rim of the woods. With the exception of an occasional jutting
rock, there was no obstacle between. The men now stretched themselves
full-length upon the ground, and, still clutching their clubs, began
to creep with serpent-like contortions and convolutions toward the
intended prey. As they made their painfully slow progress, sometimes
dragging their hairy bodies through patches of mire and sometimes
tearing and scratching themselves on the sharp stones, they caught
occasional glimpses of a huge squat form indistinctly outlined against
the fire--a huge squat form brandishing a gigantic club and shuffling
slowly back and forth after the manner of a sentinel.
As yet, no other living thing was to be seen; but as the marauders
drew near, the sound of heavy breathing became audible, a stertorous
breathing that seemed to issue not from one source but from a hundred.
And the prowling ones realized that, strewn somewhere around the fire,
among the rocks and near the borders of the wood, their enemies lay in
unsuspecting sleep.
It was at about this time that one of the beast-men--he who had been
observed stalking like a sentry near the fire--seemed to become vaguely
aware of danger. He was not quite sure; but he ceased to shamble back
and forth and stood rooted in silence to one spot, his eyes fastened
intently before him. From among the confusion of shadows, he thought
he beheld one shadow that had not been there before--a creeping shadow
that glided slowly, slowly toward him. But when he paused to stare at
it, the shadow ceased to move--was it really there at all? or was it
but some fancy that the bad spirits of the woods had put into his mind?
Perhaps it was only the moonlight shedding a pale reflection on the
rocks; perhaps merely one of the boulders he had not observed before.
Minutes went by, and still nothing stirred--the world seemed empty
except for the wilderness of rocks, the faintly shining river, the
ragged line of the cliffs and the still more ragged line of the woods,
with the yellow half-moon poised in the emptiness above.
Yet to that lonely watcher came the thought that living shapes were
abroad in the darkness. The suspicious shadow had not ceased to
disturb him, although it was now still and innocent-looking enough.
At last, tentatively and with the caution of the prowling panther, he
began to glide forward, inch by inch, his club held defensively before
him. He had not more than five or six yards to cover, yet many slow
seconds dragged by while he crawled through the flickering gloom. Still
all lay unmoving and calm; the shadow had not stirred but lay before
him, dark and irregular in contour as any boulder.
Straining his eyes in a blackness that told him nothing, the sentry
suddenly reached out his club and prodded the doubtful shadow.
Simultaneously, a terrified scream started from his lips--the object
was soft and yielding before his touch!
As the startled beast-man leaped back, a huge form sprang up from
amid the shadows; and through the darkness a huge club swung. And the
beast-man's scream gave place to a moan, agonized and swiftly passing;
and the great shape slumped to earth, and stirred no more.
Then all at once the gloom was peopled. A hundred figures darted
forward, with long clubs swinging; and, at the same time, pandemonium
burst forth from the obscure depths behind the fire. A chorus of
screams, responsive to the screams of the stricken one, pierced the
stillness of the night; then came a tumult of voices crying out in
bewilderment, terror, and rage.
[Illustration: _The Umbaddu plunged to the attack_]
Blending with that tumult, and almost drowning it out, there sounded
the exultant shrieks and howls of the marauders. Hooting and wailing
in a din as of charging demons, the Umbaddu plunged to the attack.
Straight toward the camp-fire they rushed in a roaring mob, while
their clubs, wildly swinging, dashed out the brains of many a startled
foe. Then, fiendishly yelling with the joy of triumph, they started
pell-mell toward the shadows behind the fire, where the surging figures
were gathering in a turbulent swarm.
Now all was blurred amid the confusion of battle. One could have seen
little more than a jumble of tempestuously swaying forms; one could
have heard little more than an uproar as of fighting beasts. In that
deafening racket, one might have distinguished at times the crash of
club on club, at times the groans and whines of the wounded, the sighs
and moanings of the dying; one might have made out growls and snarls
of challenge, snortings of defiance, squeals and bawlings of terror,
bellowings and thunders of rage; but one could not have told whether
defenders or assailants clamored the louder, or which was defender and
which assailant amid that phantasmagoria of stormy, furiously swaying
shadows.
In darkness the battle was fought out--in darkness or semidarkness, for
the fire cast a weird, variable half-light upon the nearer contestants,
showing here two writhing figures clasped in a smothering grip, and
there two stooping forms confronting one another watchfully with lifted
clubs; while beyond, where even the half-light could not penetrate and
utter blackness began, the hissing and muttering and screeching and
shrieking of savage-voiced combatants gave proof of a contest that no
eye could see.
