by John Grant
The day of the Old Man’s hunt came at last. And there had never been a hunt like it. The hunters hoped that there would never be one like it again. The hunting party, if that’s what you could call it, assembled in front of the caves soon after breakfast. Everyone was there. Men, women, children, old people bobbling along on sticks and babies in arms. Dad, Nosey and other men shouted themselves hoarse trying to get some sort of order, while babies cried and older children chased one another through the crowd. When the Old Man at last appeared everyone cheered. He carried a spear that looked even older than himself. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he said. “Let’s go.”
An ordinary hunting party would consist of no more than a dozen men, carrying spears and a few pieces of gear for camping out. They would march in a straight line behind the tracker and be absolutely silent, for fear that they would scare away the animals they were hunting. But this was a whole tribe! They carried babies and baskets of food. And they straggled in an untidy crowd behind the Old Man, shouting and laughing at the tops of their voices so that every self- respecting animal fled as fast as its legs would carry it. The hunters found the whole spectacle quite embarrassing, and were glad that no other tribe was around to see it.
Before noon, they stopped in a large clearing and soon a magnificent picnic was under way. The Neanderthal folk ate and drank with gusto, wishing the Old Man “Good Health” and “Long Life and Happiness”. After the feast, no one was really disposed to do much in the way of hunting. Not just yet, anyway. And, although the hunters fumed and fretted, the other grown-ups, including the Old Man, settled down for an after-dinner nap, while the children paddled in the stream and tried to catch minnows.
Late in the afternoon, the Old Man stretched and stood up. “I feel twenty years younger,” he said. “How about this hunting, then? Have you found something for me to hunt? I think I could manage a sabre-toothed tiger or at least a deer.”
The hunters looked at each other and made polite noises, none of them liking to tell the Old Man that there was unlikely to be anything bigger than a beetle stirring for miles. Luckily, the Old Man wasn’t really expecting an answer. He waved his spear to the crowd, who got to their feet and followed him with a loud cheer back into the forest. He was thoroughly enjoying himself now. He held his spear at the ready and occasionally held up his hand for the people to stop. Then he put his finger to his lips and said, “Sh!” and everyone else copied him. Then on they went, scanning the surrounding trees for anything that might move. Then suddenly the Old Man cried, “Look!”
No one could say exactly what it was that the Old Man saw but already his spear was flying through the air, up through the branches and leaves overhead. “Missed by a hair’s breadth, Sir!” cried someone, although what it had been was still uncertain. What was certain, and without a shadow of doubt, was that the spear had not returned to earth. “It was an eagle. It’s flown off with it!” cried another voice. But Littlenose, who had wriggled to the front, shouted, “No, it’s stuck in a tree. High up.”
“Do you think you could get it down, my boy?” asked the Old Man.
“I’ll try,” said Littlenose, and he attempted to scramble up the trunk. But, the bark was smooth and slippery, and the spear could be seen, sticking out high above the nearest branch. Littlenose came back shaking his head. Several more attempts were made but to no avail.
“We might as well leave it,” said a hunter.
“It’s time to go home and, anyway, it was just an old spear.”
“What do you mean, old!” exclaimed the Old Man. “That spear is an heirloom! It was my father’s, and his father’s before that. I’ll give a reward of five green pebbles to whoever can rescue my spear.” There and then Littlenose made up his mind that the reward would be his. All the way home, he plotted and planned but, by the time they reached home, he still had no ideas. In fact, it was as he was dropping off to sleep that the first glimmerings of an idea came into his mind.
In the morning, Littlenose immediately remembered his idea for winning the Old Man’s reward. He lay and thought a bit more, then Mum called that breakfast was ready, and he got up. Breakfast was almost over when Littlenose said, “I’m going to learn to fly.”
Dad started to laugh. “What was that? Fly?” he spluttered.
“Yes,” said Littlenose. “Then I can get back the Old Man’s spear for him.”
At this, Dad fell off his seat and rolled on the floor, clutching his sides. “Oh-ho!” he cried. “Wait till I tell everyone. My son! Flying!”
Soon, every member of the tribe had heard of Littlenose’s plan, and they laughed as much as Dad. It became a special joke, when someone met Littlenose, to flap their arms like wings and wink at him, so Littlenose quickly resolved to carry out his preparations well away from inquisitive eyes. In any case, people very soon got tired of the joke, except Dad. And he very soon was regarded as a bit of a bore on the subject of flying boys, flapping his arms and winking at everyone he met.
For his experiments in flying, Littlenose chose the part of the forest where the spear had been lost. It wasn’t very convenient but he reasoned that, as soon as he had mastered the art of flying, he would want to waste as little time as possible. He started off by watching the birds. They just flapped their wings. And wings were really just sort of arms. So, Littlenose flapped his arms. He flapped them standing still. And he flapped them running up and down. Nothing happened. His shoulders ached and he was out of breath but he stayed firmly on the ground. He watched some more birds. Of course, it must be the feathers that made the difference! He must get some.
For once, luck seemed to be going his way. There was roast goose for supper that night and the ground outside the cave was covered with feathers. Littlenose gathered two large handfuls of the biggest feathers he could find and hid them in his own special corner of the cave.
