by Jack L Knapp
I envied him the opportunity to hunt, but I couldn’t spare the time. I had to have weapons; two men on a scout worked better but only if both contributed equally.
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Lilia had organized Sandra and Millie so that the three now functioned as a team. They foraged, ground the seeds and nuts into coarse flour, baked bread and cooked. When not otherwise occupied, they made earthenware containers, tanned hides, and stitched leather. A flaked stone awl simplified their leatherworking.
My weapons were good enough; refinements would continue and there would be improvements to make the spear and bow function better. It had all taken time, but now that the biggest tasks were finished I could fit lesser ones in as time permitted.
I used the atlatl when I practiced with the spear. My first throws were under-thrown; I hadn’t realized how much force would be needed to cast the spear effectively. After adjusting, I found I was throwing too high, but if an animal was reasonably close, I could put killing force into the cast.
By the end of the week I was hunting small game with the bow. I still depended on traps and snares, but in time I’d get better at the quick snap-shots that hunting requires. I understood the principles of archery, tried to keep all factors nearly the same from one shot to the next. Time and practice would refine my skills but my motions were already smooth and fast.
Best of all, what I had made I could repair or replace.
Lee and I both had leather backpacks now; Lilia was a marvel.
We talked in the evenings about her history. They had lived in a hut her husband built, several days travel to the west. The raiders killed her husband in the first few moments, but she had hidden Lee and herself. The raiders ransacked the hut, then set fire to it before leaving. After they’d gone, the two had left their hiding place and fled east. Some details of the things she’d seen before finding us were sketchy, but she remembered crossing a shallow river.
The attack on their home had taken place to our west; the two men who had attacked Sandra might have come from the same bunch, but equally there might be other groups of raiders.
We finished packing by filling our packs with jerky.
I had a gourd for water, Lee had a skin bag made from the stomach of the deer he’d killed. Water sources might be widely separated, so it was best to be prepared.
Finally, I decided that we were ready.
Next morning, we said our farewells and headed southwest.
Chapter 12
I intended to travel southwest for several days, then turn right and head northwest. We used the sun as a guide, so our route remained generally straight except for the occasional forced detour around an obstacle.
We entered unfamiliar territory on the second day. I hadn’t expected problems before that point, because I'd explored the area while hunting, but tomorrow would be different. We might find almost anything ahead of us short of mountains.
I expected t large animals where we were going. Some of them we might hunt, but not if there were too many predators.
The trip should take about a month to complete. Go southwest for a week, turn northwest, then northeast a week later. A final east-southeast leg would take us slightly north of the cabin, offsetting to allow for errors. I hoped to find the stream that was near the cabin and follow it until we recognized a familiar landmark; if everything worked as planned, we'd be home in a month. By then, we’d have a general idea of the terrain west of the cabin.
I already knew what lay to the southeast; I had come through there after being transplanted. There might still be things of interest north or east of the cabin, but that would require another trip and I saw no need; I wanted to keep going west or southwest. This trip would tell me which route was safer.
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We soon worked out a routine.
Scout for six or seven hours each day, depending on terrain, then camp. Streams and hills slowed us and we detoured around tall-grass plains. In mid-afternoon we’d begin looking for a campsite.
We’d look for animal paths, set out snares, and wait. We were usually successful; the animals weren’t particularly wary. I concluded there were probably no people nearby.
On the fifth day we came to a river, wide, shallow and muddy. There was little current, so I didn’t anticipate a problem.
The new layer of soft mud on the bottom of that river saved our lives.
We had gone onto the riverbank to look for a good crossing. Even shallow rivers are dangerous; there might be quicksand or heavy currents, and while you're crossing, you’re in the open. You’re exposed to predators and if there are any, the water slows your movements. Even when you reach the bank, there's no way of telling what might be waiting. You can't retreat, you can only go forward or to the side, so options are limited.
Lee was making his own estimate of hazards we might discover during the crossing. I don’t know which of us spotted the animal first, but it had already seen us.
The cat crouched in thin brush across the river, some five yards back from the water. Yellow eyes watched intently. The cat was motionless except for a nervous twitch of the short tail.
It was considerably larger than a bobcat, built along the same chunky body plan, but smaller than a lion. Not a cougar, the short tail ruled that out, plus the color was wrong. This animal had faint dapples of dark brown among the lighter tan shades of the fur.
The stream was twenty yards wide, maybe more. The cat couldn’t cross the river in a single jump. We might have time to get back into the treeline.
I glanced at Lee, and without speaking we began backing away, slowly.
The cat saw us as prey, and we weren’t cooperating. As soon as we started to back toward the forest it slunk forward, toward the river.
We continued backing toward the trees, arrows nocked, bowstrings almost fully drawn. Perhaps the cat’s approach was a bluff, but whatever its intention, we had to be prepared.
The cat sprang into the river, landing almost halfway across. Our arrows struck it before it could recover and leap again, Lee's striking behind the foreleg, mine punching into its throat where it meets the chest.
