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Title: Fire-Hunter
Author: Kjelgaard, James Arthur (1910-1959)
Illustrator: Ray, Ralph, Jr. (1920-1952)
Date of first publication: 1951
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   New York: Holiday House, 1951
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 10 March 2011
Date last updated: 10 March 2011
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #744

This ebook was produced by David T. Jones, Ross Cooling
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net






[Illustration]

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

  IRISH RED
  BIG RED
  OUTLAW RED
  BUCKSKIN BRIGADE
  KALAK OF THE ICE
  WILD TREK
  CHIP, THE DAM BUILDER
  A NOSE FOR TROUBLE
  FOREST PATROL
  TRAILING TROUBLE
  SNOW DOG
  REBEL SIEGE
  DESERT DOG
  WOLF BROTHER
  STORMY
  HIDDEN TRAIL
  HAUNT FOX
  LION HOUND
  BOOMERANG HUNTER
  WILDLIFE CAMERAMAN




[Illustration]




  Jim Kjelgaard

  FIRE-HUNTER

  ILLUSTRATED BY RALPH RAY
  HOLIDAY HOUSE, NEW YORK




  _FOR_
  _LOUISE RASCHIG_


  COPYRIGHT 1951
  BY JIM KJELGAARD
  PRINTED IN U.S.A.




CONTENTS

   _1. FIRE-HUNTER_          7

   _2. SPEAR SHAFT_         26

   _3. LEFT TO DIE_         47

   _4. SABER-TOOTH_         67

   _5. TAIL FEATHER_        87

   _6. MAMMOTH HERD_       102

   _7. ESCAPE_             123

   _8. CAVE BEAR_          142

   _9. GRASS SERPENT_      160

  _10. BESIEGERS_          178

  _11. BENT BOW_           195

  _12. RETURN_             214




_Modern ideas of what life was like in prehistoric times are based on
two sources of information. One consists of actual remains, such as
stone implements and fossilized bones, and their location and
relationship to each other. The other is scientific guessing--reasoning,
for example, that if primitive tribes today do so-and-so, then under
similar conditions prehistoric men would do thus-and-thus. So, by
knowing a little and deducing a lot, a general picture is built up,
which is incomplete only in details._

_Still, a story must have details, and to get them I had no choice but
to make them up. I have, however, always tried to keep them plausible,
as what_ might _have happened, in the light of scientific facts and
theories. An exception is the telescoping of time. The developments that
occur in the time-span of this book undoubtedly took many generations.
And yet who is to say?_

  Jim Kjelgaard




[Illustration]

  FIRE-HUNTER

  CHAPTER 1


The top of the hillock which the tribe was climbing was studded with
boulders, some so big that they overhung both sides of the hill. The
rank scent of feeding bison was borne over the hill and down the side by
a shifting wind.

Hawk, the Chief Spear-Maker, licked his lips. Though the tribe had seen
much game in the past few days, most of it had been either too agile or
too fierce for the hunters to attack. Even the mammoths had learned that
only in numbers lay safety from human hunters, and aside from occasional
small game the tribe had seen nothing except herds of big, dangerous
beasts. It was suicide to attack a herd of mammoths, even with fire, for
one such animal was capable of engaging every hunter in the tribe. But
the giant bison were a different matter.

Hawk licked his lips again. In eight days they had eaten only seeds and
wild fruit which the women had gathered, and one doddering old camel
that had been about to fall from old age when the hunters overtook it.
Seeds and fruit were all right when nothing else was to be had, but a
wandering tribe needed red meat to maintain its strength.

As they drew nearer the top, the smell of the giant bison became
stronger. It was a herd of more than two hundred animals, and had not
yet taken alarm. That was good, for not in four seasons had the tribe
run across a herd of bison as big as this one. If they were successful
in the hunt, there would be all the meat they could eat, and much left
for the scavenging wild dogs, dire wolves, and saber-tooth tigers that
always gathered wherever game was killed.

Wolf, the Chief Hunter, remembered and spoke of the time when such herds
had been fairly common. Tribal legend recalled when the earth had
trembled to the pounding hooves of countless giant bison, but that was
no more. Hawk had never wondered why.

Like all the rest, he was ruled by simple tribal laws and taboos, which
were the accumulated wisdom of generations. It was tribal law that Hawk
should be Chief Spear-Maker, because he was the most skilled in the
methods and rites of spear-making. Similarly, the tribe must have a
Chief Fire-Maker who thoroughly understood the magical properties of
fire, their greatest protection. Aside from the Chief Fire-Maker and the
Chief Spear-Maker, the rest of the men were, most of the time, hunters,
for the demand for food was never-ending. And all food, whether meat
brought in by the hunters or seeds or berries gathered by the women,
must be shared, no matter who had found it. When the tribe was in
danger, everyone, women and children included, helped defend it. Most
important of all, the tribe must always live and travel as a group; one
human alone was at the mercy of wild beasts.

Other than that there were few laws, but these few were inflexible. The
tribe was a unit, and every member must contribute his share. If anyone
failed, all might die.

Hawk paused a moment, and glanced backward to take mental tally of the
women and girl children. The boy sons of hunters, armed with spears and
clubs to fit their size, were at their fathers' heels, up ahead. But,
as Chief Spear-Maker, Hawk's place was not with the hunters. It was with
the women and children, and he did not like it.

For a second his eyes dwelt on Willow, daughter of Wolf, and his face
lightened. Willow was lithe and swift, and already skilled in
basket-making and a knowledge of seeds, roots, and fruits. The only
reason she had not yet been taken by a hunter of another tribe lay in
the fact that not in two moons had they met another tribe. All were
scattered, desperately seeking the fast-disappearing giant bison.

Hawk grunted his annoyance. He was a man in his own right, for he had
seen sixteen summers. Eight years had he sat at the feet of his father,
to learn the mechanical details, the rites and incantations, that went
into spear-making. Now he was Chief Spear-Maker himself, for less than a
moon ago his father had fallen to a saber-tooth tiger. But though Hawk
had a man's responsibilities and privileges, he could not have Willow,
because it went without saying that she must be taken by a man of some
other band.

Suddenly Hawk stiffened, and sniffed another breeze that blew in from
the north. The tribe was being shadowed by a pack of wild dogs, which
hoped to scavenge after the hunters killed. But the dogs seemed to be
merely following; there was no indication that they would attack. Hawk
returned his attention to the bison.

They were grazing in a meadow, and remained unsuspicious. Turning
around, raising his right hand as a signal that the rest must halt,
Wolf, the Chief Hunter, went on alone. He seemed to melt right into the
earth as he approached one of the big boulders and peered around it.
Hawk watched keenly.

