by John Grant
“How much?” said Dad, hoarsely.
The old man shook his head. “It’s not for sale. It’s made to measure for a high chief of the Mountain People. To be collected today. Sorry.”
Dad just stood as the old man took the red fox fur robe, folded it carefully and placed it on top of the heap. Littlenose thought this was strange - why wasn’t something to be collected today on top of the pile already?
“Another time, perhaps,” the old man was saying as Dad walked away with a very strange look.
“What about the haggling and the hard bargain bit?” thought Littlenose.
For the rest of the afternoon Dad wandered about looking at the various things for sale. He bought a bundle of bone needles and a ladle, but nothing else from the list which Mum had given him, while Littlenose looked for something to buy with the five white pebbles he had earned doing odd jobs for the neighbours.
At length, as the sun slipped lower in the sky, they found themselves back by the tree where the old man sat with his furs. He called over to Dad. “This is indeed your lucky day, your lordship. I’ve just had some very sad news. The high chief of the Mountain People was eaten this afternoon. By a sabre-tooth tiger.”
“You mean . . .?” said Dad.
“Yes,” said the old man. “The red fox fur robe will go to waste unless, that is, someone of good taste and—”
“I’ll take it!” shouted Dad. “How much do you want?”
“Now,” thought Littlenose, “is where we see some real hard bargaining.” But, to his astonishment, when the old man said, “Twenty green pebbles,” Dad didn’t even pause as he went on “ . . . and I’m giving it away. Taking the food out of the mouths of my wife and children . . .”
Dad was already pouring his coloured pebbles out of their leather pouch and desperately counting them. Red ones, green ones, a few yellow, and a handful of white. He muttered to himself, counting on his fingers, then he turned to Littlenose. “I’m five white pebbles short. Have you any?” Littlenose hesitated for a moment, then handed Dad his pebbles.
With shaking hands, Dad thrust two handfuls of pebbles at the old man and snatched up the red fox fur robe. “A pleasure to do business with you, sir,” said the old man.
“I bet it is,” thought Littlenose.
Two-Eyes was surprised not to be laden down with a pile of Dad’s purchases. But Mum was even more surprised when they arrived home. It was dark, and Mum was busy at the back of the cave. She saw the figure in the red fox fur robe in the light from the fire and hurried forward. “I’m afraid my husband isn’t home yet, sir—” she started to say, then stopped. “Good gracious! It’s YOU!” she cried, and sat down with a thump.
Littlenose came into the cave. “It’s Dad’s new hunting robe,” he said. “Fox fur. Fully-fashioned.”
Mum was too astonished to say any more. Dad gave her the needles and bone ladle, then, being careful to avoid making creases, he sat down to wait for Mum to bring supper.
It was late, and they went to bed as soon as they had eaten, Dad very reluctantly taking off his new robe.
When Littlenose woke next morning, Dad had already gone out. He came in just as they were sitting down for breakfast . . . and he was wearing the fox fur hunting robe. “Just been for a stroll,” he said. “Air’s marvellously fresh this time of the morning.” He sat down, and Mum began ladling out his breakfast. A tiny drop splashed out of the clay bowl. Dad cringed back. “Careful!” he shouted. “Don’t throw it about like that! It’s everywhere!” And he rubbed and scrubbed at an invisible spot of breakfast on the red fur.
After breakfast, Littlenose prepared to go out to play with Two-Eyes. The weather had turned mild, and Mum said to Littlenose, “I don’t think you need wear your winter furs.” Dad had to go to see Nosey the tracker on a matter of business, and Mum watched in amazement as he settled the new robe neatly on his shoulders and smoothed the fur with his hands before going out into the warm sun.
Long before Dad reached Nosey’s cave, Nosey saw a large crowd approaching. In front was Dad, pretending not to notice the other hunters who pointed at the red fox fur robe and shouted things like: “It’s the new autumn fashion! Red fox? Red face, you mean!” And the man was right. Dad was boiling under his hunting robe, and his face glowed crimson. But he tried to ignore his discomfort, as he ignored the remarks.