The cat tensed for another spring; in the brief pause before it gained traction, we had drawn replacement arrows, nocked them, and were drawing back for follow-up shots. The cat hesitated slightly, trying to find firm footing, and two more arrows thumped in.
My arrow was slightly off this time, but still struck the front of the cat’s chest, low and inside the shoulder. Lee had centered his second arrow between the front legs. Blood stained the dappled fur.
I registered long canine teeth--saber-tooth!--as I grabbed my spear. The heavy dart was one I’d made. Was the weapon lethal enough? I was about to find out.
I was closest, so the cat came for me. Lee, standing slightly to my rear, sank his third arrow to the fletching behind the animal's shoulder.
I took a half-step forward and surprised the cat. Prey was supposed to run, not counterattack! He, for it was a male, hesitated briefly. I lunged with the spear and stuck the dart in the center front of the chest, the end of the spear-shaft thumping hard against the animal. The dart was fully planted, the point eight inches into the organs and cutting lung and heart tissue. I pulled another dart from my quiver’s second pouch and slid it into the socket.
Breath rasped, bloody slobber dripped from the open jaws as I thrust with the spear. The animal yowled. I took a half-step back and yanked my axe from the belt sheath. Dropping the spear shaft, second dart lodged in the animal's breast, I swung the axe two-handed. The blade sank into the crouching cat’s muzzle, just below the eyes.
And stuck.
The animal pawed at the axe handle and yowled again, but the sound was more wheeze than battle cry.
I fumbled out another dart with shaking fingers, picked up the spear, and loaded the dart. My thrust went into the throat, near where my first arrow had struck.
The thing was close! I smelled it, felt the hot spatter of drool and blood, looked into the eyes--an
d realized there would be no more time to reload the spear.
But the animal remained crouched, rasping breaths sawing in and out. I waited for it to bound forward and rip out my throat, but it didn’t happen.
Slicing arrowheads and dart points had left the lungs full of blood, the heart no longer able to beat. I hadn’t noticed, but Lee’s quiver was half empty and the missing arrows were somewhere in the critter’s body.
Lee was standing half-turned away from the cat, knife in his left hand pointing toward the cat, club cocked over his right shoulder.
The weapons wouldn’t be needed.
We waited, he with knife and club, me with my empty-socket spear. The cat’s eyes never blinked as it died, not that I was prepared to accept that without proof!
Finally, I pulled the last dart from my quiver. I still had arrows, but I would have to drop the spear, not something I wanted to do. My dart went into the spear’s socket, but the cat didn't move.
The head sank a few inches lower when the animal died, still in its crouch.
The cat had possessed amazing vitality. Had its approach not been slowed by the river, we’d never have killed it before it got one or both of us. Despite the arrows and darts that surely would have killed it eventually, it had been full of fight until the end.
It had been a very near thing.
Spears with fixed points, as long and heavy as we could wield, were necessary for close-in work. Bows were useful, but they couldn’t hold off an enraged animal the way a heavy spear could.
We salvaged the arrows and darts; where the shafts had broken, we cut out the points. One of Lee's had chipped against a rib, but the others could be reused.
Lee cut steaks from the hindquarters and we roasted them. The skin was ruined, but we chopped the long teeth from the skull and removed the claws. There was thick mud between the toes of the front paws. What if there had been a sandy bottom, a better purchase for the animal’s claws? I preferred not to think about that.
Lee took half the trophies, I got the other half.
Wariness, skill, determination, and teamwork had saved us. There had also been luck involved, luck in seeing the animal and where it landed after that first spring.
Neither of us had hesitated; we now possessed something we hadn’t had before, confidence in the skill and courage of the other. We had faced death without flinching and come away alive.
There had been no need to talk, no giving of orders, no calls for help. We had reacted quickly and correctly; as a result, we survived.
Lee was unscathed, except for a few blood spots from the animal’s nostrils. I had a long scratch from something, not from the cat because he’d been almost three feet away when he died, but something.
I never felt the scratch when it happened; probably I had mishandled an arrow in the confusion.
Lee and I were closer in the way that brothers sometimes are and combat veterans often are. Neither of us mentioned it.
Bloody arrows went back into our quivers, broken material and trophies went into the packs.
Saber-tooth? The canine teeth, while large, weren’t as long as I expected. But there might be others, so we decided not to cross the stream until morning.
We spent that night in a tree, downstream from where we’d killed the cat. Lee might have slept, but I drowsed most of the night; adrenaline kept me half-awake. I finally dropped off just before dawn. Birdcalls woke me as the sky turned light.
We would watch that far bank for a while before crossing, to make sure another cat wasn’t waiting.
Next time, we might not be so lucky.
Chapter 13
Lee watched from the bank, arrow nocked and ready, while I crossed the stream the next morning.
The cat had shown that they take a lot of killing. Lee was fast, accurate, and dependable, but I wouldn’t be able to contribute much while I was in the water.
The stream's bottom was muddy, too slippery for me to use my bow effectively. I slung it and carried the spear, hoping I wouldn’t need it; you also need good footing to use a spear.
After crossing I took over guard duty, spear now slung and bow ready, arrow on the string. Lee also crossed without incident.