It had never occurred to him to question why there had once been
numberless giant bison and why there were now so few. He knew only that
his tribe were bison hunters, and that they lived largely on bison
flesh. Because the tribe's sole idea was to get enough food any way it
could, Hawk had never considered the hunters wasteful in spite of the
fact that they often wiped out an entire herd of bison with one fire
drive. They might kill hundreds when they could use no more than ten,
but that was their way of life.

For an hour, while the sun approached its noontime high, Wolf remained
silently in position. He was watching the bison, and because he had not
yet signaled the hunters, Hawk knew that the herd was not in position
for a fire drive. He turned around to place the positions of the women
and seven girl children.

As Chief Spear-Maker, he could not hunt, but he could wield a club or
spear in common defense, and when the hunters went out for game, it was
his duty to help protect the tribe's more helpless members. Hawk sniffed
the breezes from all directions, but could detect no alien scents save
those of the giant bison, the pack of wild dogs, and, faintly, the odor
of a wooly rhinoceros. There was no immediate peril.

Hawk toyed idly with a spear shaft he had been fashioning. It was a
well-balanced, carefully scraped piece of wood, with a curiously
flattened knob on one end. But the shaft was just a little too slender
and flexible for a hunting spear. Something in that very quality had
kept him from casting the shaft aside.

Four days ago, entirely by accident, he had thrust the knobby end of
this shaft into a litter of loose pebbles and leaned on it. The shaft
had bent under his weight, then the end had snapped suddenly out of the
pebbles. Hawk remembered vividly what had happened, and was still
puzzled by it.

When it had snapped away, the end of the shaft had shot a small pebble
straight into the middle of a pond. Afterward Hawk had picked up a
similar pebble, and tried to hurl it into the pond. He could not throw
such a light object half as far as the shaft had snapped it. There was
something in the flexible shaft, some mysterious power which he lacked,
and he had spent much time wondering about it.

After an hour and a half, so slowly that he seemed scarcely to move,
Wolf raised his hand. At once Kar, the Chief Fire-Maker, went to his
side. Hawk quivered eagerly.

The time was here; the bison had evidently moved into a suitable
position and the fire drive was about to take place. One by one the
hunters moved up beside Wolf and Kar, the boy hunters imitating exactly
everything they did. The sight made Hawk writhe with impatience. He,
too, wanted to be with the hunters, but he dared not join them. Whoever
violated tribal law was banished from the tribe, and banishment meant
sure death, for no lone human being could survive in this savage
wilderness.

Kar and Wolf disappeared over the top of the hill. One by one, in order
of experience, the hunters and their sons crawled past the boulders and
down the other side. Presently, their spears and clubs with them, all
were out of sight.

Hawk glanced once more at the women and girl children, who were sitting
and lying in the tall grass. They were safe, for the wild dogs were
still far away in the deep forest, waiting patiently. The dogs knew that
they had almost no chance of making a kill should they attack the giant
bison. But they were an experienced pack, familiar with humans. Always,
after a fire drive, there were numerous dead animals that the hunters
did not use. The dogs could afford to wait.

Since there appeared to be no danger threatening the women, Hawk was
unable to restrain himself any longer. He could not join in the hunt,
but he could watch it. If danger came, he could reach the women and
children in time. Crawling toward the top of the hill, he lay prone
behind a boulder. Cautiously he peered around it.

He looked down on a wide river meadow where rank grass grew shoulder
high to a man. But no men were in sight. Hawk knew that they were
crawling through the grass, dispersing themselves at strategic intervals
to intercept any bison that tried to break through their encircling
ring. As they advanced, they gave no sign of their presence. Nothing but
a stray breeze that carried their scent to the bison could betray them
now.

Hawk turned his eyes toward the bison. The entire herd, bulls, cows, and
calves, was feeding toward the river. Hawk looked toward the river, and
uttered a puzzled grunt.

Getting enough food was an always-present problem, and an opportunity
such as this could not be missed. But was Wolf not risking too much in
his present preparations? The herd could be ringed with fire, but there
was only a six-foot embankment at the edge of the river. Driven down
that by the flames, more bison would escape than would be killed or
injured. Maybe the entire herd would get away. Hawk wondered if it would
not have been wiser to follow the herd and wait until it could be driven
into a deep canyon or over a high cliff.

Reluctantly Hawk put his doubts aside. Wolf was a mighty hunter; it was
unlikely that he would fail.

The unsuspicious bison fed on, moving slowly nearer the river as they
did so. To all outward appearances the meadow was a peaceful one,
containing nothing save the herd of bison and a few bright-colored birds
that flitted about the tall grass. Even the wary birds had not yet
detected the hunters.

Then, after another hour, a wisp of smoke arose.

Hawk's excitement mounted, and he burned with an inward tension. The
fire drive was under way.

Several hunters were on their feet now and running as fast as they
could, flaming torches of twisted grasses in their hands. They paused at
twenty-foot intervals to touch their torches to the dried grass, and ran
on.

Leaping fire crawled up the grass where the hunters had first lighted
it, and long tongues of flame licked hungrily out toward more grass. In
a matter of seconds, behind the racing men, a curving line of fire
sprang up and began to spread both ways. In a frenzy of excitement, Hawk
leaped to his feet and shouted hoarsely. Then he was aware of the women
and girl children beside him.

Now that there was no further need for concealment or quiet, they had
come up to watch. Their faces were alight with anxious hope, for they
and their men would eat well only if the savage scene below worked to
their advantage.

A great, rumbling bellow came from the besieged herd. Cows with calves
at their heels trotted nervously toward the river. Massive bulls stayed
in the rear, shaggy heads lowered toward the approaching flames, alert
to meet any danger. Watching, Hawk scarcely breathed.

It was an alarmed herd, but not the panic-stricken one it should be.
Obviously the bison had been in other fire drives, and refused to be
stampeded toward the dangerous river bank. Some of the bulls wheeled in
ahead of the cows, turning the whole herd. For a few moments they stood
still, the calves in the center and the bulls and cows in a protecting
outer ring. Then, at a swift run, the entire herd started away from the
river, toward one side of the encircling fire ring.

Hawk turned his attention toward the hunters. They had leaped into the
burned part between the blaze that was burning toward the bison and the
fire that was running back into the forest behind them. They were
advancing behind the fire, but something was wrong; the far side of the
meadow was too wet to burn. Yellow smoke rose from it, but scarcely any
flame. The bison, too much hunted and too wise to fall into the trap
designed for them, were going to try to break through the weakest part
of the fire ring.

The wind freshened, keeping the smoke low and blowing it toward the
river. The meadow was covered by a thick blanket of smoke that rose
halfway up the running bison, so that only their shaggy backs and heads
were clearly visible to the watchers on the hill.

