On and on he struggled, the chill of night striking his limbs, numbing and paralyzing, and presently the moon had sunk, and a faint glow in the sky proclaimed the coming of the dawn. Eagerly he pressed on, catching at times fugitive glimpses of the water, oily in its smoothness—of a sudden he stopped, arrested in mid-stride, for a momentary thinning of the mist, which closed again at once, had shown him the form of a man, one of his enemies, resting on his knees, his head thrown forward as if listening.
Was he to be halted now? Pulling himself together, calling up his failing strength, slowly, silently, more cautiously than ever, Menzono-men crept forward, dagger in hand—he drew near the spot where the closing mist had hid the foe— nearer—nearer—he could make out the form— nearer—he drew back his arm to strike—one step—he held the blow, staring in amazement— the man was dead!
A deep wound in the chest showed whence the life had fled; stricken to death in the fight of the day before, the Little Hairy Man had rolled into the river; carried down, he had struggled ashore, had made his way to this spot of firmer ground, and here had died, resting against the bush that now unheld his lifeless form.
Menzono-men drew a deep breath, skirted around the body of the foe, and slipped into the river, pushing his way through the sedge till deeper water was reached, then, secure from chance vision, hidden under the fog wreaths of early morning, the cool water bringing new life to his wearied limbs, he struck out for the farther shore.
Late that afternoon the Great Chieftain, directing, deep in the forest, the making of the canoes, was startled at the appearance of a horrible figure that struggled through the brush into the clearing where the trees had been felled. Plastered and caked with mud and gore, blood still trickling from the newly opened wound in his shoulder, green slime from the swamp clinging in his hair, his head and arms and body blotched and swollen and distorted from the venom of the mosquitoes, Menzono-men, exhausted, reeled into the clearing.
Dropping their tools, the warriors crowded about him till L’vu and Sar-no-m’rai, pushing through the throng, caught him under the arms and led him before the chieftain. Summoning his failing strength, Menzono-men straightened up, speaking through swollen lips, his voice thick and blurred, mumbling: “Surrounded—ambush—in the caves— fighting—Ku-ten commands—four slain— through the swamp—mosquitoes—devils—the river—” His voice trailed off into an unintelligible mutter, his head dropped forward, his knees sagged, his body slumped against the arms of the two who held him, and gently they eased him to the ground at the feet of the Great Chieftain. For the space of ten breaths the chieftain stood in thought, while all watched, none moving, and then he spoke, his orders rattling like hail, his voice harsh with the note of authority:
“Take weapons, form ranks; leave these logs—those at the river will serve. L’vu, Kan-to, Sar-no-m’rai, with me; Sen-va and A-ta here; you, and you, and you”—with pointing finger he chose five from among the warriors—”here as a guard. Care for this man; bathe and feed him; give him to drink and let him rest; he has done well. To the rescue, men of the Ta-an! Forward!”
By midnight the warriors of the Ta-an had reached the river, bringing down to the shore the two canoes left by Menzono-men and three others since completed and hidden, in readiness for the attack. But now there rose in the mind of the chieftain a question, a doubt. Would it be better to cross far up-stream, making several trips to ferry across the four or five hundred warriors, then march down upon the Little Hairy Men, forcing their defenses, or to take a hundred men in the canoes and thrust straight across the river, trusting to surprise to terrify, the enemy by their first sight of the Cave That Swims On The Water? He called his counselors to him and laid the matter before them, and, as usual, it was Sar-no-m’rai, the silent, who found the answer: “Let the men cross straight,” he said, “and to each log let as many as may find place cling fast, their bodies in the stream. Thus the logs will not be overweighted, yet may the warriors cross nor tire themselves with swimming. Coming within bow-shot or nearer, let them loose their hold of the logs and swim ashore, those in the Caves That Swim On The Water covering them meanwhile with flight after flight of arrows. Landing, they will make good their footing till the others reach the bank.”
“Well is it spoken,” said the chieftain. “Thus shall we bring all to the attack, on the least guarded side.”
And so was it ordered and so was it done. A hundred warriors, each with his strung bow and a quiver of arrows beside him, manned the canoes, and the rest, armed with ax and dagger for handto- hand combat, trailed in the water, hands on the gunwales of the craft, and thus, propelled by the silent paddles, the men of the Ta-an swept down on their foes.
