It seemed then to Sleepy Hawk that the two groups of men looked like two deer caught in the trap sands of a river. A deer so caught by the water hiding below the quiet-looking sands cannot step forward, nor can it move backward. So it was with the men. Their legs were caught on the rock. They dared not move either up or down. All of them, The People and Mud Dwellers, could only stand still and wait for what would happen.
And thinking of the men trapped like silly deer, Sleepy Hawk laughed aloud.
“Why do you laugh?” snarled Hungry Dog. Fright was in his voice.
Sleepy Hawk was choking again, as he always did when laughing swelled in his throat.
“This is—this is all very—” He choked and his breath flew out between his lips and he made a word.
“What was that?” cried Mountain Bear. “What did you say?”
“I said, funny.”
“What does funny mean?”
“It is a word I have made and it means laugh-making. All this—we and they standing here, of us all none daring to go a step forward or back—it is very, laugh-making . . . very funny!”
“We have a crazy man for a chief,” growled Long Ax. “Or a fool. It takes little to make a fool laugh—”
But Sleepy Hawk was not listening. He was watching the leader of the Mud Dwellers and he was so startled by what that one was doing that he gave no ear to Long Ax’s words. For the Mud Dweller was smiling. At first,
it was a little smile, on the mouth only, but then, as Sleepy Hawk started to laugh again, the Mud Dweller’s smile shone in his eyes, he opened his mouth and laughed as loudly as Sleepy Hawk ever did.
The two of them stood and laughed with each other while their followers looked at them uneasily and Long Ax muttered words of anger that he knew Sleepy Hawk could not hear.
Then, perhaps because his heart was warmed by his laughing, or because he was a great thinker as the later days of his life proved, Sleepy Hawk did a very strange thing. First he put his knife back in his belt, so that his left hand held nothing. Then he dropped his spear from his right hand. Mountain Bear cried out at this, but Sleepy Hawk did not listen. He stepped forward one step and raised his right hand, so that the chief of the Mud Dwellers could see that it was empty.
The Mud Dweller’s smile was now on his lips only. He looked very hard at Sleepy Hawk, then he slowly nodded his head. Then he moved his hands slowly so that the two handles of his spear came apart. In one hand, he held a spear with a sharp stone head. In the other, just a simple, harmless stick with a hook at one end. He dropped these to the ground and stepped toward Sleepy Hawk, his right hand raised.
The two of them came close together. Sleepy Hawk said a Mud Dweller word that they all knew, one that a mother uses when her child makes her smile at his play. The Mud Dweller’s smile became smaller; the young men saw that he did not like the use of that word between men. So Sleepy Hawk pointed at the young men of The People, then at the Mud Dwellers, making fearful frowns to show each of them angry at the other. Then he pointed to himself and laughed. He pointed to the Mud Dweller and laughed. He swept his arm around the air, pointing at both sides and laughing.
Then, slowly and clearly, Sleepy Hawk said his new word.
The chief of the Mud Dwellers nodded and said it after him.
“Fun—nee!” he said.
Sleepy Hawk held out his empty right hand and the Mud Dweller slowly reached out and touched Sleepy Hawk’s hand with his.
“Very funny,” answered Sleepy Hawk, grinning. Then, hoping the Mud Dweller might know the tongue of The People, he said, “I am Sleepy Hawk.”
But the Mud Dweller did not understand. He said some words, in the high bird voice of the Mud Dwellers. Nor did Sleepy Hawk understand the Mud Dweller’s words, so the two men just stood there, their right hands touching, smiling.
“Do any of you know any of the Mud Dwellers’ words among men?” asked Sleepy Hawk.
The young men shook their heads.
“Never mind. Put down your weapons.”
“Is that wise?” asked Mountain Bear.
“It is. Put them down.”
So all the young men except Long Ax lowered their spears and put their knives and axes in their belts.
“Long Ax! I command you—” Sleepy Hawk began, but the chief of the Mud Dwellers turned his head and said a few words to his followers and they, slowly, took apart their two-handled spears and set them on the ground and those that had knives in their hands put these back in their belts. So Long Ax, too, let his weapon rest on the ground.
