Primitive Tactics
When Roy Manley saw the great bird above him, poised and hovering,
ready to strike, something in the lad suddenly jerked him to his
feet in prompt alertness.
Oblivious of everything save that he was confronted by a creature
intent upon attacking him, the savage, primitive man was aroused in
the young rancher. He realized that he must, in this emergency,
depend for defense upon his hands alone--as must have an ancient
dweller in a cave of the stone age.
As the bird, with a savage scream, swooped down at him, Roy lashed
out with his bare fists. One blow caught the eagle full upon its
feathered breast, knocking him aside. A wild yell burst from the
boy’s lips, rivaling the bird’s screech in its intensity. He
shouted. He called out meaningless phrases. He was a savage,
battling for his life against an ancient enemy.
As the eagle, knocked from its course, fluttered to the ground,
Roy’s eyes lit with a strange, fierce gleam. He sprang for the bird
and sought to grasp the creature, but, to his surprise, the great
dweller of the upper regions was not there. With a single beat of
its powerful wings it had gained the air once more.
Sobbing in rage, Roy leaped to his feet, his injured ankle
forgotten. Some ten feet above the ground the bird wheeled,
screamed, and returned to the attack. This time it was more wary,
and did not plunge directly for the boy, but shot down a little to
one side, then, spreading its pinions wide, glided in. Roy, his lips
drawn back in a snarl, met it fully. The beak stabbed once, as quick
as a rattler striking, and Roy felt a searing pain in his right
shoulder. A dark stain spread over his shirt. At the same time the
boy was able to seize one of the wings in both hands, and he hung on
desperately, twisting it with all his strength. Another quick stab
of the powerful beak, and Roy released his hold, blood now streaming
from his left arm.
The eagle, realizing now that his adversary was no weakling, but
able to strike him down with one blow, retreated for the moment to
consider matters. This gave Roy the chance he needed, and he quickly
drew the knife from his pocket and opened it.
“Now, come on!” he yelled, taking a step forward toward the bird
that was resting on the ground, reassembling his ruffled plumage.
“Start something, you buzzard!” It is not to be wondered at that the
boy in his excitement had mistaken his huge antagonist. “Buzzard”
was the first thought that had come to his mind, and he shouted it
out.
The bird held off, considering. His wing had been cruelly twisted by
this strange-looking foe before him. Some one should suffer for
that. And then, with a scream of defiance, the eagle arose again in
the air.
Roy stood tense, waiting, his knife held in readiness. The moment’s
respite had given the boy time to realize his danger. This was no
buzzard, but an eagle that seemed bent upon the boy’s destruction.
Tales of strong men being killed by this species of bird flashed
through Roy’s mind, and he clenched the knife more firmly. If he was
to die, he would put up a good fight first!
The bird was diving again. The pain in his wing had rendered the
eagle careless of consequences, as he must punish this impudent
being, and now he swooped directly at Roy. The boy drew back his
arm. The sun glittered on the open blade as he held the knife poised
for action. A harsh cry from the bird--a grunt of fierce effort from
the boy--and the eagle, a long jagged rip in his side, lay gasping
upon the ground!
Roy sprang forward, his hand red from blood that was not all his
own. He knew that he must finish this now, before the bird had a
chance to recover. Again the knife sank deep in feathers and flesh,
and this time Roy knew his work was well done. The eagle sounded a
single cry that floated upward and wavered to silence in the blue
regions of its element, the body of the bird gave a convulsive
shudder--then the tremulous breathing stopped, the head sank down,
and the wings folded themselves quietly to rest.
There, on the shore of Whirlpool River, Roy Manley looked down upon
his kill--looked down with eyes from which all anger, all blood-lust
had fled, and which held only pity for the death of such a splendid
creature.