It was a cloudy night; behind great masses of dark wind-driven clouds the moon shone, but little light did it cast on the river and the shore. From time to time fitful greams broke through as the skyey rack was torn apart by hurtling gusts, which bent and swayed the trees and roughened the surface of the mighty river, making the passage to the unaccustomed paddlers of the Ta-an, doubly, trebly hard.
Yet was the wind an aid; the noise of its rush and sweep among the trees drowned all sounds of the passage, and the rough water was far less likely to show strange sights than had it been as glass. Further, the cloudy darkness helped, since the Little Hairy Men, blinded by their own watchfires, could not well see the stream. Also, they trusted the river; none could cross it—to their minds—save by swimming, and warriors who swam that broad water would not come to shore with strength to fight. So it was that the men of the Ta-an were within fifty paces of the shore ere Gur, chancing to cast an eye toward the stream at the very moment that the moon peered from behind a cloud, caught sight of armed men coming in strange fashion on the bosom of the water. The Great Chieftain heard Gur’s warning shout, and answered it with an order to his own men.
“Now, swimmers! Bowmen, make ready! To the shore!”
The swimmers loosed their grip and with the long, sweeping overhand stroke rushed for the bank, but the canoes, driven by strong arms, bade fair to overtake them, and on the instant T’san-vamen changed his plan. Loud above the roar of the wind and the cries of the gathering enemy sounded his voice: “Bowmen, ashore! Make good the landing! Forward!” and the canoes crept on, passing the swimming warriors, rushing to the bank, driving high on the sloping ground, and from them sprang the warriors. In open order they knelt, speeding their arrows, holding back the rush of the enemy, till the axmen, landing, ranged themselves in line. Then followed a dreadful fight, fought by the ruddy light of the leaping fires and the cold gleams that from time to time broke through the clouds. No quarter was asked on either side, nor was any given; falling, a man died where he fell, from blow of ax or club or from dagger-thrust. Thrice the swarming hordes of the Little Hairy Men fell back, but the fourth time, rallying to Gur’s call, they pressed on and closed with the men of the Ta-an.
Ax and dagger and club rose and fell, the camp resounded with the shrieks and groans of wounded men, with the battle-cries of the Little Hairy Men, with the screams of the women, who watched from the slope of the hill. Backward and forward swayed the battle, the Ta-an at times hurled back toward the river-bank by press of numbers, then, rallying, driving their foes before them toward the caves.
In the heat of the fight met Gur and T’san-vamen, and the battle paused about them as they closed. Snarling like a beast, Gur rushed on his foe, his great war-club raised high for the downward sweep, but like the panther of the forest the Great Chieftain waited—the club swept down—the leader of the Ta-an sprang back—the club crashed on the earth, and ere Gur, overbalanced, could catch himself, T’san-va-men leaped.
“This for A-ta!” he cried, and his long, keen dagger flashed in the moonlight; Gur fell, and the Little Hairy Men, disheartened, gave back. At that instant the scouts of Menzono-men, rushing down the hill, fell on the foe in the rear, and the battle swiftly became a rout; some few of the Little Hairy Men escaped, passing over the hill to the east
and losing themselves in the forest ere overtaken by the men of the Ta-an; some few, fleeing to the west, won through the morass, but most who chose that route were bogged and mired in the swamp and drowned.
And when the pale light of morning struggled through the clouds even T’san-va-men, stern chieftain that he was, shuddered as he looked about him on the havoc the night had brought. Above, on the hill, the wailing women; nearer, before the caves, three row of dead, where the Little Hairy Men had broken before the arrows of the Ta-an; still nearer, on the shore, a ghastly tangled mass of dead and dying, friend and foe mingled in strange, unnatural postures, the sands beneath them red. T’san-va-men sighed deeply and turned to the shore, shaking his head. Across the chieftain’s shoulders L’vu, his giant friend, laid an arm.
“Nay. Lord of the Winged Death,” he spoke, “it had to be; no other was lay open before us. Not safe were the lives of the Ta-an while the Little Hairy Men held sway in the forest.”
“You speak the words of truth, friend of mine,” answered the Great Chieftain. “Yet is my soul sick within me. Let us go.”
The warriors crossed once more the river, ferried by twenties, and again back in the forest, a litter was made for Menzono-men, two poles being laid side by side and branches wattled across, leaves laid on these making soft the bed. Eight scout warriors lifted it, the young man resting thereon, for the return to the homes of the Ta-an, A-ta walking beside and holding the hand of her lover.