While their men stood, not at peace, but not ready for war, the two chiefs made talk with their hands; and after a while Sleepy Hawk nodded many times and turned to his followers and said, “Now we may go. With no spears in our backs. I have his promise.”
“What is that worth!” cried Long Axe. “I do not turn my back on an enemy.”
“Stay here, then,” answered Sleepy Hawk. He himself waved at the Mud Dweller, turned and took a step back toward the upward trail.
Then he stopped, so suddenly that Mountain Bear, who was behind him, bumped into Sleepy Hawk.
“What is the matter with you?” cried Mountain Bear.
“Let us stay a little longer. I want one of those spears.”
Sleepy Hawk looked again at the Mud Dweller, smiled, and very slowly, took the knife from his belt. The Mud Dweller frowned, but made no move when he saw that Sleepy Hawk held the knife by its blade and offered it to him.
“One does not give presents to an enemy,” said Hungry Dog.
“This is no present. Watch and see.”
The Mud Dweller took Sleepy Hawk’s knife and looked at it. It was a good knife, with a blade of sharp flint and a handle made of the polished horn of old humpback. It was easy to see that the Mud Dweller wanted the knife.
Then Sleepy Hawk pointed to the little head-belt with its polished stones. Then he pointed to himself, then to the knife, and finally, to the Mud Dweller.
The Mud Dweller reached behind his head and took off the belt. Its bright-colored stones sparkled in the sun’s light. The Mud Dweller handed it to Sleepy Hawk, who fastened it around his head. The Mud Dweller weighted the knife in his hand, nodded twice, and put the knife in the belt around his waist.
“Ha!” said Mountain Bear. “I thought you wanted a spear.”
“Be quiet! I shall get one.”
“How?”
“You shall see.”
Once more Sleepy Hawk made as if to go. And once more he stopped and turned back to the Mud Dweller. That little man watched with sharp eyes. Sleepy Hawk took his rolled-up skin of a mountain cat from around his waist, shook it out so that the Mud Dweller could see, and spread it on the ground.
The Mud Dweller felt of the skin and his fingers saw how soft it was, having been well-cured by Sleepy Hawk’s oldest mother. Sleepy Hawk looked up at the sun, covered his eyes, and shivered. The Mud Dweller watched closely. Sleepy Hawk uncovered his eyes but still shivered. Then he reached for the skin and wrapped it around him. As soon as it covered him all over, he stopped shaking and smiled.
The chief of the Mud Dwellers nodded to show he understood that when the time of little sun came, the skin would keep him warm and dry.
He reached toward Sleepy Hawk for the skin of the big cat.
“Careful!” Mountain Bear called softly.
Sleepy Hawk let the skin £all to the ground. The Mud Dweller reached for it again, but Sleepy Hawk raised his hand, shook his head just a little, and walked over to where the two parts of the chief’s spear lay on the ground. A Mud Dweller started for Sleepy Hawk, but his chief called out and the man was quiet. Sleepy Hawk picked up the two parts of the weapon but did not take them away. Instead he carried them back to the chief of the Mud Dwellers.
Sleepy Hawk made slow, careful signs. He lifted in his hand the spear that was no spear, but just a harmless stick. He shook it, held each end of it in turn, very close to his eyes, then, shaking his head, he let that stick fal
l to the ground. Next, Sleepy Hawk looked at the spear that was a proper spear, felt its sharp point with his thumb and nodded. After that, he picked up the other stick and held both parts out toward the Mud Dweller.
The Mud Dweller shook his head.
Sleepy Hawk stirred the cat’s skin with his toe.
The Mud Dweller frowned just a little, then nodded. He moved his hand to show that Sleepy Hawk could have the two spears and reached down for the skin. But Sleepy Hawk shook his head and held out the stick part that was not a spear at all.
The Mud Dweller smiled, took both parts from Sleepy Hawk’s hands. He looked around him, then moved to the rim of the ledge and stood there, looking upward.
“Now we shall see how a man throws that spear,” Sleepy Hawk said softly.
“Surely he will not throw it up the mountain,” said Mountain Bear.
