The Hunter Returns

by David Drake

  Somehow they would have to be thrown off the trail, and that would be a very difficult feat; all men who lived by hunting were past masters in the art of tracking. A broken twig, or a bent or broken blade of grass, were usually enough. Hawk turned to Willow.

  “We must escape the hunters who are sure to follow,” he said. “Even without them, the situation here is not good. There are only mammoths to hunt, and they are too dangerous. There was not much game around our old camp, but it could be hunted. We must return.”

  Hawk led off, still following the hillocks that flanked the river meadows. The pursuit, certain to follow, would be patient and relentless. To throw it off, they would need all the guile and craft at their command. By traveling away from their old camp instead of toward it, the pursuers might be deceived into thinking they were going to continue in that direction.

  They walked carefully, choosing each place to put their feet down. They avoided grass or brush whose broken or trampled appearance might betray them, and walked on stones or stone ledges where they were available. Often Hawk circled to cut back on their trail and brush out some real or fancied mark.

  It was midafternoon before Hawk swerved away from the hills, making the first arc of a great circle that would carry them back to the camp they had left. When he turned, he walked down a rock ledge that sloped in the direction he wished to travel. They stopped at the end of the ledge.

  Beyond was nothing but sand, a great area of white sand in which sparse tufts of grass grew at scattered intervals. Hawk looked worriedly back toward the hills. He doubted if the hunters would escape from the mammoths in time to see them crossing the sand, but he and Willow would leave plain tracks. Still, there was no guarantee that they would not run into more sand if they returned and sought a new way, and they had to travel in this direction if they would reach their old camp.

  A strong breeze blew down the ledge and plucked at the sand. Its surface ruffled gently.

  Stooping, Hawk gathered the dog in his arms and held him tightly. He started across the sand. Behind him, Willow stepped exactly in his tracks. On the other side of the sand-covered area at last, Hawk stopped and looked back.

  Their tracks were still plain, but the wind was filling them; before the hunters came along it might cover them completely. They would have to trust the wind.

  An hour later Hawk turned toward a grove of trees. Night was coming, and any human foolish enough to travel at night did so at the risk of almost certain death. But at least the hunters would not travel at night either. He and Willow had eluded their pursuers so far, and were safe from them until morning.

  The trees were chunky forest giants with tough vines dangling thickly from huge limbs. Hawk stopped beneath one and looked up into its interlaced twigs and branches. If they were to hide their trail, a fire was out of the question. Therefore they must spend the night in a tree. Hawk grasped the trailing end of a vine and put his weight on it. The vine held. It would not come tumbling down, or break and let them fall. Hawk motioned Willow to climb up.

  She went up hand over hand. Halfway to the first limb she twined her legs around the vine and rested. Then she resumed her climb and drew herself up on the great limb. Leaving all his weapons except his knife behind him, Hawk followed. Once on the limb, he turned around to examine their night’s bed.

  The limb itself was so large that they might have lain on it without too much danger of falling, but the crotch at the trunk was much safer. They walked down the limb, and settled themselves in the massive spread of branches that rose from the crotch. The space was large enough so they could sleep comfortably and safely.

  At the foot of the tree, the dog was curled in a furry ball, his bushy tail over his leathery black nose. The dog got up, padded restlessly about, and returned to his bed at the foot of the tree. He knew how to take care of himself at night, and there was no need to worry about him.

  When Hawk awakened sometime during the night, a bright moon had risen and was shedding a soft brilliance that almost matched the light of day. He stirred uneasily. He had been awakened by a sensation of danger, a premonition of something that was not as it should be, and was troubled because he could not locate what had caused it.

  Then there was a distinct, alarmed snarl. It came from the dog, and Willow awakened quietly. She sat up, looking questioningly at Hawk but making no noise. Hawk walked up the limb and stopped at the vine they had used to climb the tree.

  He looked down, but could see nothing. There was another snarl, then a series of them, and the dog came out of the moon-painted shadows to bristle at the base of the tree. He was facing the brush, snarling, and Hawk swung out on the vine.