Next day started very early as Dad was going off for a day’s hunting with some other men. It was barely daylight as Littlenose watched them making their way into the forest and, not long after, he too set off, clutching the goose feathers.
Littlenose was almost at the clearing when he heard voices. Carefully, he crept through the trees until he could see a group of figures. It was the hunting party! But they were not hunting. Far from it. They were sorting out a complicated system of rawhide ropes and talked as they worked.
“Do you honestly think that this is going to be any good?” asked one man.
“As good as anything anybody else has tried,” replied another.
Dad spoke. “Nosey, here, had a good plan. He was just going to cut the tree down with his stone axe. But the Old Man wouldn’t let him. Something about the tree falling on the spear and breaking it. Mind you, my boy Littlenose had the best plan. He said he would fly up and get the spear.” He flapped his arms and laughed loudly, although no one else did.
Littlenose was furious. The men weren’t hunting - they were after the reward! There was no point in trying while they were all messing around with ropes and things. Angry and disappointed, Littlenose threw the goose feathers away and went home. It seemed certain that the grown-ups would rescue the spear and earn the five green pebbles.
But things didn’t quite turn out that way. Dad arrived home in the evening, and Mum said, “Had a good day in the forest, dear?” Dad said, “Hmph! Not a thing.”And Littlenose’s spirits rose. Whatever their scheme, the hunters must have failed; which served them right for being deceitful.
Then Mum said, “I hear the Doctor is planning to use magic to bring the Old Man’s spear down from the tree.”
Dad gave a short laugh. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “The Doctor can’t even do the three pebble trick properly!”
Littlenose felt a little more optimistic, and he began to think again. When people like Dad failed in something, they usually gave up. All that he had to do was wait for the winter gales, when the spear was certain to be blown down. He must make sure to be first there to pick it up.
So spring
passed into summer and then came autumn. Littlenose visited the clearing from time to time, and still the spear remained where it was. In this particular clearing many of the trees bore fruit or nuts, and one autumn day Littlenose went off with Two-Eyes to pick some. There was a good crop, but one particular nut tree was loaded. There was only one problem. The nuts were high up, and the tree was so slender that when Littlenose tried to climb it, it bent and shook alarmingly. Next day, he went back, this time equipped with Mum’s rawhide clothes line, which she didn’t happen to be using just at that moment and wouldn’t miss. He climbed as high as he could and tied one end of the rope firmly to the slender trunk. Then he scrambled down and gave the other end to Two-Eyes. Two-Eyes was small but strong and together they hauled on the rope until the tree bent down a little. Then they hauled some more. And again.
It took most of the day but, eventually, Littlenose and Two-Eyes sat back exhausted and admired the result of their efforts. The slender nut tree was now bent right down so that the topmost twigs touched the ground. The rope was tied to a handy tree stump, and they could gather all the nuts they wanted without leaving the ground. But before they could gather a single nut, there came an irate shout. “Littlenose! What are you playing at? No wonder there’s no game. You’ve scared everything away. Clear off! Go home!”
It was Dad, followed by a hunting party. Dad came towards Littlenose, paying no attention to the tied-down tree, and started to climb over it. Now, Littlenose’s knots were not very good at the best of times, and Dad was half-way over when the knot fastening the rope to the tree stump gave way. There was a swish, a rustle, and a yell. The tree sprang back straight again. And Dad vanished. The hunters looked up in time to see Dad sailing gracefully into the tree-tops. He grabbed at a branch to save himself, but it came away in his hand and he came to earth in a briar thicket. There the others found him, scratched, bruised and dazed, and holding in his hand, not a branch . . . but the Old Man’s spear!
Poor Dad! All the way home and for weeks after, everyone greeted him with flapping arms and a broad wink. They called him Birdman behind his back. Littlenose thought they were very unkind. At least, the Old Man had his precious spear back! However, he declared that, since no one person had rescued it, the reward should go towards the cost of another tribal outing in the summer. So everyone was happy. Except, perhaps, Littlenose, until one day the Old Man called him aside and gave him a special reward of a white pebble for himself. Which made up slightly for what happened when Mum discovered the state of her clothes line!
Littlenose and Two-Eyes
Littlenose sat under his favourite tree. Two-Eyes was sitting beside him and, for once, Littlenose paid no attention to the little mammoth. Even when Two-Eyes gave a squeak and prodded Littlenose with his trunk, Littlenose brushed it aside and said, “Don’t bother me, Two-Eyes. I’m busy, can’t you see?”
Two-Eyes couldn’t see, and he got to his feet and went off in a huff.
Littlenose settled back against the tree, closed his eyes, and began mumbling to himself. He was learning a poem. It had all started a week ago. To everyone’s surprise, not least of all Littlenose’s, he had passed each of his tests for promotion from apprentice to junior hunter. Actually, he had one more test to do, which was the reason for the poem. He had passed fire-lighting with distinction, tracking with top marks, and spear throwing . . . just! But now he had the last and final test. It was called Hunting the Grey Bear.
