by David Drake
People moved with the jerky stiffness of cripples. Most of the men had been wounded in the battle with Bull’s tribe. Now that they had let their muscles cool, the injured limbs cramped and bound them. The women, carrying burdens for so many hours without food, were almost as badly off. The children had less fat and muscle to live off than the adults. They were on the verge of starvation.
The Chief Hunter tried to get up. His legs would not obey him. He was seeing double again, two orange-red glowing fires being fed by a pair of Kars who were so pale that they looked transparent. Thunder rumbled across die sky, drowning out the sound of Elm chanting. Lightning flashed and rippled again.
“Quickly!” screamed the Chief Fire-Maker. “Bring me wood!”
Kar’s store of chips was almost exhausted, and the miniature fire was not hot enough to sustain itself with damp wood. A woman handed the old man a gnarled branch. Kar began chopping at it furiously to get through the wet layers in time to preserve his creation.
Thunder boomed. It continued to roll without letup. Even the ground trembled. The folk of the tribe clustered instinctively around their Chief Fire-Maker, trying to block the threatening gusts before one of them blew out the infant fire.
Kar slid a long sliver into the glow. People gasped as the fire took the fresh fuel and changed it into a livid tongue fiercer and more vibrant than any the Chief Fire-Maker had coaxed from his fire-set thus far.
Old Elm ran up to the back of the circle, screeching and swinging the bison horn like a club in both hands. People cried and jumped aside at the unexpected attack. Wind surged through the sudden gap in the human wall, putting out the fire as the thunder rumbled onward.
“Run!” the medicine woman shrieked.
“I warned you!” shouted Redhair. He lunged forward, swinging his club in a long downward arc.
Elm raised the horn in an attempt to defend herself. The thin material shattered into a shower of black splinters which the wind tossed. The club struck Elm’s forehead with a hollow sound. The weapon crunched the old woman’s skull almost as completely as it had done the bison horn. She toppled backward, her mouth still open to scream.
Wolf looked out into the night, past Redhair and over the fallen body of the medicine woman. Lightning flashed again. The fire from the heavens glittered on the eyes of hundreds of giant bison, charging straight toward the huddling tribe. The herd had been stampeded by the lightning. It was their hooves, not the thunder, which had been shaking the ground.
“Run!” cried someone.
Wolf jumped to his feet. He was fully himself again. In this crisis, all the Chief Hunter’s wounds and fatigue were forgotten. “Up the cliff!” he bellowed. “We can’t outrun them, but they won’t jump the cliff!”
Kar was blinking in surprise. He had been so focused on his fire-set that he seemed to have forgotten the outer world. Wolf grabbed the old man by the shoulder and half-lifted, half-threw him upward to safety on top of the limestone outcrop. Shrieking in the wind, the rest of the tribe tried to follow.
The same lightning flash that displayed the herd to the humans warned the leading bison of the existence of the ledge of rock. The beasts tried to swerve away, but the weight of their fellows to either side and behind them made that impossible.
Wolf clambered to the top of the outcrop. The weather-rotted stone had easy hand- and footholds, even in the dim light, but there was no time to choose them. The Chief Hunter used the strength of his powerful shoulders to lift him up. Twice he kicked his legs as if he were swimming instead of climbing rock.
He reached down. A woman was trying to climb one-handed. Wolf caught her by the upper arm and jerked her brutally to safety. The woman was Magnolia. The dead baby fell from the crook of her other arm and bounced downward just as the first of the giant bison thundered over the ground where the tribe had been sheltering a moment before.
The Chief Hunter saw a great bull hunch its shaggy shoulders and lift them. Redhair’s body was impaled on one of its horns. The hunter was still screaming, though he could not live much longer. Wolf wondered if Elm watched the events from somewhere in spirit land. If so, she must be laughing shrilly.
Other members of the tribe had climbed the limestone, but not very many. Perhaps there were more, hidden by the rain-swept darkness. The bison’s hooves made an unimaginable thunder, but over the sound came an occasional squeal of final pain as a human’s life was stamped out against the soil.