Hawk stood still, watching with growing despair as the running hunters
raced toward the herd's line of escape. Only one man blocked it. He was
Short-Leg, one of the poorer hunters, and as the shifting smoke revealed
him clearly, Hawk's keen eyes could see that he was holding his spear
wrong. He gripped it too high, so that he could not get the weight of
his body behind any thrust he made, and he was sure to miss. Hawk looked
anxiously toward the other hunters.

They were running as hard as they could to put themselves in position
for a strike, but the herd's sudden shift of direction had left them at
a disadvantage. The bison had too much start and were running too fast.
Hawk groaned in dismay as he saw Short-Leg stab at a huge bull. Neither
well nor strongly thrust, the spear was pushed lightly aside by the
bull's ponderous leg.

Then the smoke closed in and quarry and hunters were lost to sight.

Hawk turned away, not having to see any more to know the outcome of the
hunt. But the tense women continued to stare at the swirling smoke
blanket, as though the very fierceness of their gaze would help the men
who were trying to get the desperately needed food.

Moodily Hawk toyed with his spear shaft. He thrust the knobby end
against a pebble, bent the shaft, and watched the pebble snap away. With
respect that was close to awe, he picked up the shaft and twirled it
between his fingers. He bent the slender stick, feeling the tensile
strength within it. The shaft had life and power of its own, but he knew
of no way to control it and make it serve him.

There was something about that mysterious power of which he was just a
little afraid. His father had told him, over and over, that the
spear-maker's secrets lay in the strength of certain resilient hardwoods
and the cutting edges of certain stones. These properties were strong
magic, his father had said, and never, under any conditions, were they
to be treated lightly or trifled with. Human skill could combine the
wood and the stone to make a properly balanced spear, but if the spirit
of each part was not treated with respect, the spear would not fly true.

His father had also said that there was a way, by combining a short
piece of wood with a spear, to throw that spear a very great distance.
He had been given such a magic throwing-stick by an old spear-maker of
another tribe. Although Hawk had carefully preserved it since his
father's death, he did not understand the secret of its power, for his
father had never felt that the time had been right to reveal it. The
ways the tribe knew, and had always known, were good ways, his father
had believed.

Now, handling the slender shaft, Hawk wondered if there were some
connection between its power and the magic of the throwing-stick. Going
over to his pile of extra spears, he picked up the mysterious implement.

It was the length of his arm, a carefully polished stick with a short
piece of branch protruding at right angles from one end. The branch had
been cut off so that only two inches remained. Where the branch joined
the stick, a smooth hollow had been scraped or worn. Hawk looked at the
throwing-stick in bewilderment. He grasped it at both ends, and bent it
in his hands. It was stiffer than the slender spear shaft that had
snapped the pebble, but he could feel the same living strength. But he
did not know what to do with it; the magic would not reveal itself to
him.

A bedraggled, discouraged little group, the weary hunters straggled
back. After the bison had broken through their fire, they had chased the
herd a long way without overtaking so much as a calf. There was no meat.

As the hunters joined their hungry women and children, the wind ruffled
the grass, and a bouncing little antelope-like creature appeared
suddenly. It stopped forty feet away, head alert and ears erect as it
studied the group. One of the hunter's sons threw a spear that fell
short by ten feet. The little animal skipped away, and the boy
listlessly went out to retrieve his spear. Except for Hawk, the hungry
men paid no attention. From time immemorial they had lived chiefly on
the giant bison, and other game was only incidental. The boy should have
known he couldn't hit anything so small and fleet.

Hawk stared intently at the place where the little antelope had
disappeared. The problem of finding meat was becoming more and more
serious. Except for large beasts such as bison, which could be trapped
in fire drives, and were consequently becoming scarcer, the land was
alive with game. But the tribe had never had much success in hunting the
smaller animals because they were so agile; they could avoid the
ordinary hurled spear. So, in the midst of plenty, the tribe was
hard-pressed for food of any kind.

Kar, the Chief Fire-Maker, went into the forest and returned dragging a
small tree for his night fire. He went again, bringing back an armful of
dead branches and dry tinder. Kar stamped about the place where his fire
was to be, one step sideways with his left foot and one with his right.
Hawk looked disinterestedly on. All this was fire ritual, and no
business of his.

Short-Leg, the hunter who had missed his strike at the bison, had been
standing moodily by himself. Finally he spoke.

"My spear failed me, Spear-Maker."

"My spears do not fail," Hawk replied shortly.

"I struck at a bull. My spear missed," Short-Leg insisted.

"I saw you. You did not hold your spear as a hunter should, and it is
your fault because you missed."

Short-Leg's eyes gleamed redly, and he snatched at the club dangling
from his girdle. Hawk sprang to his feet, ready to defend himself.

"Peace," Wolf commanded. "We have trouble enough, without you two
fighting. You will make Short-Leg another spear?"

"I will."

Kar and two young apprentice fire-makers had by now brought a great load
of wood and piled it by the night fire. It leaped high, spreading
welcome warmth over the hungry people who huddled around it. Kar passed
his hand over the fire and it glowed blood-red. Hawk watched, and
wondered.

The customs and beliefs of the tribe were deeply ingrained, a part of
him, and it was not for him to question them. Yet, sometimes, he was
puzzled by them. The incantations and rituals he himself used in the
making of spears--just what connection did they have with the true worth
of a spear? He knew that it had been Short-Leg, and not his spear, who
had been at fault in the bison hunt. Yet he must make a new spear--and
it must be made in a certain fashion, and in no other way. Puzzling over
this idea, Hawk idly began drilling his slender spear shaft deep into
the ground.

Wolf stiffened suddenly, his nostrils distended as he sniffed the
breeze. A moment later Hawk had the scent, and almost at once the rest
of the hunters were alert.

For three days, always maintaining a respectful distance, the wild dogs
had been trailing them. But until now, as their scent had proven, they
had been interested only in scavenging any excess game killed by the
hunters. Now the harmless scent had changed to a threatening, dangerous
odor. Hungry, and having failed to get any bison, the wild dogs were
aroused.

Spears in their hands, clubs swinging at their fur girdles, the men
arranged themselves in a protecting circle around the fire, facing
outward toward the gathering darkness. The women and children snatched
whatever stones they could lay their hands on and took up positions
behind the men.

A fierce pleasure surged through Hawk. Forbidden to hunt lest his
spear-making skill be endangered, he had to content himself most of the
time with chipping flint heads, fashioning spear shafts, and binding the
heads to them. He found action of the sort he craved only when the camp
was attacked, and everyone called on for defense. He leaped erect,
snatching up a spear, but still hanging tightly to the shaft he had
drilled into the ground. Its supple length bent under the pressure of
his hands and the weight of his body.