There wasn’t really a grey bear, or any other colour of bear for that matter. Three pieces of wood were tied together in a special way and covered with grey fur. This was carefully hidden, and the apprentice hunter had to find it by following clues.
The clues formed a poem and it was this that Littlenose was memorising. It didn’t seem to make a lot of sense, which didn’t make it any easier to learn:
The Grey Bear’s prints are in the clay,
The noon-day shadow points the way,
The island’s where the heron cries,
The ashwood close on willow lies,
The peak where pine grows to the sky,
The Grey Bear in his den does lie!
Littlenose said it once through to himself, then once more out loud. As long as he remembered it tomorrow, all he had to do was work out what it all meant.
Next morning, Littlenose was up before it was light. After a quick breakfast, he hurried to the Old Man’s cave carrying his boy-size spear. There was quite a crowd of hunters waiting to see him off. Dad wasn’t there. He had gone off even earlier with another man to hide the Grey Bear. The Old Man made a short speech about how he hoped that Littlenose’s name would be inscribed on the birch-bark roll of junior hunters. Then he gave Littlenose a tightly-wrapped package, food for the day“not to be eaten until the third line of the poem”.
Littlenose took the package, said thank you, and set off while everyone shouted: “Good luck!”
As he left the caves behind, he was quite sure of the first clue. The only clay around was close to the river and was used by the Neanderthal folk for making pots and bowls. Sure enough, there was a line of marks in the clay that looked more or less like bear prints. As he looked, there was a noise, and out from among the trees trotted Two-Eyes.
“Go home,” shouted Littlenose. “You can’t come. This is all very important.”
The little mammoth looked very crestfallen, and Littlenose turned his back and began to hurry along the line of tracks. The tracks left the clay but Littlenose found them easily as they crossed grassy patches, led through the pinewoods and took him far across a sandy heath.
Then they stopped. Just like that!
What was the next line of the poem?
The noon-day shadow points the way.
What shadow? Which way? It was almost noon now. He stood, perplexed. Then there was a quiet snuffle behind him. He jumped round.
“Two-Eyes!” he shouted. “What do you mean, following me like that? This is work for hunters, not mammoths!”
He started to think again about noon- day shadows, when Two-Eyes squeaked once more. He was standing pointing with his trunk to something on the ground. Right where the bear tracks ended was a rock. “That’s no good,” said Littlenose. “It’s too sunken in the grass to cast a shadow.” Two-Eyes pointed again with his trunk. The rock was chipped and cracked, and in the centre was a hole slightly bigger than a finger. “Of course,” cried Littlenose. “You are a clever mammoth!”
He took his spear and stuck it upright in the hole in the rock. It was noon. The shadow of the spear lay along the grass, and at its tip was a white stone. A few steps away was another, then another. If he went from stone to stone he should come to: The island’s where the heron cries. He hoped it wasn’t too far. He couldn’t open his packed lunch till then, and he was getting hungry.
The white stones led in a wandering way over open country. Ahead, Littlenose could see low trees and bushes and the glint of water. As he got nearer, the ground underfoot grew damp. There were stagnant pools and clumps of reeds. He came to the end of the trail of white stones and found himself on the edge of a wide marsh. A broad, slow-flowing river lay across his path.
Littlenose and Two-Eyes splashed the short distance to the river. There were willow trees along the bank, and others growing on a couple of islands. Which was the island with the herons, he wondered? Two-Eyes nudged him with his trunk. Littlenose turned. A heron was pacing majestically through the shallows by the bank. It stood still for several moments, peering down into the water. Then, quick as a flash, its long beak darted into the water and came up with a wriggling fish. Littlenose watched. The heron slipped the fish into its crop, then rose into the air on enormous wings. It circled round and dropped down into the top of a tree on the farthest-away island. “That’s it,” said Littlenose. “That’s the one!”
Followed by a reluctant mammoth – Two-Eyes didn’t like getting his fur wet – Littlenose waded into the river. The water was little more than knee deep, and they quickly reache
d the island. There were several heron nests in the trees, and the big birds screeched at the intruders.
“Well, the herons are crying, all right,” said Littlenose. “That’s the third line of the poem. Now I can eat my lunch.” He opened the tightly-wrapped skin package. The Old Man had given him several pieces of prime venison. But . . . it was raw! It must be part of the test. All he had to do was build a fire.
It came as a nasty shock to find that there seemed to be nothing to build a fire with! The island was low-lying and swampy, and the few twigs and sticks Littlenose found lying in the grass were too wet to burn. Again, it was Two-Eyes who came to the rescue. He went over to one of the trees and reached up with his trunk. The branches were loaded with dead grass and sticks brought down in the winter floods, all perfectly dry. Littlenose stood on Two-Eyes’ back and dragged down an armful. Quickly, he struck a light with his flints and, in a short time, the venison was toasting over the flames.
Fed and contented, Littlenose sat on a low willow branch and thought, while Two-Eyes grazed nearby. That was half the clues used up, although he had to admit that without Two-Eyes’ help, he wouldn’t have done so well! Why, if he weren’t a mammoth, he might make a pretty good hunter himself. What was the next part of the poem?
