by David Drake
Awakening hunters shouted nervously when they saw the state of the fire. An infant screamed, terrified by the atmosphere of fright.
“Chinless!” Kar ordered. “Boartooth! Get more wood!”
The Chief Fire-Maker himself snatched at partly burned saplings that stuck out from the heart of the fire. He stuffed them into the glowing center. The wood flared in a brief revival, singeing Kar’s forearm and hand. The eyes of the dire wolves gleamed around the tribe, as close as a garnet necklace to the throat of a chief.
Hunters shouted. Some of them threw spears.
“Don’t throw!” Wolf bellowed. “Stab if the wolves come close, but don’t waste your spears!”
Chinless reached for the club he had left on the ground where he had been sleeping. “There isn’t any more wood!” he said. A dire wolf rose from its crouch and clamped its huge jaws over Chinless’s elbow. The man’s voice rose into a scream.
Kar thrust his handful of alder stems into the wolf’s face. His swift motion quenched the flames on the green wood. The smoldering ends left a smear along the carnivore’s gray fur, but the wolf only growled deeper in its throat. It backed away from the camp, dragging Kar’s whimpering assistant with it.
Another dire wolf grabbed Chinless by the leg in its bone-crushing jaws. More of the pack converged on the sudden prey—but a single man was no meal for a dozen animals as big as these. Several sprang into the camp circle, no longer afraid of the fire’s sullen glow. Kar threw down his useless attempt at a torch and ran in the opposite direction.
The Chief Hunter tried to shout an order, but the whole tribe was running. The only light was that of the crescent moon. Screams of panic located humans in the night. Snarls and the horrible sound of bones snapping showed that the wolf pack pursued.
Kar was old, but terror drove him. He overtook a woman who was burdened by her infant child. None of the humans were fleeing somewhere; they were just trying to get away from where they had been.
As the Chief Fire-Maker wheezed past the woman, a huge shadow arched out of the darkness. It was one of the saber-tooths. The cat had been gorging on mammoth for several hours, so it cannot have been hungry. Perhaps the scents of blood and fear had triggered a killer instinct deeper than the mere need for food.
The tiger weighed four or five times as much as the woman. It crushed her flat, silencing the scream in her throat before she had time to utter it. The tiger bent its lower jaw back more than ninety degrees to unsheathe its long fangs. The moonlight was just bright enough to gleam on the teeth as they stabbed down in a duplicate of the blow which had killed a mammoth.
Kar closed his eyes and continued to run until he collapsed, sobbing with exhaustion.
In the morning the Chief Fire-Maker lit a fire on the edge of the forest. The smoke column called the remainder of the tribe to him. Most of them limped from thorn cuts or the shock of falls they had taken while running through the darkness.
Wolf’s left forearm was bloody and swollen. He had wrapped it roughly with grass during the night. Elm tut-tutted about the coarse bandage. When she removed it to wash the area and replace the bandage with one of her own, the puckered holes and slashes left by a dire wolf’s teeth stood out against the Chief Hunter’s swarthy skin.
Wolf’s spearhead was black to the bindings with predator’s blood. Only four other hunters still had their spears.
The battered humans looked around at one another. Four women and three of the children were missing. Nobody suggested going back onto the plain to look for them.
Chinless was the only adult male who had not survived. The men had their weapons, and they had sprinted away from the camp more quickly than most of the women and children could follow.
“We need more spears,” Wolf said heavily. “We have no spear-maker now.”
“I can make spears,” said Boartooth. “My spears will be better than those of Hawk. His spears brought us bad luck.”
Kar had built his fire against an outcrop of gray-brown chert. It was not as hard or as uniform in quality as flint, but the rock was glassy enough to chip into serviceable points if the maker was careful.
Boartooth began worrying a block of chert out of the soft shale in which it was held. The Chief Fire-Maker wondered if the young man had gotten the tusk loose before the tigers drove him away from the mammoth. Ivory was the least of the tribe’s worries now. . . .