  A moment later a dire wolf came out of the brush and circled the dog. The dog was big, but the wolf dwarfed him. For a second it continued to circle, then closed in. The dog leaped aside, and feinted at his enemy.

  Unhesitatingly Hawk scrambled down the vine. The dog had helped him when he was hard-pressed by the enemy hunters, therefore he must not let the dog fight alone. Hawk leaped lightly from the vine, catching himself on the balls of his feet, and snatched up his spear.

  The wolf, aware of the fact that a new enemy was entering the fight, left the dog and sprang forward. Hawk hurled his spear, and knew he had made a hit. But the wolf scarcely paused. Hawk groped for his club.

  As he found it, the dog closed in from the rear. Savagely, aroused to the very peak of fury, he sliced at the wolf’s haunch, leaped away, and sprang in again. The wolf doubled to deal with him, and when it did Hawk swung his club. It struck home, in a vital spot, but the wolf was too big and too full of life to die easily. It growled throatily, and dragged itself forward to close with the man.

  Club swinging, Hawk sprang to meet him. He sidestepped the wolf’s vicious lunge, and struck with his club. It smashed solidly down on the wolf’s head, but still the monster came on. Hawk struck again and again, beating the wolf with bone-crushing blows. Finally the wolf lay still.

  For a moment the dog worried the wolf, then stood quietly while Hawk knelt beside him. He ran his hands over the dog, and brought them away sticky with blood. Certainly the dog had been hurt, but he did not seem to be crippled and could move freely. A wild thing, and powerful, the dog could survive anything except a crippling wound. Hawk considered.

  He did not want to leave any evidence of a fight along their escape route. There would certainly be blood stains at the base of the tree and they would not be easy to erase. However, now that they had meat, they should certainly take advantage of it, even though they could not build a fire. With his knife Hawk hacked off both hind quarters from the wolf and had Willow pull them up into the tree by the vine. Safe in their retreat, the humans ate raw meat, while at the base of the tree the dog satisfied his hunger on the remains of the wolf.

  The next morning, packing such meat as they could carry, they went on. As they left, Hawk looked back at the tree. Vultures were already circling it; they would soon devour whatever was left of the wolf. But that would not be enough to throw the pursuing hunters off. Only a man or a saber-tooth could kill a dire wolf, and there would be no evidence of tigers around the tree. Should the hunters come this far, they would have all the proof they needed that Hawk and Willow had fled this way.

  On the second day, after spending another night in a tree, they completed their great circle and came back to their former camp.

  The ashes of their fire were a cold, damp mass, and already green grass was laying a fresh new carpet over the trampled, bare earth. A herd of antelope, grazing in the meadow, danced away. At this evidence that grass-eating creatures had come back to the clearing, Hawk grunted in satisfaction. They had found no game except mammoths elsewhere, but apparently some animals which had moved out of the rest of the country had come back here. He and Willow had done well to return.

  But there was still something lacking. Hawk had proved that he could defend their camp against any animal that dared attack it. They were not dealing with animals now, b
ut with men, and should the enemy hunters come they would do so craftily. They would surround the camp, and strike from all sides. Even though Hawk might kill two or three with his superior weapons, he could not destroy them all. If a determined group of humans attacked the camp, they could take it and kill its defenders. He paced nervously back and forth.

  There were many places to which he might take Willow, but moving had not proved a happy experience. Food they must have, and as long as they stayed here he could get food. Furthermore, if they moved again they would probably run into other hunters, and just as likely they would be hostile. They would stay here, then, and try to strengthen their defenses. But first came the more immediate needs of fire, food and weapons.

  Hawk rebuilt the fire, gathered wood, and with the dog at his side ranged into familiar hunting country. The dog found a track which Hawk identified as that of a deer, and he took a stand where he thought the deer would pass. After a short interval he saw it coming and killed it with the first dart.

