THE FIRST CAMP FIRE
All the horrors of such a terrible death were apparent to Og and the
two wolf cubs. The hairy boy stood with staring, fear-bulged eyes and
watched the slow, irresistible movement of the earthy walls as they came
together. He could feel the movement of the ground beneath his feet as
it began to sink downward and he could feel the vibration of a rumbling
thunderous noise that came up from the nethermost depths of the earth.
A great fear clutched his heart; a fear that somehow he and the now
whimpering wolf cubs had put themselves into the clutches of a great and
evil spirit who owned this cave; this huge wound in the hillside.
Yet though almost paralyzed with fear Og’s brain worked. The Mountain
That Walked had been defeated. He had withdrawn. Perhaps he was waiting
outside in the steam fog or perhaps he had gone back down into the
valley. If he were waiting outside, to go out meant death. But to stay
in here meant death too, the horrible death of being buried alive.
Outside death was uncertain. Then too he had a marvelous new weapon in
this fiery stick of his. Perhaps with its aid and his swift legs he
could defeat the mammoth. It was worth trying. They were deep inside
the crevice. They would have to move quickly to get out in time for the
walls were closing fast. Already one of the wolf cubs had started for
the opening. Og turned and called to the other one. It was struggling
under a heavy clod of earth that had fallen upon it and held it down. Og
saw its plight. He was about to turn and bolt and leave it to its death.
But something made him hesitate. He could not understand this strange
feeling. He did not know that within him was growing a sense of loyalty
and unselfishness that the hairy people never knew. He did not realize
that this marked him as being a higher type of human than any hairy man
had ever been, but he did know that an overmastering desire to help the
struggling wolf dog swept away any selfish thoughts of his own safety,
and he sprang back toward the rear of the crevice, dug the wolf dog from
beneath the caved-in earth, then, gathering it under one arm and with
the burning resinous torch in the other hand, he began a mad scramble for
the opening of the crevice.
The rumbling beneath his feet grew louder and more ominous. Earth and
rock broke loose from the walls above and fell about him and on him. One
huge stone struck him on the shoulder and its jagged corners cut deep
through his hair and flesh. Og cried out with pain and staggered under
the impact. Yet he stumbled and struggled onward while great beads of
perspiration stood out on his low forehead, and his eyes dilated with
fear. On and on he pushed, while the rumbling beneath him grew to an
angry growl and the earthy walls on either hand and overhead rocked and
swayed dizzily. The opening was only a little way ahead now. The first
wolf cub had gained it and scrambled out into the steam filled air. Og
envied him his salvation. He wondered vaguely whether he could make it or
whether, there within a few short paces of freedom, he would be caught
between the crunching, caving walls of earth and crushed to death.
He made a mighty effort to gain the opening. His great muscles swelled
under the strain. Blood leaped through his arteries, the cords of his
neck stood out and his breath came in great sobs as he struggled toward
the air and light. One leap more and he would be free, one stride and
he would be out of that terrible cave of grumbling noise, and crumbling
walls. Og leaped.
At the same instant the rumbling developed to a roar, and a grinding
crash, as the wall on either side of the crevice caved in and the earth
settled. Og reached the air in a cloud of dust and a shower of earth and
stones, and, in a perfect avalanche of debris, rolled over and over down
the hillside, until he stopped with stunning impact at the foot of a huge
bowlder. For the space of several seconds he and the wolf cub lay there
in a semi-conscious condition. Then slowly Og came to and sat up. And the
first thing that he looked for when he became himself again was his fire
stick. He found it close at hand for he had clung to it even in his mad
plunge down the hillside. But of course its flames were out.
Og picked it up and viewed this fact with disappointment. The knotty end
was a mass of glowing smoking coals but the flames were gone. Og crouched
beside the bowlder and looked at the hot end of the stick turning it over
and over, and wondering the while how to rekindle it. He began to blow
upon it softly. Why he did this he could not tell. But as he breathed
upon it the coals grew redder and hotter and suddenly a tiny flame
appeared, then another and another until the torch was rekindled.
Og gave a grunt of surprise at this and his low forehead wrinkled into
a perplexed frown. Here was a thing that he could slay with his breath
yet he could bring it to life again by breathing upon it. It was strange
indeed, a thing he would have liked to puzzle over, for he had found that
thinking was a strange and fascinating game. But he realized that the
daylight hours were waning. Night was coming on and he knew now that with
the Stalking Death abroad and probably many other animals down there in
the valley feeding on the roasted horses, it would not be safe for him to
linger. He thought of the cave under the cliff where he and the wolf cubs
had taken refuge first and he decided to go there for the night.