“We have fed well,” Wolf said in a forceful voice which compelled his listeners to believe him. “We will make more spears, and we will hunt much more food. Our luck will be very good from now on.”
“We must appease the spirit of the bison,” Elm muttered. “We will have no luck until the spirit of the bison forgives us.”
But she spoke under her breath, and nobody wanted to listen to the old woman anyway.
SABER-TOOTH
Hawk knelt, examining the new sight. A large tree had blown down, and when its imbedded roots had been torn out of their resting place they had carried a great quantity of dirt with them. It still clung to the upraised roots, forming a roof of mingled earth and small stones. Beneath it, crouched as close to the back wall as they could get, the furry puppies slunk close together for comfort and safety.
They were too old to be sucklings, and beaten trails proved that they had already made short hunting expeditions of their own into nearby thickets and bramble patches. One was dun-colored, the other silvery gray. They snarled their defiance of the intruder.
As Hawk peered into the den, he realized that these were probably pups of the two dogs slain in attacking his camp. Deprived of their parents’ protection, only miraculous luck had kept them from falling prey to some predator. If left alone, they would certainly be killed before long because they were too small to defend themselves. Hawk considered.
He should not leave them here, and thus let something else rob him of what, by right of discovery, was his proper food. But there was meat in plenty at the camp and now he had the little antelope buck as well. In hot weather meat spoiled quickly, and if he killed these puppies now the chances were good they would rot before he and Willow could eat them.
A happy thought occurred to him.
He needn’t kill the puppies at all. They were small, and could be captured easily. If he caught them alive, and carried them back to the fire, they could be tied and held prisoners. They needn’t be killed until he and Willow needed meat.
Hawk stood for a full minute interpreting the various sights, sounds, and scents. To capture the puppies he must get down on his hands and knees and crawl part way into the den. Before he did so he wanted to be sure that no danger threatened. But he could see nothing unusual.
He returned his attention to the puppies, who were pushing as hard as they could against the back end of the cave and watching him with bright, hostile eyes. Hawk crawled into the cave and reached out his hand.
Instantly the silver-gray puppy was upon it. Launching himself with all the fury at his command, he slashed with his white, needle-sharp puppy teeth. Hawk grimaced as he withdrew his scratched hand. The puppy took a stance in front of his companion, as though to protect him. He snarled and bristled fiercely.
This time Hawk struck hard, sweeping his hand forward and clenching his fist around the puppy’s forepaws and body. The puppy squirmed, and tried to get his teeth into play. He could not because Hawk gripped him too strongly. Instantly transferring the silver-gray puppy to his left hand, Hawk snatched the other with his right.
As quickly as possible, dragging the pair with him, he withdrew from the cave. He stood erect and retested the winds, then looked and listened. All was peaceful.
The puppies were squirming to free themselves. The silver-gray had got hold of Hawk’s horny left fist and was enthusiastically chewing on it. Unable to get any purchase, or to brace his body, he could not break the skin with his small puppy jaws. But he could make himself felt. Hawk took the puppy by the scruff of his neck, tucked him under his right arm, and kept his right hand tigh
tly closed around the dun-colored one. The pups squirmed and wriggled, trying to get away, and Hawk cuffed them.
He stooped, shouldered the little antelope, clasped his spear and throwing-stick in his left hand, and started back toward the fire. As he neared it, he stopped and slunk into a thicket. A saber-tooth, a big one, was lying on a ledge of rock, studying the fire. Cautiously Hawk retraced his steps. He took a new direction, around the tiger, and trotted lightly into camp.
Having reached the safety of the fire, Hawk glanced back at the ledge upon which lay the saber-tooth, and sniffed the breeze to get the tiger’s scent. It was a big male, and the very fact that it was so stealthily intent on the fire was proof that it was hunting. They would have to be very wary. Hungry meat-eaters had almost endless patience. If this one had decided to watch the camp, it might wait for days on end. But there was no danger as long as they stayed close by the fire.