As the conflict proceeded, and the noise and confusion grew and grew,
the fire, untended, sank constantly lower and lower; the pale rim of
the light constantly narrowed; and the moon, sliding behind a cloud,
threatened to leave the scene in total gloom.
It was at about this point that the battle took a decisive turn. One
of the fighters, on an impulse that no one ever explained, snatched a
burning brand from the still-glowing fire; and wielding the flaming
weapon, went dashing headlong toward the enemy. All, both friend and
foe, gaped in terror and fled before this fire-swinging apparition; and
for a few minutes he darted unchallenged wherever he would, while at
his approach great shaggy forms went crashing right and left into the
brush. Then, when the brand had burned low, the bold one thrust the
still-flaming remains into the shrubbery, and went slouching away in
search of other weapons.
Without knowing it, he had made the end imminent. Through his unwitting
intervention, the culmination was to be sudden beyond all expectations.
Almost without warning, the darkness was overspread by an unearthly
yellow illumination; and a row of bushes along the river bank
burst into bright flame. The nearer fighters turned and gazed in
consternation, muttering to themselves and staring like men whom the
power of action has deserted. And while, stupidly bewildered, they
gaped and gaped, the fire leaped higher and higher, till it was taller
than a tall man, and the sparks flew like meteors, and glowing spirals
of smoke soared to the skies. Then, as the screams of battle gave place
to screams of terror, and fresh combatants forgot their clubs and
crowded close to see, the blazes spread and spread, till in places they
filled the cañon from the river to the cliff.
Encouraged by a rising breeze, they sprang from the shrubbery to the
overhanging branches of the pine trees, which began to burn and sparkle
gustily. And enormous flames, greater than any of the fighters had ever
seen before, began to roar and crackle among the trees. The bright
streamers leaped far heavenward, licking their greedy lips rabidly;
with amazing rapidity they grew, even vaulting across the river, until
from cañon wall to cañon wall there was a glaring, brassy-yellow,
wavering bank of fire, which cast an unearthly, sultry illumination
over the black knots of watching men. The air was filled with the acrid
odor of smoke; great black cinders darted through the gloom; and high
above the flames, where the red sparks vanished, all the heavens were
discolored with an angry crimson glow.
Now, above the sizzling laughter and the howling of the conflagration,
there arose the voices of men in mortal agony. All thought of the
fight had been forgotten; each was bent only on saving himself. Some,
trapped in pockets of the woods, shrieked and yelled in futile anguish
before they gasped their last; others, with hair shriveling beneath the
intense heat, cried out furiously and dashed for refuge into the river.
"The fire-god! The fire-god! The fire-god comes to kill us!" wailed the
panic-stricken Umbaddu; and mingled with their voices were the still
ruder, more blatant ones of the beast-men. But friend knew not friend,
and foe knew not foe, in that clamorous dash for the safe, cool waters.
Side by side the combatants crept into the stream, side by side without
so much as a hostile snort; and, once within the river, no man had
any thought except to stand submerged with nostrils barely above the
surface.
And while the survivors felt the refreshing waters roll over them, the
hissing and roaring of the fire gradually grew less distinct, its heat
a little less unbearable, its illumination dimmer and more remote. When
at last the less timorous ventured out of the river, they beheld that
same ghastly red glow reaching high in air and far along the horizon;
but they could no longer see the shooting tongues of flame, and they
knew that the fire-god had withdrawn and that it was safe to seek their
people once more.
* * * * *
The following morning, in the cave of the Umbaddu, there was much
weeping and wailing. Distracted women paced back and forth with
prolonged sobs and lamentations; some tore furiously at the hair on
their arms and chests; some beat themselves insanely upon the legs
and thighs; some merely lay in a corner, moaning and moaning. As the
survivors of the night's encounter trailed one by one up the cliff
walls and back into the cave, it became apparent that the tribe's
losses had been irreparable. The misfortune was not that those who came
back were much bedraggled or disabled; that Kuff the Bear-Hunter limped
grievously, while Woonoo the Hot-Blooded dangled a broken arm; that the
throat and shoulders of Mumlo the Trail-Finder showed the red mark of
teeth, while half the hair of Grumgra's back had been singed away--such
injuries were of minor account. The real misfortune was that, of those
who had gone forth the night before, nearly half had not returned.
"Where is Targ the Thick Club? Where is Gurr the Stone-Flinger? Where
is Ulu the Long-Armed?" rang forth the despairing cries of searching
women--but none was ever to bring an answer to their appeals.
Most disturbing of all was the absence of one who had been thought
immune to danger. "Zunzun the Marvel-Worker--where is he?" cried scores
of anxious voices. But there came no reply; and the people groaned that
their gods had indeed deserted them, for all the arts of Zunzun had not
sufficed to save him from the beast-men.