He looked beyond the ring of light cast by the fire, the only haven in
the savage wilderness, into the brooding shadows. Most of the time the
tribe was safe near the fire, but not tonight. Now the hunger-maddened
wild dogs were stalking the camp. They knew that the tribe was not in a
good position for defense; thick grass provided concealment right up to
the light of the fire. The only visible evidence of the impending attack
was an occasional ripple in the grass.

A sudden strange idea seized Hawk and he gripped the imbedded spear
shaft so tightly that his knuckles whitened. The stick, the live green
stick with so much supple strength! He had been looking for a way to
make it hurl a spear, and now he had found it! Hawk bent the shaft back,
and placed the butt of his spear against the flattened knob at the end.
Supporting the spear with both hands, holding the shaft back, he
searched the tall grass.

The next time he saw the grass move, he bent the shaft a little farther
and released the spear. It shot from his hands into the tall grass, and
disappeared without striking its intended target. Hawk groped for
another spear.

The next moment the dogs closed in.

With no time to use the shaft again, Hawk grasped the second spear in
his hands and braced his feet. Leaping gray shadows in the tall grass,
the dogs appeared. Seeing one, Hawk hurled his spear. It flew as
straight as the wood from which its shaft was fashioned. There was a
shriek of pain, then a few bubbling growls.

Almost before the spear left his hands, Hawk snatched his club and
sprang forward. A big black dog, a beast fully as tall as Hawk, leaped
from the grass with jaws gaping wide. Its polished ivory fangs glinted
in the firelight as it sought a throat-hold. Agile as a cat, Hawk
side-stepped and smashed the dog's skull with his club.

All the men, having thrown their spears, were busy with clubs. Hawk saw
a hunter drop his club when a great dog sprang at him, and throw up his
hands to shield his face. Wolf dashed to the man's rescue.

The next instant Hawk pivoted on the balls of his feet and, club raised,
raced toward the fire. He hadn't seen any dog break through the line of
men, but one had, for the women were smashing at it with their stones.
Hawk whirled among them, and brought his club down on the dog's head.
The beast took two staggering steps and collapsed.

But he had not been quick enough. One of the girls was on her knees
beside the fire, red blood bubbling from her mangled thigh.

It was Willow.




[Illustration]

  SPEAR SHAFT

  CHAPTER 2


For a moment Hawk stood still, the club dangling idly from his hand. The
scene was commonplace; someone was always being hurt or killed by wild
beasts. But, though ordinarily Hawk would not have given a second
glance, he felt troubled because it was Willow who lay there on the
ground.

Slowly Hawk turned his back on her and walked away from the fire. He
could do nothing here anyway; he had no knowledge of the secrets of the
medicinal herbs and grasses, and was a little afraid of the incantations
with which the old medicine woman of the tribe applied them.

The wild dogs had retreated, leaving five dead behind them. Back in the
forest there was a confused chorus of growls and snarls, then a few
high-pitched screams. The pack had set upon and torn apart one of their
wounded members, and now they would eat. The humans around the leaping
fire relaxed. The pack had suffered a crushing defeat, and it was
unlikely that the dogs would attack again, at least until they had
marshaled their ripped forces.

Wolf came in, dragging two of the dead dogs by their rear paws. He took
them to the fire and dropped them near the one Hawk had killed. Other
hunters came with the other two dogs.

The tribe arranged themselves near the fire, the women and girl children
nearest and the men making an outer ring. Save for the fire, and the
people around it, the wilderness was a dark and menacing void. This was
the way it always had been and, as far as anyone knew, the way it always
would be. Merely staying alive was a desperate business.

Kar threw more wood on the fire, and its leaping flames brightened. The
little knot of humans sat close beside it. Life during the day was never
without its danger, but at night, when prowlers were rampant, anyone who
went beyond the fire's outer circle of light took his life in his
hands.

Thus would it be all through the hours of darkness. Not one minute would
lack a hungry beast that hoped to catch and eat a human being. There was
no way to strike back. Fire and unity, the ability to throw many
spearsmen against any and all attackers, were the tribe's only
protection.

But the dangers of the night were only normal. Death threatened, but
life must go on. The women were working with flint knives, preparing the
dogs for cooking, and presently the mingled smell of cooking meat and
scorched hair filled the air. Attracted by that odor, a pair of
saber-tooth tigers came near and beat a restless patrol around the night
camp. They coughed and snarled, but nobody moved. The tigers feared the
fire, and as long as they were there no lesser brute would dare come
near. In one way the tigers' very presence was a guarantee of safety.

While the women cooked, the men rested. Hawk again fell to studying his
slender spear shaft.

He realized that there would be a great advantage in hurling a spear
farther than the strongest man could throw it. If the hunters were able
to do that, they could remain a proportionately safe distance away from
a maddened bison or cave bear. They could strike their enemies that much
farther away, and kill game which now stayed out of spear range. Again
Hawk drilled the spear shaft into the ground, and pondered.

Using the mysterious power of the shaft, he had hurled a spear much
farther than even Wolf, the mighty, could throw one. But he had hit
nothing. Hawk braced another spear against the flattened end of the
imbedded shaft and bent it back. Yes, the power was still there.

Slowly, snarling in anger because they dared come no nearer, the pair of
tigers were still beating a measured patrol around the camp. Now and
again one or the other would make a short, savage rush, rippling the
tops of the tall grass at the farthest reach of the firelight, but
coming no nearer. Hawk studied their routine.

They were making a rhythmic, methodical beat. They always traveled at
about the same speed, so that they were in the same places at the same
time as their patrol led them around the fire. They always charged
toward the camp at one place where the grass was thickest. Seized with a
sudden, bold idea, Hawk bent the shaft a bit more, and took a new grip
on the spear.

His senses were nearly as keen as those of the wild beasts against which
the tribe constantly fought, and after he had studied the tigers'
motions a few minutes he knew exactly where they were. He waited, his
eyes on the patch of dense grass, measuring the fierce pair's progress.
At exactly the right moment he shot his spear.

As he released it, the tall grass rippled from the tiger's half-rush
toward the fire. There was the solid impact of a spear striking flesh,
and the tiger's growl changed to a high-pitched scream. The wounded
tiger's mate roared threateningly. The grass bent as before a powerful
wind while both great cats charged angrily about. Continuing to scream,
the spear-stricken tiger leaped so high that his blocky form showed for
an instant over the tops of the grass. Then there was only a string of
coughing snarls that grew fainter as both beasts sought a refuge in the
forest.

Hawk stood still, trembling at the thing he had done and not at once
able to comprehend it. The fierce tigers had always been part of the
night, a routine portion of the dangers of darkness. They never came
near the fire, but neither did even the mightiest hunter ever think of
molesting the creatures. Now, at night, a man had deliberately attacked
a tiger. Furthermore, it had been a spear-maker who had done so, not a
hunter.