The herd somehow managed to divide at the outcrop. For a moment, Wolf had imagined the great beasts crushing themselves into a ramp of flesh up which bison farther back in the throng would climb to trad down the surviving handful of his tribe.
Not quite. But the stampede continued for longer than the Chief Hunter dreamed was possible. Even in his boyhood he had never seen a herd of such immense size. He was quite sure, though, that when dawn broke and the rain stopped—if the rain ever stopped—that the bison would have vanished with only trampled sod to mark their passing. Another tribe might find a lone beast in a mud hole, or a bison that had broken its neck when it pitched over a gully in the darkness. There would be no such good luck for Wolf and his pitifully few fellows.
Kar was weeping. Wolf heard the word Hawk between the old man’s sobs. The Chief Fire-Maker seemed to be begging Hawk’s forgiveness. The herd thundered on.
MAMMOTH HERD
No longer a puppy, but a strong, agile beast who had grown unbelievably in a very few months, the gray dog sat by the fire, staring into the forest. His tail was straight behind him, his pointed ears alert, and his head slightly turned as he sought stronger evidence of some scent or sound that must have come very faintly to him. On the other side of the fire, Hawk watched intently.
In the months they had been together he had learned both to trust the dog and to understand him better. In return, the dog had given whole-hearted loyalty to the humans. Nothing could persuade him to leave the camp for very long unless Willow or Hawk went too. Then the dog cheerfully accompanied them.
As time went on, Hawk had also perfected his darts, experimenting ceaselessly until he found just what he wanted. He had discovered that, by using the broad parts of wing feathers instead of tail feathers about the butt of the dart, he could get better distance without sacrificing any accuracy, and he had made a new and better throwing-stick. By using a different wood for the shafts, and shaping the flint heads narrower, he could carry nine darts instead of six in his pouch. Continual practice had made him an expert marksman. He knew just what he could do with his darts, exactly how to throw them, and as a consequence he seldom missed.
He was surer of his ability to protect himself, Willow, and their camp from any beast that threatened, even saber-tooths. While remaining prudent, and never going out of his way to seek trouble with the larger beasts, he was no longer in such fear of them. But now a new factor had entered.
He had hunted incessantly; he had to hunt most of the time if he and Willow were to have enough to eat. First the darts and then the dog had increased his hunting ability, so that he could consistently get many kinds of game which the tribe’s hunters had almost never been able to bring down. The consequence was that game within easy striking distance of their camp was becoming scarce and wary. The less alert had fallen first; most of what was left had learned to avoid him.
So Hawk now watched the dog very carefully to know just what had attracted his attention. If it was game he could bring down, he would go get it. The dog turned to look at him, whined, and took a few forward steps.
Hawk shouldered his pouch of darts and picked up his throwing-stick and spear. He had learned that the dog reacted differently to different game. If a saber-tooth, a pack of dire wolves, a cave bear, or any other formidable thing were out there in the forest, the dog would be bristled and fearful. For small game he would be eagerly impatient. Now he was questing, anxious but uncertain. Therefore he smelled large game which he thought the two of them together might handle.
The dog waited a m
oment, and again glanced over his shoulder to see what the man was going to do. When Hawk followed him, the dog headed toward the forest, holding his head high the better to catch the elusive scent.
He did not travel fast because as yet he did not have a sure lead. Born to parents that had always had to find their own food, there was within the dog an instinctive and finely developed hunting sense. He knew when to go fast, and when it was better to travel slowly. Only when they were well within the great trees did he increase his pace.
Hawk trotted after him. He stayed alert to the scents, sounds, and sights of the forest, but he need not be as cautious as he once would have been. Experience had taught him that the dog’s nose was much keener than his, and that he reacted faster to any possible threat. Hawk centered most of his attention on keeping the dog in sight.
The dog turned to look questioningly at him, and Hawk correctly interpreted the look. He and the dog lived under the same conditions, and faced the same problems. Though one was human and the other animal, they were not so far apart but that each was able to understand the other. Now the dog wanted to know whether they should go on or abandon the hunt.