  Now they had meat, and he could attend to the next most important matter. On their ill-fated venture to the river he had lost half his darts, and must make more at once. Hawk busied himself chipping flint heads, and fashioning dart shafts. On the other side of the fire, while she waited for meat to cook, Willow was contentedly weaving another basket.

  Hawk worked on his darts until night, then lay down to sleep. With morning he finished them and went out to hunt again. Certainly there was more game than there had been. Apparently animals needed only a few days of security to make them bold again; creatures which had formerly fled to hide from him were no longer so wary. Hawk considered the significance of that. While the dog ranged into the forest he squatted on a stone, waiting, trying to bring some orderly arrangement out of this new thing he had learned.

  Hitherto he had hunted all parts of the country which he could easily reach, which meant all the country within striking distance of the fire, indiscriminately. He had been guided only by the game itself, and had hunted where he thought he would find the most.

  Perhaps it would be wise to do things differently, to divide his hunting range into sections and leave one alone while he hunted another intensively. When game grew too scarce wherever he was hunting, he could go into one of the other sections. That way he might assure a constant supply of meat.

  After a while the dog came back and sat down at the base of the rock. He had failed to find any game, and let Hawk know it by whining. Hawk leaped from his rock and went on.

  Presently bear scent came very strongly to his nostrils and Hawk remembered that, very close to this place, the great cave bear had its home. He circled to go around the cave, then changed his mind and swung closer to it. He had remembered something else. Although in recent years his tribe had traveled mostly in open country, following game herds, it had at times taken shelter in caves when attacked.

  That might be his answer, too. If he could get possession of the bear’s cave, and the hunters came, he would not have to meet them on all sides. They could reach him only from the cave’s entrance, and would have to come singly. Hawk crept cautiously down until he could see the cave.

  As quietly as he had approached, he slipped away and returned to his fire. He thrust a knotty club into the fire until it blazed, and held it high.

  “Come with me,” he told Willow. “We are going to drive the great cave bear from its home.”

  DOGS

  A vulture flapped slowly into the air as Wolf’s tribe approached. The big bird did not seem particularly frightened. It had no important business to perform on this stretch of plain any longer, so it left as the human staggered in its general direction.

  Kar walked at the end of the line of march. Wolf was in the front, but the Chief Hunter could not really be said to be leading the tribe anymore. Wolf was simply walking forward. The tribe had not had any real direction since it left the camp where so many of its members were trampled into bloody muck by the bison herd.

  The vulture had no reason to fear them, the Chief Fire-Maker thought dismally. In the shape the humans were now, they would have been hard put to drive the bird off if it had not wanted to go.

  Well, the tribe was a little better off than that, but they were not doing well. Only three of the eleven survivors were adult males. Most of the hunters who had not been killed in the attack on the other tribe’s encampment had at least received wounds. Normally the men of the tribe were best able to run and jump to safety when a fresh disaster threatened. Because of the stiffening injuries, many of the hunters were caught by the horns and hooves of the bison while women and children had managed to escape.

  Wolf’s tribe now consisted of four women, two juvenile boys, two girls—and Bearpaw, in addition to Wolf and Kar himself. Bearpaw had the only spear. They carried only a few tools instead of bundles of their belongings. Virtually all the tribe’s possessions had been lost in the bison stampede, and the folk were too weak for burdens anyway.

  It seemed a lifetime ago that the tribe had abandoned Willow in accordance with long tradition, because her injured leg prevented her from keeping up with healthy people. Now, because of hunger, fatigue, and injuries, scarcely any of the survivors were in better condition than Willow had been when they left her.

  The tribe had exiled Hawk at the same time, also because of tradition. Kar wondered if tradition was going to kill them all.

  It had stopped raining just before dawn. The sun blazed down with all its fury, sucking water from the sopping soil and vegetation. Walking felt like a bath in springs heated by the fires of the earth. Despite the drenching heat, the Chief Fire-Maker was wracked with occasional bouts of shivering as his tortured body protested at the abuse it had received.