It was too much to understand all at once. The hunters, awe-stricken,
sat in silence. Women and children stared wide-eyed toward the faint
snarls that marked the retreating tigers. Even the smell of cooking meat
seemed for the moment to be suspended. Then Wolf spoke heavily.

"What demon possessed you, Spear-Maker, that you dared do such a thing?"

Short-Leg was on his feet, chattering angrily. "He broke the law! He
hurled a spear without cause! I saw him!"

"Tell us!" Wolf repeated sternly. "Tell us why you did it!"

Hawk found his voice. "I did not throw the spear! The power of the wood
threw it." He faltered, and pointed to the supple shaft, lacking words
to explain because he himself was not entirely sure what he had done. He
had acquired a new power, so new that there were no words for it. To
show them all its magic, Hawk snatched up another spear, braced it
against the shaft, and shot. The spear made a long, clean arc, flying
above the grass tops and falling in the darkness. Nobody, not even Wolf,
could throw a spear half that distance, and in spite of his uncertainty,
Hawk was proud.

"It is forbidden!" Short-Leg shrieked. "Trouble will come because the
Spear-Maker meddles with that of which he knows nothing!"

The hunters made a little half circle, awed and fearful. This was magic
of the blackest sort. There was a prescribed way to throw a spear, and
since time began men had thrown them in just that way. Sacred custom had
been violated, and anything could happen now. The only flicker of real
interest was in Wolf's eyes, but he, too, shrank back from the
mysterious thing he had witnessed. He stared hard at Hawk.

"You know the law," he said. "All your spears will fly false unless you
use them only in defense of the tribe. The tiger was not attacking us."

"It is true, Wolf," Hawk admitted. "But it is also true that I was not
hunting, which is what the law forbids. I am Chief Spear-Maker and I
accept my place as such. But this is good magic and great power which
has come to me. Will you not use it yourself?"

The hunters were now staring at Wolf, their chosen leader. He was a
brave and skillful hunter, but the Chief Spear-Maker's argument about
the law was too much for his simple mind. He did realize, however, that
the other hunters were afraid of this new power.

"It is not our way of hunting," Wolf said, turning away.

Hawk pulled the slender shaft out of the ground and laid it with his
extra spears and shafts. To relieve his own awed excitement he counted
them. There were a dozen shafts and a dozen spears, an extra one for
each man. And when the sun rose, he must make another spear for
Short-Leg, who was dissatisfied with the one he carried. Hawk looked
sideways at the leader, the only man who had shown real interest in the
spear-throwing shaft. But, in the face of opposition from all the rest,
even Wolf dared not press that interest too far.

Hawk sat alone, shunned by the awe-struck hunters. He accepted a piece
of half-cooked dog brought to him by one of the women, and gnawed
hungrily on it. As he ate, he stole a glance at the little cluster of
women and children. They, too, were now eating, the men having been
given the best parts. Even Willow, lying on a bed of grass that the
women had prepared for her, was listlessly nibbling a strip of meat. Her
thigh was no longer bleeding.

Hawk gave all his attention to the food in his hands, tearing the
stringy meat from the big bone with his powerful jaws. Dog was not the
best of food. It lacked the strength-giving qualities of bison, or any
of the other grass-eaters, but it would serve when nothing else was to
be had. After he gnawed the bone clean, Hawk lay down to sleep.

Black night still reigned when he awakened. Hawk sat up, locating by his
odor the leopard that had taken over the tigers' patrol. The wind
brought him the scent of wolves and, far off, the faint odor of the wild
dogs. They had gone only far enough to lick their wounds, and had not
departed. But it was unlikely that they would attack again.

Kar, sitting with his chin on his knees, rose to throw more wood on the
fire. The flames flared brightly, revealing some of the men sleeping and
a few wakeful. One of the women rose to bring them more meat. Hawk ate
his slowly; he was not as hungry as he had been. When he had eaten
enough, he lay down to sleep again.

This was their life. When they had enough to eat, they gorged. Uneaten
meat would spoil anyhow, and tomorrow was far away. Keeping alive and
fed today were the important parts of living.

The next time Hawk awakened morning had come and a warm sun was pouring
through the tall trees. He stretched luxuriously, then looked to his
sheaf of spears. When he rose and walked near one of the hunters, the
man moved quickly away from him. The rest looked suspiciously at Hawk.
Not forgotten was last night, and the witchcraft by which he had
stricken a hunting tiger at a distance greater than any man should be
able to hurl a spear.

Relieved of his night duties by another day, Kar was lying in the grass
with his head pillowed on his arm. Kar must never sleep at night, for
only to the Chief Fire-Maker fell the responsibility of the night fire.
But he could sleep during the day whenever the tribe was not on the
move.

Hawk glanced toward the women. Some were busy near the fire, cooking the
remainder of the slain dogs, but two were grinding dried berries in a
hollow stone, using a smaller stone to crush the berries into powder.
Willow had risen from her bed of grass and was sitting with her back to
a stone, staring wanly at the fire. A compress of green herbs bound her
injured leg. Hawk looked at her pale face; obviously Willow was badly
hurt.

Hawk licked his lips, and bolted his portion when a woman brought him
another piece of meat. It was one of the last pieces, and when it was
all gone the tribe would have to move on. Again Hawk glanced at Willow.
If she could not go with the rest, she would be left behind to certain
death; a hungry tribe could not risk starvation for the sake of an
injured girl.

Hawk picked up the slender spear shaft and twirled it between his
fingers. Respectfully he gazed at the shaft, a thing more powerful than
any man. Even now he had not acquired all of the secrets it contained.
He knew only that there were better ways of spearing than any yet put
into use by his fellow tribesmen. Perhaps more of the strange new power
would be revealed to him. When Hawk caught Wolf staring at him, he put
the shaft down.

Covertly he studied it, then glanced sideways at Wolf. Except for the
leader, the hunters feared the spear-thrower. And Wolf did not dare risk
their fear. Hawk cast about for something he might do to win over the
leader. The power of the shaft was good, as had been proven by his
striking the tiger last night, but how could he persuade the rest to
accept it?

The sun climbed higher, and the women served the last of the meat.
Carrying skin containers, two of the women rose and went to a spring
that bubbled from beneath one of the boulders. They filled their
containers, returned to the fire, and kneaded the coarsely ground berry
powder into flat cakes. These they put on hot stones to bake.

The men looked disinterestedly at them. Having had meat, they wanted
more. Baked cakes were acceptable to satisfy great hunger, but they were
not good food. However, since their bellies were filled for the present,
nobody was inclined to move. It was good to take full advantage of rest
periods whenever they occurred because, soon enough, there would be
none.

Hawk busied himself making another spear. He knew the capabilities of
every man in the tribe and fashioned his spears to fit the user. Wolf
could throw a large shaft with a heavy head and do deadly work with it.
The rest took proportionately lighter spears and Short-Leg needed the
lightest of all.