Gradually, as the days passed, Menzono-men recovered his strength, helped thereto in no small measure by the pressure of that soft hand in his and the looks bent on him by those bright eyes, ever turned in love toward his face, toward his contented smile, and the day before the homes of the Ta-an were reached he begged to be set down, that he might return, marching on his own feet, not carried on the shoulders of others.
His request was granted, and so the entry into the camp was made, when the young man saw admiring crowds pressing around him, to touch his hand—the chieftain had sent messengers ahead, to tell of the victory and of the part A-ta and Menzono-men had played. None ventured to touch the hand of A-ta; Menzono-men was a hero, but she was something more; he had crossed the Swamp of Death, but she had made the Cave That Swims On The Water, and the women and children and old men of the Ta-an gazed on her with awe, pressing close, bowing, but not daring to lay hand on hers. Even her own father bent respectfully before her, whereat A-ta was mightily amused and wished to laugh, but did not. Reaching the camp, the Great Chieftain sent out a call for all the tribe to assemble next midday at the Rock of Council, sending messengers in all directions, that none might be absent, and when the sun stead overhead on the following day came the throngs, with much buzz of thought, crowding about the Rock.
Presently came T’san-va-men, his own personal followers with him, also Menzono-men and A-ta, and the crowd parted to let them pass. Mounting the Rock, the Great Chieftain waited till silence spread over the multitude, then he spoke, his strong voice carrying to all parts of the clearing:
“People of the Ta-an,” he said, “by now is it known to you, from the lips of others, how we fought and won; you have heard of the death of the traitorous Chief Priest at the hands of Menzono-men, in fair fight; you have heard of how Menzono-men, winning through the deadly swamp, brought news of the ambush; and you have heard of how the victory came, in no small measure, through A-ta, first maker of the Cave That Swims On The Water. Well indeed has Menzono-men proven himself, and great shall be his reward, for A-ta shall he have to wife.
“Remains then the reward of A-ta. People of the Mountain Caves, by old tradition, by the law of the tribe, handed down from ere the time of Snorr, Great Chieftain of the, Ta-an, each chieftain is one who has aided the tribe. My service, the Winged Death, is known to you, likewise that of him who went before, Na-t’san, Son of the Red God, who first brought the gift of fire to the tribesmen.
“But to you here gathered do I say that the service of this maiden is as great as his or mine; in years to come the Cave That Swims On The Water is destined to bring aid and comfort, food and safety and help to the People of the Mountain Caves. Therefore should she be chieftain in my place when it is mine to make the journey into the Long Dark. “But since no woman, by the law of the tribe, may rule over us, may hold the baton of the chieftain, this may not be. Yet reward must she have, and a great one, and therefore, calling to witness the Great Father who rules us all, in his name do I swear, and call upon you to see that the oath is kept, that the first-born son of A-ta shall take my place, ruling over the Ta-an in my stead when I am gone. I have sworn.”
Waving his hand, the Great Chieftain stepped down from the Rock of Council, and a mighty shout rose swelling from the crowd: “Hail, A-ta, Girl of the Mountain Caves! Hail to her who gives us the Cave That Swims On The Water! Hail and long life to her and to her husband, who passed through the Swamp of Death to bring word to the Great Chieftain! Long life and honor and joy be theirs!”
Great feasting was there at the wedding of Menzono-men and A-ta, great feasting and many songs. Wild cattle and horses were roasted whole, in great pits, together with sweet roots and fruit and berries from the forest. Dances also were there, and beating of drums, for had not the Great Chieftain himself ordered that all honor should be paid these two? And when at last the feasting was done, the songs sung, and the dancers wearied, when the Great Chieftain, as became his dignity, had withdrawn to his own cave, torches were seized, and the People of the Mountain Caves, a compact body, escorted the young couple to the cave that was to be their home.
There in the mouth of the cave halted Menzono-men and A-ta, their eyes shining with happiness, she pressing close to him, his arm about her shoulders, while the crowd, a little down the slope, shouted and waved the flaring torches. Thrice Menzono-men strove to speak, but his heart was too full, and at last he merely flung out his arm in sign of greeting and thanks. And so may we also take leave of them, of Menzono-men, Slayer of Wolves, the man who passed the Swamp of Death, and A-ta, the Girl of the Mountain Caves, who gave to her people the Cave That Swims On The Water.
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The Cave that Swims on the Water Page 6