“I’ll take your robe,” said Nosey, as Dad entered the cave.
“No, no. It’s quite all right,” said Dad hastily. “I’m not stopping more than a few moments.”
“Please yourself,” said Nosey, as Dad sat down and surreptitiously wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The business, about the last hunt before the winter, was settled quickly.
During the week before the hunt, Dad was hardly to be seen without his red fox fur hunting robe, and after a time people got used to it and stopped making humorous remarks.
On the day of the hunt the men of the tribe gathered at dawn in front of the caves. By this time the weather had turned definitely wintry, and they all wore their hunting robes. They were made from brown bear, grey wolf, and only one was red fox! If nothing else, Dad was conspicuous!
The hunting party set off, led as usual by Nosey and his incredibly sensitive nose. Through the forest they went in single file, the apprentice hunters (including Littlenose) bringing up the rear. Then Nosey held up his hand and the hunters halted, while Nosey crouched low and sniffed and snuffled among the pine needles. He stood up, pointed, and whispered, “There, thirty . . . no, I tell a lie . . . twenty-nine paces away is a bull elk.”
That was good news. There was enough meat on a bull elk to feed the tribe for several weeks. The hunting party began to circle around through the trees to get downwind of the elk, their hunting robes making them almost invisible as they merged with the shadows beneath the trees. Well, almost! Everybody merged . . . except Dad. The red fox fur of his hunting robe positively shone out, and Nosey signalled with his hand for Dad to get back behind a tree trunk. But it was too late. The elk came grazing its way into the clearing where the Neanderthal hunters waited, hidden amidst the gloom of the forest. Then it stopped. What was that? Something man-sized and bright red. The bull elk hadn’t got where it was by hanging around asking questions . . . even of itself! It turned in a flash and crashed through the undergrowth and was gone.
Nosey jumped up and down with vexation, and in true Neanderthal fashion they all stood and shouted at each other, particularly at Dad, before they moved on to try again. Again Nosey’s wonderful nose led the way, while Nosey muttered about lost opportunities, and they’d be dashed lucky to get another chance. But they did, almost straight away.
The trees were thinning out, there was very little cover, when Nosey said in a loud whisper, “Down, everybody!”
A small herd of deer was feeding and hadn’t spotted the hunters, who dropped flat in the grass. Except one. Dad looked at the ground. It was damp and a bit muddy. One couldn’t go around throwing oneself down on any old patch of ground, particularly wearing fully-fashioned fox fur robes. He knelt and began carefully to brush away some loose twigs and dead leaves. He covered the muddy bit with a handful of grass, then began gingerly to lower himself on to his stomach, taking care not to wrinkle his hunting robe. The hunters watched in total disbelief. And so did the deer . . . for a split second. Then they were gone, in a flash of white tails and a rattling of antlers on low branches.
There was absolutely no doubt whose fault it was this time, and Dad was made to go to the rear of the column, behind even the apprentices, where, it was decided, he could do the least harm.
And off trudged the hunting party once more.
“That’s two chances we’ve missed,” said one. “I don’t really suppose we’ll get another.”
“No,” said another man. “It’s only accidents that come in threes. But that’s really two we’ve had already. What’s going to happen next?”
“Oh, something really terrible, like an earthquake,” said
his friend, and they went on, braced for the next disaster. It came a few moments later.
Dad’s voice came urgently from the tail of the column. “Listen! What’s that?”
Behind them they could hear a thudding, rumbling noise accompanied by a crashing of undergrowth and getting closer every moment.
“An earthquake! I knew it!” cried someone.
Then, with a snort and a bellow, the “earthquake” was upon them. Bursting out of the trees came the most ferocious animal of the Ice Age world. Even the sabre-tooth tigers were afraid of the forest cattle, and it was the biggest imaginable forest bull which thundered down upon the Neanderthal hunters, the sharp tips of its great horns shining dangerously in the sunlight.