Willow, who had been out gathering seeds, was grinding them in a hollow stone she had found. She left her work and rose, for the first time able to walk with some freedom. Now she had only a painful limp. Young and strong, she would now recover quickly from the wound.
She looked at the puppies in Hawk’s arms, and took them from him. Then she sat down, cradling the pups and playing with them. They wriggled from her arms to the ground, and Hawk raised his club, scowling his annoyance.
This was not the way to handle the puppies; they would run away at the first opportunity and should be confined or crippled so they could not run far. But he stayed his descending club. The puppies seemed perfectly contented to stay near the girl. When one ventured a little way from her, it returned as soon as she snapped her fingers. Hawk forgot about them.
He stretched out beside the fire and went instantly to sleep. This he must do when he could, for only rarely was there an opportunity to rest. He dared not relax when he went hunting, and night required constant vigilance.
An hour later he sprang erect, his hand shooting out to the club at his side. Then, looking for what had awakened him, he saw the silver-gray puppy making a ferocious attack on his fur girdle. The other one was tumbling over and over in the grass, waging a fierce mock battle with a stick. Smiling at their antics, Willow became sober-faced as soon as Hawk sprang to his feet.
For a moment he was angry. He raised his club, tempted to smash the gray puppy’s brains out with it, but the look of pleading on Willow’s face made him desist. He lowered the club, pushed the puppy out of the way with his foot, caught up his spear, and stalked haughtily off to gather more wood. Unabashed, the gray puppy trailed at his heels.
A flock of big, turkeylike birds scattered ahead of him. One by one they rose to wing away. Hawk drew back his club to hurl it at one of the birds, but he was forestalled by the gray puppy. Yapping hysterically, it flung himself forward and leaped upon a running bird.
He fastened his small teeth on the wing feathers, and strained backward with all his strength. The running bird dragged him, but the puppy would not let go nor could the bird rise while thus encumbered. Hawk stepped forward, grabbed the running bird, snatched it away from the puppy, and wrung its neck.
He stood still, dangling the big bird by its twisted neck and smacking his lips. Such game was a delicacy which the tribe almost never enjoyed because the hunters could seldom get close enough to kill it. The spear-maker looked down at the panting puppy, who now reared against his knee, stretching an eager nose toward the bird. Hawk stared quizzically at him.
A few hours ago the puppy had been a wild, savage thing, ready and willing to fight him as best it could. Now it was almost tame. Too young to know any better, it had accepted the humans in place of its own parents, and had even aided in the hunt.
This was something entirely new to Hawk, and therefore something he could not understand. Certainly he would not have the bird had not the puppy caught it for him. This much he realized. But there was, in his mind, no possible connection between one single incident and the idea of using the puppy as a hunting companion. Men had always hunted for themselves and he would continue to do so. But at least he felt more kindly disposed toward his small prisoner.
He gathered an armful of wood and returned to the fire. The dun puppy gamboled happily out to meet him. Kicking him aside, Hawk threw the dead bird down beside Willow. The gray puppy sat expectantly on his haunches, turning bright little eyes from Willow to Hawk and back at the bird. He barked sharply, and wagged his furry tail.
Hawk ate a piece of antelope, saying nothing about the remainder. Certainly there was more missing than he and Willow had eaten, therefore she must have fed the puppies while he had been sleeping. That was all right as long as there was plenty.
His meat finished, Hawk tossed the bone to the gray puppy and moved restlessly about the camp.
The lurking tiger posed a very real threat, and one that must be dealt with. It was not the ordinary night prowler or occasional daytime visitor. This tiger had marked its quarry down and evidently had a plan. It seemed to know humans and their habits, and sooner or later would catch Willow or Hawk, or both, away from their fire and in a place where they might safely be attacked.
Armed with the two spears, his throwing-stick, and his club, Hawk left the fire. He circled through the forest to the rocky ledge upon which he had seen the tiger. It had left, and Hawk moved cautiously up to the place where it had been. He found the tiger’s resting place in a ledge of rocks from which the camp could be studied to perfect advantage. Keeping a spear poised, and constantly on the alert, Hawk followed the tiger’s tracks.