But that is what the little man did. The Mud Dweller put the pieces together and raised his arm back to throw. One of the shafts went back from his hand. The queer hook at its end held the haft of the true spear. Then the Mud Dweller threw and, as the stick in his hand made his arm twice as long as any man’s, so was his throw twice as strong and the spear flew up the mountain, farther than the farthest spear ever thrown by any of The People. It landed beside the trail down which the young men had come and stood there, its point deep in the ground.
“Oo—ee!” whistled Mountain Bear.
“A stick that throws!” cried Sleepy Hawk.
“The stick throws the spear!” said Cat-In-The-Mud. He grinned sourly at Long Ax. “Their weapons are better than ours. Sleepy Hawk is a very wise chief.”
And Hungry Dog nodded and moved away from Long Ax.
Then the chief of the Mud Dwellers took up Sleepy Hawk’s spear and showed him how to fit it on the throwing stick. He seemed to think of something new, then, for he pointed to his own spear sticking in the ground high up the mountain. He made a sign to keep Sleepy Hawk’s spear, then pointed at Sleepy Hawk and to the spear up by the trail.
“A wise man,” Sleepy Hawk said to Mountain Bear. “He wants to keep my spear and I will take his as we pass by it.”
“Wait!” cried Mountain Bear. “I want one of those spear-throwers!”
And he unwrapped his bear’s skin from where it was wound around his middle and walked over to one of the Mud Dwellers. After him came the rest of the young men of The People, even the angry Long Ax, and The People and the Mud Dwellers stood beside each other, smiling and talking, even though there was no understanding of what was said.
And all of them laughed when a little, fat Mud Dweller offered Hungry Dog some small, round brown things and made signs that Hungry Dog should eat them. Which Hungry Dog did, of course.
“Good!” he cried with his mouth full, as a man should not. “Eat them! They’re good!”
“Now, Hungry Dog,” said Sleepy Hawk, “give them some dried meat.”
Hungry Dog looked unhappy at this but he took some dried flesh of deer and offered it to the Mud Dwellers. After chewing a little bit, they smiled and rubbed their middles to show that the dried meat was good to their insides.
Now the sun was straight up in the sky. The giving and receiving was finished and the men stood about, tired, hot, but peaceful. Sleepy Hawk made signs to the Mud Dweller chief, pointing up the mountain. That man nodded, but he looked sad. Then Sleepy Hawk looked up at the sun, waved his hand across the sky, pointed down at the ledge, held up his fingers many times. The Mud Dweller smiled.
Sleepy Hawk thought a long time, looking hard at the Mud Dweller, then he said a word. Mountain Bear, who was standing by, had never heard this word before.
Sleepy Hawk pointed to the Mud Dwellers and the young men of The People, at the skins and the weapons, and at the belts with the colored stones.
He said the word again.
The Mud Dweller said the word after Sleepy Hawk.
Sleepy Hawk and the Mud Dweller said the word together.
Then the young men of The People waved to the Mud Dwellers and started the climb back to the top of the mountain.
When they reached the flat top of the mountain and rested a while, Sleepy Hawk laughed softly, and said to Mountain Bear, “You know, I have another, better knife at home. And my cat’s skin was old. I shall hunt for another one.” He laughed again. “But I have never had a stick that throws spears farther than can a man’s arms. And when I seek a wife, I shall give her father some of the colored stones. Even the chief of all our chiefs should then be willing to give me his oldest daughter—the beautiful one.” Mountain Bear hefted the throwing stick. “We are coming back?”
“Yes. I want more throwing sticks. I want many belts with their stones of many colors. Yes, in three hands of suns I will return to . . .”
“To what?” asked Mountain Bear. “I heard you make a word.”
“Yes. I made a word to tell of giving one thing to get another. I taught it to that chief of the Mud Dwellers. So, from now on, unless some fool like Long Ax makes trouble, the Mud Dweller and I will not fight. We will trade.”
And that is why we go peacefully to the land of Mud Dwellers and bring back many things without war. And that is why the youngest young son of Sleepy Hawk, who is like the old man was, is planning to go up the mountains where the Dwellers-in-Caves are. He thinks they will trade us the strange colors they put on the walls of their caves and other things for our throwing sticks and skins and bright stones.