Someone shouted, “RUN!” which was a bit pointless, since the hunters were already scattering in all directions before the bull had caught more than its first glimpse of them. Before it had reached the centre of the clearing they were already safely in the branches of tall trees!
Except one!
While his companions sprinted for safety, their hunting robes flying wildly about them, Dad shambled as quickly as he could, hampered by the elegantly close-fitting lines of his fully-fashioned red fox fur hunting robe. The bull whirled round, looking for its vanished victims, and saw Dad desperately trying to hitch up the robe as he ran. At the last moment he managed to sidestep the charging animal, and before it could turn for another charge he untied the strings which fastened the robe and pulled it off. Then he ran like the wind for the trees, the red fox robe over his arm. But, fast as he ran, the bull galloped faster. When the hoof beats were right behind him, Dad again side-stepped, and the bull passed so close that the wind almost knocked him off his feet.
From the safety of the trees, Littlenose and the hunters watched in astonishment as Dad ducked and dodged the bull. Every time Dad got close to a tree, the bull was somehow there first, ready to charge again.
After a particularly wild charge by the bull, Dad stood panting in the centre of the clearing, the red robe in one hand and trailing on the ground, and the bull glared with fierce red eyes from the edge of the forest, pawing at the ground and tossing its horns. Dad looked round for the nearest tree, and he had his back to the bull when it charged. He whirled at the last second, the robe flying out, and the bull raced past, skidded to a halt and came at him again. This happened several times, then Littlenose suddenly shouted, “It’s the ROBE! It’s not YOU it’s after, Dad. It thinks the ROBE’S ALIVE! Drop the robe and save yourself!”
“Not likely!” shouted back Dad as he leapt yet again to safety. “This robe cost me twenty green pebbles. No bull’s going to get it . . . no matter how big it is!” And he pirouetted quite gracefully with the robe flying over the bull’s horns which missed Dad by a hair’s breadth.
The hunters clung to their branches, astounded. It was really very exciting. Littlenose didn’t know that Dad could be so agile, but then it wasn’t every day that Dad had a giant forest bull after him with its long sharp horns. But Dad was beginning to tire. As the bull charged he just stood and swung the robe in a circle so that the bull skidded by under his outstretched arm, and Nosey leaned from his tree and shouted, “Olé!”
Dad looked up at the sound of Nosey’s voice, and in that moment the bull caught the tip of one horn in the hem of the robe, nearly pulling Dad off his feet before it was torn from his grasp. While the bull knelt on the fallen robe and ripped and slashed at it with its horns, two of the hunters dashed across the clearing and dragged Dad to the safety of the trees.
The last sight any of them had of the red fox fur hunting robe was a glimpse of a tattered fragment flying from the tip of a horn as the bull, with a triumphant snort, disappeared into the depths of the forest. That is, if you don’t count the squidgy patch of trodden earth, mashed-up grass, leaves and fragments of red fur in the middle of the clearing.
“That was my fully-fashioned red fox fur hunting robe,” wailed Dad, almost in tears. “I’ll never have one like that again.”
“Good,” said Nosey, unsympathetically.
As they prepared to set off home, Littlenose said to Nosey, “Mr Nosey, what was that you shouted back there? When Dad dodged the bull? ‘Olé!’ or something.”
“I don’t really know,” said Nosey. “It just seemed sort of appropriate.”
And he set about sorting out the party into their correct order for the trek back to the caves.
Two-Eyes’ Friends
Littlenose’s best friend was Two-Eyes, his pet mammoth. Great herds of wild mammoths roamed the land. They usually kept clear of the places where people lived, but occasionally, if food was scarce, they would be seen close at hand, and Littlenose had several times watched from a safe distance as a herd went by.
The young mammoths were the same size as Two-Eyes but the grown-up ones towered as tall as trees, with long powerful trunks and enormous curved tusks.