For a moment he was puzzled because they led downhill and away from the camp. He stooped in order to study the tiger’s trail more clearly. The beast was a long way ahead of him, but there was always the possibility that it might circle and lay an ambush. Hawk hunted into the wind, always trying to know what lay ahead, and whenever the tiger’s trail veered with the wind, he circled until he picked it up again. A half-hour later he knew why the tiger had abandoned its watch of their camp.
A large herd of camels had moved into the area. Their scent came faintly at first, but as Hawk moved nearer, the odor strengthened. They had passed among the little hillocks and winding valleys toward the same river meadows upon which the tribe had unsuccessfully attempted to trap the giant bison. Hawk swerved from the tiger’s trail and climbed a hill.
From the summit he looked into a partly wooded valley. The camel herd had passed here, so many of them that they had left a beaten road behind them. Below, in the valley, Hawk saw the tiger.
It was eating from a large camel it had pulled down. Vultures were wheeling through the sky, and others had already alighted in the nearby trees. Endlessly patient, they were waiting until the tiger was through before they descended to feast on what remained. Skulking in the grass were two other hopeful scavengers: a pair of wild cats that were also lingering until the tiger was finished before they fought over whatever was left.
Hawk had previously noticed that the saber-tooth was an old beast. Yet it was not too old to kill a full-grown camel. Even though some of its vigor was gone, it was a beast to watch carefully. Hawk went back down the hillock and started toward the river meadows.
From another vantage he looked down upon the camel herd. Hundreds strong, they were feeding avidly on the rich river grass. Judging by their condition, they had journeyed a long way from some arid, drought-stricken pastures. But at last they were here and now would give themselves over to satisfying their hunger. They would stay here until the river meadows were grazed bare or until they were driven elsewhere by raiding beasts.
Already the raiders were gathering. As Hawk watched, a small pack of dogs swooped upon a camel calf feeding at its mother’s side. The mother whirled to defend her young, striking high with her big hooves. Three of the dogs feinted before her, luring her away and distracting her attention while three more went in and killed the calf.
Hawk turned away, satisfied. The camel herd was a blessing in more ways than one. He
himself could hunt them, for one man could kill a camel. Also, it was very unlikely that any predator would bother to stalk a man when there was easier and safer game to be had. He was sure that the tiger would stay near the camel herd as long as the camels stayed.
But, though Hawk needn’t fear the tiger in the near future, there were other things he must do. Never far from his thoughts was the fact that he was a lone man. Banished from his tribe, he lacked the safety which numbers alone could furnish. When faced with danger, he could not present the many spear points that the tribe could.
He needed more striking power, more weapons. But if he carried two spears and a club he was already burdened down with everything he could conveniently carry and handle. The throwing-stick was a thing of great power, but suppose he was confronted by a pack of dogs or wolves? After he had thrown his two spears he must still rely on his club, and that meant dangerous, close-quarter work. Hawk turned back toward the fire, giving all his thoughts to this new problem.
All about were the scents of small beasts: rodents, deer, antelope, and different tree-climbing creatures. According to their natures, they either bounded out of his way or froze tightly where they were, hoping to escape detection by staying quiet. Hawk paid no particular attention to any of them, for these were creatures he needn’t fear and at the present didn’t want. But suddenly he stopped, his nostrils dilated. The wind bore him the scent of another wild cat, and he knew from the odor that the cat was in a dangerous mood. Furthermore, it was coming his way. He fitted a spear into his throwing-stick.
The little cat came upon him suddenly, bursting out of the grass and hurling itself recklessly toward him. Hawk waited, not wanting to cast his spear until the right moment and not afraid of the little cat anyway. He could kill it with his club if need be, but the throwing-stick was a new power, and he wished to use it as much as possible. When the bouncing wild cat was about twenty feet away, Hawk smoothly cast his spear.