Silently he wiped his knife clean, shut the blade, and replaced it
in his pocket. Then, for the first time, he saw the long cut on his
arm, and felt the stiffening of his shoulder where the eagle had
struck. Stumbling, he made his way to the water’s edge, and, ripping
the remnants of his shirt from him, bathed the wounds. Strange that
he felt no pain, but instead a growing wonder that he, and not the
bird, had been the conqueror in that mighty battle. He had a queer
inclination to kneel for a moment and do homage to a worthy fighter,
but the feeling passed and the reaction slowly set in. He felt
himself grow faint, and he staggered from the water. A growing
blackness encompassed him, as though night were coming. A horrible
nausea seized him, close to the dead bird, and he sank upon the
earth, already all but unconscious.
The sun was at its zenith when Roy once more opened his eyes. This
time there was no wonderment in them. He knew definitely and with
certainty what had happened. And if he needed proof that it was not
all a dream--and indeed, somehow it did create in his mind a
sensation akin to a nightmare--there was the bird lying at his side.
Yes, it had actually occurred--he, practically weaponless, had
fought an eagle and won.
He sat up, moving his arms gingerly. Everything appeared to be in
working order. He examined the cuts, and saw that they had been but
superficial and had already stopped bleeding.
Then he grinned.
“Bids are open for the moving picture rights,” he chuckled. “First I
get in a scrap with a bear and then an eagle! But the boy, here,
nothing daunted, immediately enters the cave of the lion. Isn’t
there a lion somewhere around?”
Slowly he got to his feet. Then he noticed the wet sock tied about
his ankle. Except for this, he would have forgotten that the limb
had ever been hurt.
“The pain must have been scared out of me,” he said aloud, and
laughed again. His laughter was not hysterical. It was the wholesome
amusement of a boy who had a sense of humor, and the reaction from
his late suspense.
Then his mind leaped to thoughts of Teddy and the others.
“They’ll be worried stiff,” he declared. “They’ll think I’m drowned,
sure. I’d better find some way of getting back to them.” Never an
idea that his brother and Pop and Bug Eye might have failed to reach
the shore--might have been caught in the current, and killed. These
sombre thoughts had gone from him completely.
He retraced his steps to the water’s edge. The river was once more a
placidly flowing stream, its surface harmless and innocent of
treachery.
“You’re a hypocrite,” Roy said. “You are a two-faced fraud. However,
I’ll try you once more.”
It came to him that if he was to reach the mainland he must swim for
it. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the keen air.
“My powers of recuperation are extraordinary, to say the least,” he
laughed. “Good thing I found that porcupine! All right--camera
ready? The boy hero will attempt to swim the terrible rapids--only
they’re more like a lake now. But we’ll call ’em rapids to make it
look harder.”
He removed his outer clothing and waded in. The opposite shore
seemed much nearer now, probably because the water had receded. At
all events, he struck out with a will and arrived on the bank not at
all exhausted. As he left the water he thought of the spectacle he
must present, with the wounds on his shoulder and arm still showing
plainly and dressed in a soggy suit of underwear. He burst into a
loud laugh.
“Come, take a snapshot!” he exclaimed. “Having a wonderful time!
Wish you were here! The bathing is great!”
“Roy!”
He turned his face alight with expectation.
“Roy! Oh, golly, it’s Roy!”
From the bushes leaped three figures--three happy, excited, capering
figures.
“Teddy! And Pop and Bug Eye! The reception committee! The lost
mariners! Well, you old marmadukes!”
Tears stood in Teddy’s eyes as he clasped his brother’s hand. Frank,
honest tears, and Teddy was not ashamed of them.
“Roy--” he said brokenly, “we thought you were--”
“We thought you was lost!” Bug Eye finished, with a side glance at
Pop. “Snakes, we been lookin’ all over creation for yuh!”
“Son,” Pop said simply, holding out his hand, “I’m glad to see yuh.
Mighty glad. We been worried.”
“You’re hurt, Roy!” Teddy exclaimed, as he noticed for the first
time the cuts on the boy’s arm and shoulder. “How did you get
those?”
“It’s a long story, me lad,” Roy answered, smiling. He threw his arm
about his brother’s shoulders. “But first, if you don’t mind, I’ll
eat! The last meal I had was roast porcupine!”