Parallel
It’s common enough in fiction for Terran explorers to land on a remote planet and discover an Alien Menace Inconceivable Upon Earth; but there is one certain type of menace, deadly to civil ization-as-we-know-it, which a proper knowledge of our own history might lead us to expect on other worlds. J. Francis McComas’ avocations include the study of history (already on its way to becoming as sadly neglected as in the future which he postulates), which enables him to create a convincingly real alien threat in this strongly conceived and executed novelet.
FAR OUT ON THE GRAY PLAIN HARDIN saw three dots moving above the rippling, knee-high grass. He lifted his glasses and, after a moment of adjustment, he picked out what appeared to be three sextupeds making a warily fast way toward the ship. A more precise focusing of the binoculars showed that the strange mounts were about the size of an overgrown Percheron, that they had riders, and they were, indeed, making a warily fast way toward the ship.
Captain Hardin lowered the glasses and glanced down at his lieutenant.
“Visitors,” he said shortly. “Seems that damn sea of grass is inhabited after all. Everything in order?”
The lieutenant, a thin, dark man named Stiegesen, looked unhurriedly around the gun pit they had dug just in front of the ship’s nose.
“Gun set for full 180 degree sweep, flat trajectory of one and a half meters. Crew alerted. Auxiliary equipment to hand, exploder flares, paral-gas bombs, compression grenades.” Then he let excitement tinge his voice. “Intelligent life, Captain?”
Hardin stared at the three mounts zigzagging closer. “Intelligent enough to have developed what looks like cavalry,” he grunted.
Stiegesen chuckled. “Remember, we come in peace, Captain.”
“Sure, sure,” drawled Hardin. “You and I know that. Our merry picknickers back there,” he jerked a thumb at the ruined city astern of the ship, “know it. But do they—out there—know it?”
The two soldiers stared out over the plain whose gray monotony rolled unchecked to meet a far horizon. The three riders had now moved to within 500 meters of the survey ship. They were still coming very fast.
“Well,” Hardin said, “I guess we make the first contact.” He laughed shortly. “The dumb military and . . . what?”
He stepped three paces forward. The riders, going at a deceptively awkward trot, drew closer. When they were not more than 150 meters away, Captain Hardin raised his right arm high, the palm of his hand outward, his left arm hanging stiffly away from his body. He stood thus, waiting. He could
see the riders quite clearly but he couldn’t distinguish details. They were hunched in high saddles and, as far as he could observe, seemed pretty much humanoid. They had two arms and two legs; one arm cradled some sort of weapon, the other held reins that hung over their mounts’ long, thin necks. Apparently the two legs were disproportionately short for they were set in unusually high stirrups.
Hardin waved his uplifted hand and called to them.
Their response was immediate.
The three mounts jerked to a sliding stop, reins were grabbed with teeth, and the three riders lifted their weapons and aimed them with both arms. Captain John Leslie Hardin hit the dirt. He heard a triple twang, and then, behind him, three successive thocks as missiles thudded against the nose of the ship.
“Don’t shoot!” he roared to the men behind him.
“Keep down, Captain!” cried Stiegesen. “Here comes another volley!”
“I see it,” grunted Hardin. He cautiously raised his head just a little and watched as the riders aimed what looked very much like the ancient crossbows on display in the War College weapons museum.
The three short arrows fell between him and the gun pit.
“You’re the target!” shouted Stiegesen.
“Give them a flare!” ordered Hardin.
A soldier balanced a stubby rocket, depressed its firing switch, and with a swoo—oosh it arced skyward, hung in the air above the three attackers and exploded with a loud bang. The bang was followed by a glare of almost unbearable brilliance. The six-legged mounts whistled and shied, raising their front sets of legs. Their riders seesawed them on the middle legs, jerked them under control, wheeled, and galloped away from the ship.
John Leslie Hardin stood up and methodically brushed the dirt from his uniform. Stiegesen leaped out of the gun pit, ran over to him and gasped, “You hurt, Captain?”
“Hell, Stieg, I’m still young enough to take a flop without straining anything.”
Complete Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 12