The Chief Spear-Maker selected a smooth shaft of the proper weight and
balanced it in his hand. It had already been scraped smooth by one of
his helpers, but there was one place that needed further scraping. Hawk
worked with a rough piece of flint, the top of which had been chipped to
fit his hand. Again he tested the shaft by balancing it, and this time
he found it better.

From his pouch, he chose a head, a carefully chipped piece of flint to
fit the spear, and lashed it on with bison-skin thongs.

Hawk balanced the completed spear in his hand, feeling it as a part of
him. It was good, and would fly straight, but there was more yet to be
done. Though Hawk knew it was good, the hunter who would use the spear
must have confidence in his weapon.

He glanced at the willow-bordered streamlet that wandered away from the
spring, and carefully studied the various small birds flitting about the
branches. This was one part of spear-making which only he knew
thoroughly. There were different birds with different flights, and much
depended on selecting the right one.

The newly made spear in his hand, Hawk rose and walked down the hillock.
At the bottom was a tar pit, and the hot sun had made it a sticky mess.
He thrust a stick into the tar, and turned it until the stick was
coated.

Carrying the dripping stick, he returned to the willows and lightly
coated some of their thin branches with tar. The little birds took alarm
when he approached, but returned as soon as the Chief Spear-Maker went
back to the fire. Three birds alighted on the tar-coated branches, and
fluttered wildly as they tried to escape. Hawk waited until another bird
was caught, then trotted over to his captives.

He was conscious of the hunters' keen interest as he approached, but
nobody offered to help. This was a part of spear-making that he alone
could do.

Hawk slowed his steps as he came near the fluttering birds, and cast an
expert eye over them. Two were little insect-eaters whose life depended
on their ability to twist and turn; they had to be able to do so in
order to catch the insects that dwelt among the willows. As a
consequence, they seldom flew straight for more than a few feet.

But the other two birds were fruit- and bud-eaters, suited to his
purpose. Hawk disengaged the two birds he did not want and let them go.
They bobbed erratically into the willows. He closed his hand about one
of the other prisoners. Gently, not hurting it, he worked its feet out
of the sticky tar. As he did so, he noticed that in thrashing about,
trying to free itself, the bird had broken its tail. It couldn't be
mended, but that made no difference; it was the right kind of bird.

Ceremoniously Hawk thrust the spear's point at the sky, then at the
earth, then at the four winds. He poised the spear in throwing position
and let the bird go.

Bending and twisting, unable to keep itself straight with its broken
tail, the bird wobbled into more willows a hundred feet away. Hawk
stared, dumbfounded. This was the acid test of a spear. If the bird flew
straight the spear would be certain to fly straight. Always before such
birds had flown in a perfectly straight line, but now no hunter would
accept this spear or dare use it. Hawk walked slowly back to the fire.

Two of the women were supporting Willow between them and guiding her
about. Willow hobbled stiffly, painfully, unable to use her injured leg
to good advantage. But she must move; the tribe would not stay here and
the women knew it. If Willow could not accompany them, she would
certainly be left behind.

Short-Leg looked up at Hawk. "Do not ask me to use that spear,
Spear-Maker. I saw the bird fly."

Without replying, Hawk broke the spear shaft across his knee and threw
the head away. Whether or not the flight of the bird had anything to do
with the flight of the spear, it was tribal tradition that spears must
be tested in this way. Hawk fashioned another spear.

This time, when he approached the willows, he was more careful. He had
learned something--even a bird that normally flew straight could not do
so when it had a broken tail. Hawk added this to his store of knowledge.
When he selected another bird he chose the same kind but looked it over
carefully to make sure there were no broken feathers.

Again he went through the exact ritual. When he released the bird, it
flew straight as a dart to another bush. Hawk carried the spear back to
the fire and gave it to Short-Leg.

Kar rose and stretched, and looked questioningly about for more meat.
There was none. Kar grunted his disappointment and, stooping to pick up
his spear and club, went into the forest for wood. From now until the
sun rose again, Kar would maintain his vigil.

The women had put Willow back on her bed of leaves, and the girl lay
there with one arm across her eyes, while the old medicine woman changed
the compress of herbs that covered her wound.

Hawk stretched out by the fire and slept a few minutes. When he awoke,
it was dark and the tribe had settled down for the night. Save for Kar
and one sentry, the rest of the men and boys slept lightly. Hawk tested
the night winds.

There were no scents save some far off, and the inevitable nearer one of
the tiger that patrolled the camp, hoping somebody would stray from it.
Then, from the distance, Hawk caught the scent of the wooly rhinoceros.
It was still alone, and in almost the same place it had been when he
first scented it. Hawk lay down to sleep again.

The camp awoke hungry, for during the night even the berry cakes had
been eaten and now there was nothing left. This, too, was a normal part
of things. The tribe was a wandering unit with no settled home and not
often at the same sleeping place twice. It must constantly follow the
game upon which it depended for most of its food, and the time had come
again.

Without ceremony, Wolf started out. The hunters and Kar fell in behind
him, but Hawk lingered, as was his duty. Willow rose painfully, and
would have fallen had not one of the women caught her. The two women
who had helped her yesterday looked questioningly at each other, then at
the backs of the men. Fear and doubt were in their faces; they wanted to
help the girl but not if helping her would cause them to be left behind.
They urged Willow along the line of march, while other women took up
Hawk's extra spears and shafts. Up ahead, one of the men turned
impatiently, gestured with his arm, then went on with the other hunters.

The distance between them and the women who were trying to bring the
crippled girl along increased. Hawk stayed behind, spear and club ready.
But the women were becoming restless now. Their strength lay in all the
men, not in just one, and they knew it. They talked softly among
themselves.

Then, below the crest of another hill, the men stopped.

Hawk knew why, for scent of the wooly rhinoceros came plainly to his
nostrils now. The hunters had not stopped out of consideration for the
women, but because they were near game. When Hawk and the women came up,
Wolf was on the crest of the hill, looking over. Walking openly, for
this was no herd of nervous bison but a savage beast that almost always
stood to fight, the rest went up the hill when Wolf beckoned. Hawk
looked down on the scene below.

It was another river meadow, but a barren one. The grass was short,
scarcely high enough to cover a man's ankles, and the rhinoceros stood
nearly in the center of the meadow. An armored behemoth with two long
spears in his ugly snout, he was dozing in the midday sun. Nothing else
was near.

The hunters talked softly among themselves, debating the possibilities.
Here there was no opportunity for an effective fire drive, for the grass
was too short to burn. Any assault on the wooly rhinoceros would have to
be a direct attack, and that was always dangerous. Nevertheless, it
could be done.

The hunters decided to attack.