Still dripping, we left the river behind us, happy to see the last of that place. We had left tracks but it couldn’t be helped. Human enemies might see the tracks, so we would have to remain alert. Nothing new in that; survive or perish was the rule, and vigilance the difference between them.
We traveled without incident during the following two days. Routine; camp in mid to late afternoon, set traps to supplement our jerky, munch on berries and fruit we encountered along the way.
We detoured around the grasslands, remaining far enough back in the shadows cast by the trees to avoid brush. This grew thick along the treeline and wherever sunlight penetrated the upper canopy.
We’d been watchful for cats, but what we spotted was at least as dangerous.
I slowly crouched, holding out my hand to signal Lee; he followed my lead.
We were on the southeast side of a small clearing, forty yards across at most. Much of it was grassy although there were scattered, brushy plants. This type of grass was short, and the open vista allowed me to see two men approaching. I estimated the distance at a hundred yards, and it was shrinking rapidly.
I held up two fingers and looked at Lee. He nodded understanding.
I waved him forward, a slight movement of my hand, and he eased up until we were crouched side-by-side. I pointed to the men, then glanced at Lee to be sure he'd seen them. He had. His eyes were slitted, jaw muscles clenched in anger.
There was slight risk of being heard, so I murmured as quietly as possible, trying to avoid the sibilance that whispering makes.
“You've seen someone like that before?”
“I have seen others. They have no bows, but they have the long knives.”
Lee had sharp eyes. I looked again at the two men. They had paused to look around before entering the clearing, and I saw the hilts at each man’s hip. They had small buckler-like shields strapped to their arms, and each wore a breechclout and leather vest; their shoes were likely similar to what the cabin raiders had worn. Maybe they got their clothing from the same tailor.
The man in front had a decorated headband for his hair; maybe he was the leader.
I nodded “Likely from the same bunch as those we killed at the cabin. They’ll cross our tracks if they keep coming. They’ll know we’re here, they might backtrack us and find the cabin. We can’t allow that.”
Lee nodded and held his bow a little tighter.
We needed to kill these two fast; if one got away, he would bring others. They would then backtrack us and eventually find the cabin, if indeed they didn't already know where it was.
The two men walked into the clearing and kept coming, wary at being in the open; their heads turned frequently, eyes looking around for threats.
They were thirty yards away now, well within bowshot.
I made a slow pointing gesture to Lee and he understood; he was to take the man on the right. Mine, the one on the left, was slightly in the lead.
I intended to trigger the ambush by standing. I would get into firing position, shoot, then charge the leader if my arrow didn’t kill him outright. Lee would be ready to shoot as soon as I did.
It was a simple plan, but it began to go wrong almost immediately.
The man spotted me while I was still coming to my feet. The small shield slipped down his forearm into his left hand even as he drew his short sword. Both movements were smooth, practiced. He took up a ready stance, knees flexed, shield toward me. In so doing he turned slightly; this threw my aim off.
Instead of punching into his chest, my arrow passed through his side. I had probably not hit the gut, probably causing no more than a flesh wound. He might eventually die of blood loss, but that wouldn’t help if he killed me first!
The injury didn’t slow him much, nor did it temper his aggressiveness.
He bounded across the clearing, shield up, sword ready; I wouldn’t get a second shot. He stopped as I reacted, resuming the ready stance he’d showed when he first saw me.
There was no time to unsling my spear. Discarding the bow, I drew my knife right-handed and yanked the axe with my left. The axe would have to be my guard, the knife held back as primary offensive threat. I took up a ready stance of my own, left foot leading, axe slightly forward and held upright.
A short sword and buckler is a good individual-combat system for a man who knows how to use it.
This one did.
He held the sword ready, hilt back and point up to stab for my gut as soon as I left an opening. He was balanced, left foot forward, the shield at arm’s length to keep me from closing. He took a half-step toward me, left foot still leading, right coming up to regain his original stance and balance.
Maybe the small bucklers weren't as useless as I'd thought!
I avoided focusing on the sharp point of that sword. It wasn’t easy, but you must watch the enemy’s body and footwork. Blades move around, even his eyes can cause you to misjudge your opponent's thinking, but foot placement and body position tell you what’s possible for him to do.
And Lee couldn’t help, not yet.
I hesitated, but he couldn’t afford to wait; if Lee had killed his partner, then he’d be free to circle the two of us and watch for an opening.
My enemy’s only choice against men armed with bows was to get in close, attack immediately, and put us down. I was his immediate target, Lee second.
Had Lee killed his man?
I did the only thing I could, step to my right, right foot leading, weapons still toward him. By circling, I forced him to change his stance. The move also changed my stance from right-handed to left-handed, axe back slightly, knife extended.
The man took another half-step, buckler still held forward but now shifted slightly in an effort to cover his torso from my knife, which was now closer to his body as our stances changed.
This left an opening; to see was to act.
I hooked the buckler with my axe, pulling it toward me, using his change in balance against him. He stumbled slightly, unable to resist the axe’s pull, and I switched my stance again, still tugging on his shield. This move forced his guard to open wider.