  Wolf halted and raised his hand with a flash of his old leadership as Chief Hunter. Kar rose to his full height, peering over the grass heads. He saw nothing, but perhaps Wolf’s keener eyesight had spotted game that the tribe could kill even in its present condition.

  “Food!” cried Grassblade from just behind the two hunters at the front of the line. She trotted forward jerkily. Everyone else—even Wolf himself—lunged into the swiftest motion they could manage in their present condition. Kar found himself running like a leaf blown by the wind. His head wobbled from side to side. Tears of exhaustion dribbled from the corners of his eyes.

  The others were already bent over the source of the excitement when the Chief Fire-Maker reached them. It was a horse, or at least the barren remains of a horse. Tigers had killed the beast so long ago that the corpse scarcely stank any more. After the saber-toothed cats gorged their fill for two or three days, they had abandoned the kill.

  Saber-tooths’ jaws were not well adapted to picking bones, so quite a lot of meat must have remained on the carcass. The jackals and vultures had taken over then. The scavengers pecked and nibbled. The vultures used their long beaks and featherless necks to reach deep into the body cavity, plucking out hard-to-reach scraps. The jackals gnawed at the stiffening tendons and dragged the skeleton apart in their determined efforts to clean every bit of the edible material.

  When the humans arrived, the horse had been reduced to scattered bones and a swatch of horsehide lying hair-side down at the site of the kill. Flies buzzed at the tribe’s approach, but even the insects seemed to have stayed in the area out of habit instead of hoping for sustenance. No wonder the vulture had lifted high in the air and disappeared rather than perch nearby in case the humans left.

  Three of the women slashed at the hide with hand-axes, worrying it into bits that would fit in their mouths. Cracked and dust-caked though it was, the raw leather could provide the protein that starving bodies demanded. Some of the half-grown children tried to snatch bits from the women. Others pounded at the horsehide with ill-chipped stones of their own.

  The fourth woman was Magnolia. She had not been right in the head since her baby starved to death at her breast. Now she kept at one corner of the horsehide and chewed at it. Magnolia held her diggin
g tool, a deer’s cast antler ground to a single sharp tine. Whenever another member of the tribe came too close to her, Magnolia growled deep in her throat and jabbed with the antler.

  The two grown men smashed the horse’s big leg bones to get at the tasty, nutritious marrow within. Bearpaw slammed the end of a thighbone against a rock, bellowing with his concentration. Bone splinters flew in all directions.

  The Chief Hunter proceeded with more deliberation. Wolf had set the shaft of the other thigh across a head-sized lump of quartz. He struck the bone expertly with his club. The thigh chipped but did not break open. Wolf rotated the shaft a quarter-turn and hit it again. This time the bone tube shattered. Most of the thigh remained in the Chief Hunter’s hands, but the knob flew straight at Kar, who managed to catch it.

  Wolf snarled and started to rise, like a wolf whose kill has been snatched by a jackal. He lifted his club. Kar bleated in surprise and stumbled back, still clutching the chunk of bone. The Chief Hunter hunched to lunge after the old man. Then the madness of hunger left Wolf’s eyes and he sat down. “No,” he said heavily. “There is enough for both of us, Kar. You should eat also.”

  The Chief Fire-Maker sucked at the salty, incredibly delicious marrow. He did not recall ever before having eaten something that tasted so good. There were other bones besides, too sturdy for the jackals to break apart, and filled with the same wonderful nourishment.

  Soon Kar would have enough energy to gather wood and build a fire which would protect the tribe during the night. But first he would suck his belly full of marrow and luxuriate in the feeling that he was not starving to death—for the moment.

  Kar smiled in contentment, listening to the pop and crackle of the campfire. Those warm sounds comforted the humans even more than did the flickering light which brightened the sky’s last glow. The constant rain of the previous moon-phase had washed the air clean of dust, so that the scents of earth and growing vegetation were strong and pure.