[Illustration]

Hawk walked down the slope with them, trying to conceal his great
excitement. Here was the chance to use the power of the green shaft, the
opportunity for which he had been hoping. At the very best, with every
advantage on the hunters' side, a wooly rhinoceros was a dangerous
beast, a snorting ton of fury that, once aroused, would turn aside for
nothing. His hide could be pierced, but not by any thrown spear. Brute
strength was needed to penetrate the beast's heavy armor. But if a
hunter could stand at a distance, and shoot a spear that would sink into
the creature's vitals. . . . Hawk glanced at Wolf, who had apparently
forgotten all about the shaft. It was no use; the hunters would have
nothing to do with Hawk's new power.

[Illustration]

The Chief Spear-Maker remained in his proper place, a little behind the
hunters. The wooly rhinoceros came awake, and tossed his long snout
viciously. Two of the more agile hunters feinted in front of him, while
Wolf went in from the rear to thrust at the monster's tendons.

On a sudden, irresistible impulse, Hawk drilled his spear shaft into the
ground. He braced a spear against the knobby end, bent the shaft way
back, and shot. There was a sudden snap as the shaft splintered. The
spear wobbled in flight, brushed the wooly beast's side, and bounded
off.

Grunting in anger, the rhinoceros wheeled suddenly. Unbelievably agile
for anything so huge, he twisted back, dipping his long head. When the
sharp horns on his snout came up, the foremost one slithered squarely
into Short-Legs belly. The skin on the man's back bulged, then the horn
broke through and Short-Leg was lifted from the ground.

He screamed once, while his dangling arms and legs writhed and twisted.
The rhinoceros pivoted, and, still grunting, trotted across the meadow,
bearing Short-Leg's drooping body with him.

Wolf turned on Hawk, his face dark with anger and fear. "This time,
Spear-Maker, you have truly broken the tribal law. You are no longer of
us!"

The hunters dived on Hawk's pile of spears, each man snatching the one
made for him. They wheeled, and at a fast trot started across the river
meadow. For a second the women hesitated. Then, as one, they followed
their men.

Willow sat where she had been abandoned. Scarcely noticing her, Hawk
stood in dumb despair. His new-found power had failed!




[Illustration]

  LEFT TO DIE

  CHAPTER 3


In the distance, the wooly rhinoceros was scraping its snout on the
ground, trying to rid itself of its gruesome burden. The retreating
tribesmen, sure that they were fleeing black misfortune in the person of
their Chief Spear-Maker, did not look back. Even the women did not waste
many backward glances at the pair who had been abandoned in the
wilderness. They were as good as dead already. With no hunters to help
them, and Willow crippled, very shortly they would furnish a meal for a
pack of dire wolves, or a saber-tooth.

Hawk walked slowly forward and retrieved the spear he had shot. Then he
stood still, leaning on the spear and watching the backs of the
departing tribesmen.

A vulture flew overhead, and began to wheel in slow circles over the
place where the rhinoceros had scraped Short-Leg's body from its horns.
A moment later there were a dozen more in the sky. Vultures always
seemed to know before anything else when there was food to be had. One
by one, they planed to earth. The rhinoceros stamped his ponderous feet
and snorted at them. He shook his massive head. Hawk watched dully.

The bent shaft, he knew now, was not a good thing. Its magic worked when
conditions were exactly right, but one who lived by his spear must be
ready to hurl it in a split second. He could not always depend on
finding the right sort of ground into which he might drill the hurling
stick, and drill it fast. Nor could he know when the power might choose
to leave the shaft, and the wood break. And all of it together had led
to banishment.

Willow moved painfully. Steadying herself against a stone, she stood up.
Hawk glanced at her, as though for the first time aware of her presence.
She was only a girl, and crippled, scarcely able to move without help.
Therefore she was useless, and the tribe had been right in abandoning
her. But as long as she was still alive, she seemed in some way to be
his responsibility. Hawk looked again to his weapons, checking his spear
shaft carefully for strength and making sure that the head was properly
bound.

Fire was the first essential to keeping alive, and though Hawk had never
built or tended a fire he had watched Kar and his assistants do it. He
knew the stones from which Kar produced the spark to ignite his fires,
but he was not sure he could find any along the river meadows. Nor did
he know whether he could control the power of fire. However, the fire at
last night's camp was sure to have live sparks buried in its dead ashes.
It would be wise to return there.

Hawk swung on his heel and started away. Then he stopped and looked back
at Willow. She was leaning against the boulder, her eyes fixed
despairingly on the meadow grass. She had made no protest when Hawk
walked away from her. It was the creed of the wild land in which they
lived that cripples had no right to expect help. But they were both
forsaken, and though Hawk knew that Willow could not help him in her
present condition, her mere presence was reassuring. She was human, one
of his own kind.

"Come with me," said Hawk with unaccustomed gentleness. "We will go
back to last night's camp."

The dull despair left Willow's eyes, and hope flashed within them. She
had been resigned to her fate, knowing that the wounded never lived
long. Now, even though she knew that both of them together had small
chance for survival, the will to live was strong. She let go of the
boulder and took a stiff forward step. She stumbled, almost fell, and
caught herself. Hawk picked up one of the extra spear shafts the
departing tribe had left behind, and offered it to her. Then he started
out, spear and club ready.

Twenty yards away, a small mottled wild cat crouched in the grass. Its
tail twitched, tufted ears were erect, and yellow eyes gleamed. So
silently had the wild cat come that even Hawk had not detected its
presence.

Knowing that the smaller of these two humans was wounded, and having
marked her as its prey, the cat glared at the man in rage. But it made
no move to attack because it had no wish to face an armed man. It crept
back into the tall grass and disappeared.

Hawk's keen eyes followed the little cat's circling course through the
grass, and he took a new grip on his club.

They walked slowly, Hawk suiting his pace to Willow's hobbling shuffle.
He was aware of the cat that slunk around them, of furtive life
represented by hares and other small creatures, but there was nothing
large, nothing that meant danger. They stopped on top of a hillock and
looked down at a grove of trees.

A monstrous ground sloth, a beast fully eighteen feet long, moved slowly
among them. The dull-witted, harmless creature reared to curl its long
tongue around a small branch and strip off the leaves. Bruising them
between its hard, toothless gums, it swallowed the leaves and reached
out for more.

Hawk looked questioningly back to where the tribe had disappeared. It
wanted food, and here was easy game to last all of them for many days to
come. The giant sloths were neither agile nor quick-witted. When
attacked, they tried only to get away unless they were in some corner
from which there was no escape. Then they fought fiercely, and were so
big and strong that they could kill or seriously injure anything they
could reach with their long, hooked claws. But they were unable to
strike fast, and a group of skilled hunters could always kill one.

However, the tribe was gone beyond recall and just one man could not
hope to kill a beast so huge. Much as he and Willow needed meat, the
giant sloth would have to go on his slow, harmless way.