Both cubs were close at hand, though the one he had rescued was unable to
walk. Og gathered this one under his arm and calling to the other started
out of the valley and toward the towering cliffs that he could see in the
distance through the steam. As they made their way forward Og glanced at
the hill where the crevice had been. What had been the crown of it was
now a deep depression still filled with dust clouds. Og turned his head
away for the thoughts that he and the cubs might even now be buried under
that mass of rock and dirt were very unpleasant.
They were a long way from their refuge and Og hurried for he feared to
be caught down there in the valley at nightfall. Night was the time when
all the great beasts hunted and feasted and he knew that he would make a
choice meal for the Stalking Death, the great panther, or Sabre Tooth,
the huge cave tiger, as had many another hairy man in the past. Indeed,
it was with a sense of relief that the hairy boy scrambled up the steep
mountain side and crawled in under the shelter of the overhanging cliffs,
for already the terrific hunting roar of the giant cave tiger was waking
the echoes and in the gathering twilight this was a blood chilling sound
to hear for the hairy men of that age.
Shelter gained, Og’s attention came back to the fire stick which he
still carried. It was then that he noticed for the first time, and with
consternation, that the stick, once as long as his arm, was now less than
a quarter its original size. Here was another perplexing phase of this
new thing that he thought he had mastered but which he now found he could
not at all understand. Why had the stick grown shorter? Where had the
rest of it gone? Did this thing devour the wood? Was that what it ate?
Crouched up there on the shelf under the cliff Og experimented anew. He
tried to see if the thing ate wood. He found another stick and held it
into the flame. The red fingers reached out and took hold of it and,
because this was soft wood, the fire consumed it quickly; ate it all so
fast that Og had to drop it before it burned his fingers. There on the
stone ledge it burned itself out. Og tried to feed the flames leaves.
These were eaten up so swiftly that the hairy boy was frightened for a
moment. He tried more sticks and more leaves, then he tried to feed it a
stone. This it would not eat and Og marveled, for had he not got it from
a stone originally?—yet here it refused to eat other stones. This red
thing, this animal that could be slain or brought to life with a breath,
that came from stone yet would not eat stone, was indeed a mystery.
Og held the fast shortening pitchwood torch in his hand and pondered.
He saw the charred remains of the stick and leaves he had burned lying
about him on the ledge. From these he gleaned still a new idea. He
gathered more sticks and leaves in a pile, then laid the burning torch
among them. And presently he had a fire that delighted him; a fire that
gave him warmth and light and which he could keep alive so long as he fed
it sticks and leaves.
Thus was born five hundred thousand years ago up there on the ledge below
the cliff the first campfire and as this hairy boy crouched before it
and watched it with consuming interest while he basked in its warmth and
light, he chanted softly to himself,“Og, Og, Og, Og,” which was his way
of telling himself and the wolf cubs that he was a great man, that he
had made a wonderful discovery and that he well deserved the name he had
given himself.
And as he crouched there the roar of Saber Tooth, the tiger, and the wail
of the Stalking Death, the giant panther, floated up to him through the
night, from the valley below where they quarreled over the cooked horses,
but somehow Og felt strangely happy and comfortable by his fire. The
light and the heat and the flickering flame tongues gave him a sense of
protection in the night, a sense of protection that no other hairy man
had ever felt; and the wolf cubs, sprawled in the warm glow, gave him an
added feeling of companionship. He was happy, so happy that he wanted
other hairy people to know about it; to see what he had achieved; to
witness his triumph over the Fire Demon.
He began to think then of the other hairy people who had fled from the
wrath of the volcano. He thought of Wab, his father, who was a mighty
hunter with the stone hatchet. Og had a vague feeling that he was even a
greater man than his father now.
He thought of Gog, the fierce old warrior with the scarred face and ugly
disposition who was chief of the hairy people because no one had the
courage to dispute it. Og hated him for many a hard cuff and unnecessary
beating. He was a greater man than Gog now and he found malicious
pleasure in the thought of taking his fire animal among his people and
making Gog jealous with the flame that would be his. If he could conquer
the Fire Demon assuredly he could conquer Gog. The old chief would never
dare come near him while he held a fire brand in his hand.
Og decided to set out to find the hairy people again since the roars and
wails that came up from the steaming valley told him all too plainly that
it was no longer safe for him to remain in that vicinity.