Hawk stood still, concentrating all his faculties on a strained, intense investigation of whatever lay in the wind. He detected and rejected the scents of various rodents and tree-dwelling beasts. Finally, and faintly, he got the scent which was now very plain to the dog.
It was a giant elk, a monstrous beast with an antler spread so big and clumsy that it frequently troubled its owner in heavy brush or thick forest. This very unwieldiness, coupled with its lack of offensive ability, was its undoing, for already the great elk were very scarce. In his whole life Hawk had seen no more than a dozen of them.
He fitted a dart to his throwing-stick, and at this signal the dog whisked into the forest and disappeared. Hawk trotted easily toward a place he had in mind. The elk would try to escape the dog, but it would not seek deep thickets for a refuge. The elk knew better than to go there.
Hawk soon reached a hillside he knew, a slope where tress with slender branches grew in scattered clumps. He tested the wind, and took a stand where his scent would not betray him.
This was the way he hunted with the dog. The dog’s function was to find game and trail it. No pursued beast ran in a straight line. Sooner or later it would circle, and Hawk used his knowledge of animals to determine the place where he might intercept any quarry. He poised a dart in his throwing-stick and waited.
He was a little more tense than usual. This was no deer or antelope he awaited but a monster the size of a bison. It would be a real test of his darts, for until now he had attacked nothing as big as this. A half-hour later, he saw the elk.
It came through the trees on the lower slope of the hill, almost exactly where he had expected it to come. Its head was up, massive antlers laid along its back, as it raced swiftly ahead of the pursuing dog. Hawk gauged the distance between the elk and himself and drew his arm a little farther back as he made ready to throw. Just at that instant the elk swerved.
Having seen or scented him, it turned toward the far side of the sparsely forested hill. Hawk ran toward it, trying to lessen the distance, then stopped and cast.
It was a mighty throw, a determined attempt to get the food represented by this huge beast, but the distance was too great for much penetration. He saw the dart pierce the elk’s side, and the mottled feathers of the butt trembled from the impact. The elk faltered. Then, regaining its stride, it raced swiftly away.
Hawk took up the trail at a dead run. It was easy to find because a blood spoor marked it, and could be followed by the eye alone. The elk was badly wounded. Though it might run a long way, it would weaken as it ran and could be eventually overtaken. When it was caught, it should be easy prey.
The dog overtook and passed Hawk, flying along the trail as if he knew exactly what to expect. The man pressed along as fast as he could, sure of success.
This had happened once before. He had wounded a buck, and it had run away with his dart. He had tried and been unable to stop the dog from following, but when he had reached the buck the dog was holding it at bay, preventing further flight. The kill had been an easy one, and so Hawk had learned to let the dog run along on the trail of wounded game.
He came suddenly upon the dog, which was bristled and snarling. When Hawk stopped, the dog came back to stand against his knee. He looked inquiringly up, willing to go on but wishing first to know his master’s decision.
Hawk considered. The wind brought him plain scent of a pack of dire wolves. They had evidently intercepted the elk, dragged it down, and were probably feeding on it already. Anger flared in Hawk’s eyes. He thought of the dart in the elk, and of the eight darts remaining in his pouch.
There were undoubtedly more than eight wolves in the pack, and they would fight savagely to defend their kill. It would be folly to attack; he had no chance of winning the fight if he started it. Glumly Hawk changed direction and went on in search of other game.
After a time he passed the home of the great cave bear, and swerved to examine it again. The bear was not in its cave, but some distance down the valley, crushing its ponderous way through a tangle of sweet berries. It bent the bushes to the ground, licked up their fruit, and trampled on over the crushed bushes. Hawk swerved and went on. Only a foolish or very desperate lone hunter would try to kill such a beast.