One day, Littlenose was playing one of his own very complicated games outside the cave where he lived. It involved twigs and stones and patterns in the sand, and was so intricate that only he really understood it. Two-Eyes, who was supposed to be playing, eventually gave up and wandered away by himself.
He made his way up the hill behind the cave and on to the grassy upland beyond. It was a lovely day, and a fresh wind was blowing.
Two-Eyes snuffed at the breeze with his trunk. It was full of all sorts of interesting smells. He took another snuffle, and his eyes grew round with excitement. His ears spread out and his trunk held straight in front of him, he trotted forward, following an unusual scent. It grew stronger every moment, until he came to the edge of a hollow, and saw something that made him squeal with delight.
It was a huge herd of mammoths!
The great males were standing on the edge of the crowd, keeping watch for any cave lion or sabre-toothed tiger who might fancy a piece of mammoth steak for lunch. The females gathered in groups exchanging mammoth gossip, while there were dozens of young ones, like Two-Eyes, running and jumping and playing all over the place.
Two-Eyes gave a little squeal and trotted down into the hollow. The young mammoths stopped playing and watched him suspiciously. One of them came over to Two-Eyes. They snuffled at each other and grunted and squeaked in mammoth talk, and a moment later were firm friends. The others crowded round, and they too squeaked and grunted at Two-Eyes, and soon it was as if they had known each other all their lives.
Then the games started again. They ran races, played tug-of-war with their trunks, and did a wonderful dance. Each held the tail of the one in front in his trunk, while they wound their way in a long snaky line through the hollow, much to the annoyance of the grown-ups.
Two-Eyes was enjoying himself so much that he forgot the time. Only when the sun was getting low in the sky did he realize that it was late, and that he ought to be thinking of going home.
He trumpeted “Good-bye” to his friends and started to leave. But they didn’t want him to go! They came running after him, and crowded round, while Two-Eyes desperately tried to explain that he had to go.
They would come too, they squealed; and Two-Eyes couldn’t make them understand that he lived in a cave with Littlenose and his mother and father. The mammoths didn’t want to be parted from their new friend, and in the end, Two-Eyes set off with them all crowding round him.
Meanwhile, Littlenose had realized that Two-Eyes had not returned, and it was getting near bedtime. He stood at the cave entrance and called: “TWO-EYES!”
But there was no answer.
He called again, and was just about to set off to look for him in the woods when, looking up, he saw a black shape appear on the crest of the hill behind the cave. “Come on, Two-Eyes,” he shouted. “It’s late. Almost bedtime.”
The black shape started running down the hill, and Littlenose was about to turn away when he gasped in horror. Not one, but dozens of little black mammoths were coming over the crest. Like a black, furry wave they poured over and down, headi
ng straight for the cave. Littlenose turned to run . . . but he was too late.
The mammoths swept past and over him, knocking him off his feet. In a cloud of dust, and squealing and snorting, they rushed straight into the cave.
Pots broke, the supper was trampled underfoot, the fire was stamped out and Mum and Dad were pushed up flat against the back of the cave.
Mum was speechless . . . but Dad wasn’t!
“LITTLENOSE!” he screamed. “Get them out! This is all your fault! Get these stupid creatures out before they knock the whole place down!”
Littlenose got safely behind a tree this time before he called: “TWO-EYES!”
Two-Eyes heard and came running out of the cave . . . but so did all the others. Once more the black furry tide swept around Littlenose, but this time it didn’t knock him down.
“Please, Two-Eyes,” said Littlenose. “I don’t know which one is you. Couldn’t you please ask your friends to go home, and only you come when I call?
But of course the friends didn’t want to go. They stood, pressed close around Littlenose, waiting to see what would happen next. They were enjoying this new game.
In the cave, Dad and Mum looked at the damage. It was dreadful. There was hardly a thing that hadn’t been broken.
“That mammoth is the stupidest creature I know,” said Dad, angrily.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” said Mum, soothingly. “He was only playing with his friends. He’s brought them visiting, and they want to meet us.”
