COLD AND HEAT
All that were left of the tribe, foot sore and uncomprehending, came at
length to rest on a high and barren plateau.
Miles behind them, to the southward, the fire still raged on their trail.
East and West as far as the eye could travel, black smoke poured upward,
but thro’ and above the smoke to the westward, the heavens flamed with
the glory of the setting sun.
To the North, the whole country pitched barrenly downward, and then
became an undulating level bare of trees and water courses; beyond this
desert expanse, rose a barren of purple mountains capped with snow.
It was not until he reached the plateau that Sunrise came up with She
Wolf and Dawn. She Wolf was keeping an anxious eye out for him; but Dawn,
broken with fatigue, had thrown herself face downward and was asleep.
Sunrise, sick with grief, greeted She Wolf, and went about counting
heads. Many had been overladen in that hunt; old men, women and children.
One Eye had saved his skin, but Moon Face had perished with his riches.
Maku was missing, and No Foot, and there were many others.
Sunrise urged this man and that to travel forward in the night, and put
the miles between them, and the hunter flames, but altho’ it was bitter
cold on the plateau, he could persuade no one to move.
The tribe was so tired that it could hardly stand up. Men, women and
children came close together for warmth, and in a tangled huddle prepared
to pass the night. It became colder, and the stars began to appear here
and there in the heavens.
The fire advanced upon the base of the plateau, and Sunrise raged at the
people, who cuddling against each other for warmth, sat stupidly and
regarded it.
But, in spite of his rage, he cuddled with them for the cold was now
intense. He sat and reflected upon the roaring and vindictive enemy which
he had aroused, and the cold increased. He recalled the warmth of the
fire in his face, and he would have given something for a little of that
warmth to stretch his hands against.
“And yet,” he said to himself, “in a little I shall be running at full
speed from that same warmth. It will not be long before the sons of my
stars come raging and roaring up the side of this hill, clearing the
rocks and the earth, and the moss and whatsoever is on the hill. And yet
the warmth was pleasant.”
His spine twisted him with a shiver. “If there were water here,” he said,
“it would be turned into stone by the cold.”
All of a sudden one of the women fell to howling and beating her breasts;
and the rest knew some one had died. It was the woman’s son, a boy,
nearly a year old, whom she had lugged all the way from the caves. The
cold had killed him.
“Be still, woman!” said old One Eye, coughing. “In a little we shall all
be dead either from the heat yonder or the cold here. Beat your breasts
as much as you wish for that will warm you; but do not howl, for some of
us are weary, and wish very much to sleep.”
So the woman’s howl became a whimper, but she continued to beat her
breasts. And the night went on, and the child lay frozen at her feet.
And now far below them, two thousand feet and more, the fire glowed in
broken curves along the base of the plateau: but beyond that it did not
seem to advance. The night wind blowing in the reverse direction rolled
the smoke back upon its tracks and kept the view clear.
“Better the warmth than the cold,” said Sunrise, and his teeth
chattered. “I am going down the hill to warm myself. Who comes?”
But the fear of the fire was on the people, and they whimpered and whined
and smote themselves, and told him that he was mad and would be killed.
He could not budge them.
“In a little,” said old One Eye, “we shall be rested and have strength to
go on—but not back.”
“Then I go alone,” said Sunrise, and he arose and called his mother by
name.
“I am here,” answered She Wolf, “but I think the girl is dead, for she is
cold to touch and will not answer.”
Sunrise fell as tho’ his belly had been filled with stones, so heavy was
his dread.
He knelt by Dawn and felt of her and listened for her breath. He could
feel her heart beating feebly against the palm of his hand, but she was
very cold.
He gathered her in his arms, and strode down the hill toward the fire.
She Wolf limped behind, (a thorn had pierced her foot) beating her
breasts and whimpering. But with every step of the descent the air became
warmer and in their faces was a pleasant glow from the fire.
A number of hundred feet from the fire they halted, for the heat was
becoming too great to bear. Sunrise bade his mother sit and he laid Dawn
in her arms.
“She will not die,” he said. Then with his hands before his face, he
descended further. And for a very long time he stood peering between his
fingers and observing the actions of the fire. Suddenly he cried aloud
for joy and turning bounded up the hill to where his mother sat with Dawn
in her arms.
“It does not eat the stones,” he cried, “nor the earth—I have watched
a long time and it has not come forward by the breadth of my arm. It
springs only upon trees and bushes and things which grow.”
“Then we are safe here!” said She Wolf.
“We are safe, and warm,” said Sunrise, and he felt of Dawn.
“Dawn!” He said, “Dawn!”
She opened her eyes and smiled upon him.
“Are you warm now?” he said. “Are you warm?”
“I am warm,” she said, “but very weary and it may be hungry.”
“Sleep, then,” he said, “for there is no food, and in the morning there
will be a hunt.”
Then, his heart light with happiness, he turned and ran up the hill. In
his absence two more children had died of the cold.
“O people!” he cried. “Below there is warmth and safety, for the stones
and the earth fighting for us have turned back the mighty hunter who
sought to devour us.”
The querulous voice of One Eye was heard in answer.
“Be still! Sunrise,” he said. “This is as good a place for dying as any.
Furthermore, we are weary, and some of us wish very much to sleep.”
“You at least,” said Sunrise furiously, “shall not die here, for I shall
drag you down the hill by the hair of your head and with such force that
you will die on the way.... Who follows me?”
But the people only whimpered.
Sunrise caught up a spear and brought down the handle on the nearest back.
“You shall not follow,” he cried in a mighty voice. “You shall go
before, and I will drive you.”
And he fell upon them with the handle of the spear. Now the people, up to
the boldest hunter among them, were numb with cold and had no fight in
them.
So the fear of Sunrise fell upon them, and they went before him like
herded sheep. And he kept smiting the backs of those who brought up the
rear.
Old One Eye was not one of these. Indeed he was one of those who led the
route.
When they came to where She Wolf and Dawn lay sleeping in the warmth,
Sunrise left off beating them, and they settled down with their hands
before their faces.
Delicious warmth crept into the icy crannies of their bones, and they
slept.
[Illustration]