The dog started off on a deer’s trail. Hopefully Hawk took a stand where he thought the deer would run, but after an hour the wind brought no scent or sound of the chase. Obviously the deer was a wise one, aware of possible ambushes and with no intention of being trapped. Discouraged, Hawk gave up his stand and returned to the fire. The dog would come in after the deer had outdistanced him.
Grinding seeds in her hollow stone, Willow looked expectantly up. Hawk unslung his pouch, put his throwing-stick beside it, and leaned his spear against a log of wood. Listlessly he bit into one of the cakes Willow brought him, then took another, bigger bite. The cakes were not tasteless, but had a flavor such as he had never known before. He looked inquiringly at Willow.
“There was a little meat left,” the girl explained. “I cut it into small pieces and cooked it with the seeds.”
“It is good.”
Hawk ate his fill of the cakes, and sat staring into the fire, as though he expected to find something there. But there was no answer in the dancing flames and he knew it. There was only one solution to the problem facing them—the age-old remedy his tribe had always sought when faced with the scarcity of food. When there was little game, they must move to someplace where there was a chance of finding more.
“We go tomorrow,” Hawk said sullenly.
Willow said nothing, but resigned disappointment showed in her face. The life of a wandering hunter was a hard one, with danger at every turn and privation likely. Not soon again would they know the settled comforts of this camp.
The panting dog came back and threw himself wearily down beside the fire. Hawk inspected his darts, looking to the heads, shafts, and the bindings that tied the one to the other. He made a new dart to replace the one carried away by the giant elk, and collected more flints for additional heads. There was no telling where their travels would lead them or what they would encounter on the way. He might be too busy fighting or hunting to have any time for spear and dart making.
Willow was busy with her own preparations. She had gathered and dried a quantity of seeds, berries, and roots, and was packing them into skin containers, which were easier to carry than her open baskets. She, too, realized that neither of them knew where, how far, or for how long they would travel. They could carry with them only the simple necessities of their way of life: Hawk’s weapons and materials for making more, dried food, and the all-important fire stones.
Sleeping by the fire that night, the hungry dog growled and twitched his paws as he dreamed of game he had hunted and eaten or game he would like to hunt and eat. He awoke and sniffed the air, then se
ttled himself in a more comfortable position and went back to sleep. This was his life, too, and had been the life of his ancestors. When they killed game, all could eat. Otherwise, all went hungry.
The next morning, Hawk leading, Willow following, and the dog ranging from side to side, they began their uncertain trek toward better hunting grounds. Because they were the logical places to find game quickly, Hawk started toward the lush river bottoms. He might find a herd of bison there, or camels, or horses. Possibly there would be deer and antelope. But just what he would find, or exactly where he would find it, he did not know.
As they walked, the dog ranged farther and stayed away for longer intervals. He, too, knew that the object was to seek game, but even he could find none. They seemed to have left the camp, and its scarcity of wildlife, for a place where it was even scarcer. Save for an occasional bird, they saw nothing.
The humans trudged stolidly on. They had been through this before. There was food here for grass-eaters, and the meat-eaters always followed them, but for some inexplicable reason, at various times, all the game deserted certain areas. They had no choice but to seek further.
Then, far in the distance, Hawk heard the dog bark. It was a shrill sound, a far-carrying one that left faint echoes rolling in the distance. The dog had found game too big and too fierce for him to attack, and he had bayed it. The bark was to summon his mates, his pack. The dog barked again and again. There was a faint snarling and growling.
For a few seconds, Hawk stood perfectly still. Then, having located the dog’s exact whereabouts, he trotted swiftly toward it, Willow at his heels. The dog’s continuous barking and snarling became louder, fiercer. Then Hawk caught a glimpse of a giant sloth.
He slowed down, knowing now what he had to deal with. The great sloths were powerful creatures and therefore dangerous, but they were neither swift nor intelligent. Soon they came upon the dog and his cornered quarry.
The sloth was in a grove of trees, and all about a litter of stripped and broken branches attested to the fact that it had been feeding there for some time. Now it was backed against a tree, a solid, massive mountain of flesh. The dog swept swiftly in front of it, and the monster struck out with its front paws.