When they reached the site of last night's camp, Hawk poked in the
white ashes with a stick, and uncovered a bed of glowing coals. Then he
hesitated.

Secretly he had questioned some tribal practices and taboos, but now
that it was necessary for him to take over another man's task he was
filled with uncertainty. Kar had always been the Chief Fire-Maker and
only Kar knew all the secrets of fire. Anyone else who tried to control
its power would be interfering with something about which he knew
little. Anything could happen.

Deliberately Hawk kept his eyes from Willow, who had seated herself on
her former bed of leaves and was applying a fresh herb compress to her
wound. Hawk looked all about, and discovered nothing dangerous. Spear in
hand, club dangling from his girdle, he went into the forest.

He knew the various kinds of wood because, in experimenting with spear
shafts, he had used limbs from most of the trees. But he had also
watched Kar and his helpers bring wood in, and had noticed that wood
suitable for spears was evidently not acceptable for fires. Almost
always in starting a fire, Kar had used dead wood, whereas a spear-maker
needed the straightest, hardest, and greenest shoots.

As he strode among the great trees he remained alert to everything about
him. He automatically noted where to find a future supply of spear
shafts, where small animals had their secret lairs, where there were
nesting birds, and where beasts had been. The faint, stale odor of wild
dogs still clung to the mat of fallen leaves, but the dogs had left.

Hawk soon found what he was seeking. A mighty tree had fallen, dragging
others with it, and the place was now an almost impenetrable mass of
dead and dying branches. Hawk broke a branch from the dead tree and
dragged it back behind him.

When he cast his branch on the glowing ashes, a shower of sparks rose.
Powder-thin ashes sifted into the air and for a moment hovered in a tiny
gray cloud. Hawk watched, perplexed.

This was the way it should be done, for this was the way he had seen Kar
do it. But no flame and scarcely any smoke rose from the tree limb. Hawk
squatted beside it, his eyes intent as he sought to fathom the mystery
of fire. He had never built one, and obviously there were secrets
connected with the proper making of a good fire that he did not know.

"Use small pieces."

Hawk turned in astonishment to find Willow kneeling beside him.

"Break off small pieces and put them against the hot ashes," she
repeated.

She seemed so sure of herself that Hawk broke some slender twigs from
the end of the bough, and laid them on the ashes. Almost at once a
little tendril of smoke leaped up and a second later there was a tiny
tongue of flame. The flame grew, licking eagerly around the bough. Hawk
glanced at Willow with a look of respect. Plainly there was more to this
fire business than he knew. Even women, ordinarily the lesser part of
the tribe, seemed to know more about it than he did.

The fire rose, and began to burn fiercely at the big bough. Again Hawk
went into the forest for wood. He was worried because night was certain
to bring wild beasts and they would need a fire all night. But the
flames seemed to be eating the wood faster than he could carry it.
Returning with all the wood he could carry, he threw an armful of dry
branches on the fire. Rising sparks made a bright shower, and the flames
raged high.

As darkness began to fall, Willow wearily fell asleep on her bed, and
Hawk began a frantic search for enough wood to last them through the
night. Now he was no longer as careful in what he selected; anything
would do. Green branches went with dead ones onto the fire. As he piled
them there, Hawk noticed that the fire burned more slowly. He squatted
beside his blaze, looking intently into it, seeking an answer to the
puzzling question of why his fire did not now consume the wood so
rapidly.

When he rose he had learned something new. Dead wood created a fierce
blaze, but wood with sap still in it burned slower. Therefore, dead wood
was the firemaker, but green was its keeper. Having found this out, Hawk
brought in a large pile of both. As night shadows became deeper, he sat
silently beside his fire. When a tiger coughed out in the darkness he
scarcely even glanced up.

Never in the history of his tribe had a tiger attacked human beings who
were sitting around a fire. Of course a pack of starving wolves or wild
dogs might come, and if so they would have to be dealt with, but there
was small use in worrying about anything before it happened. Let the
next hour bring what it would. They were safe for this one.

Hawk picked up an extra spear shaft and began to toy with it. He drilled
the shaft into the ground, bent it with his hand, and tried to brace his
spear against it. He pulled the shaft out of the ground and examined it
again. It was not good to drill it into the earth; there were too many
things that could go wrong. But the slender shaft still retained its
supple strength, and would, no matter where it was.

Hawk tightened his fingers around it, then squeezed so hard that his
clenched knuckles whitened. He could not depend upon finding a place to
brace his shaft whenever he needed it, but a man's hand was always
ready! This, then, was the answer! Hawk laid the shaft back in his hand
and tried to brace a spear against it. He could not. The spear was lying
parallel with the shaft and there was nothing against which it might be
held. The shaft needed a cross-piece or projection of some kind,
something against which the butt end of the spear could be braced.

Feverishly Hawk took up the throwing-stick, which his father had never
showed him how to use. At last he knew! The magic had finally been
revealed to him. Hawk grasped the smooth end of the throwing-stick and
swished it experimentally through the air. The smooth end fitted his
clenched hand perfectly and, almost of its own volition, the other end
rose easily into the air. All the power and strength, all the magic of
wood, were there. Hawk was no longer in doubt as to how it should be
used.

Holding the smooth end in his right hand, Hawk laid back the
throwing-stick until it was level, and shoulder high. Then he fitted the
butt of a spear against the hollow at the base of the branch. It worked
smoothly, naturally, as it was supposed to work. The butt of the spear
was braced against the short branch; the center of the spear shaft
fitted easily into his palm, and the spear had an almost perfect
balance. Hawk did not throw at once, but he felt that he could hurl the
spear a great distance. The throwing-stick seemed to double the length
and strength of his arm.

Hawk removed the spear, then put it back into position. Again and again,
never releasing the spear, he swung his arm back, then forward. Then he
looked around. Some distance away, faintly revealed in the fire's
dancing light, was a tuft of withered grass. Hawk swung his arm forward
and cast his spear at the grass.

The weapon landed almost two feet to one side of the tuft, but some
hunters could never come within two feet of their targets anyway.
Retrieving the spear, Hawk threw again, allowing for his previous margin
of error. This time the spear landed within a few inches of its target.
Again he cast the weapon. Out of a dozen throws, he hit the tuft of
grass squarely four times. Had it been an animal of any size, he would
have struck it every time. The magic of the throwing-stick was his!

Suddenly aware of danger, he raced lightly forward, snatched up his
spear, and held it ready. Willow rose from her bed, struggled to her
feet, and looked around. Painfully she bent to catch up a large stone
lying at her feet.

The wild dogs were coming back. The wind told Hawk that there were only
two of them, but that they were determined to attack. Theirs was a
fighting scent, the odor of intent beasts of prey. As he followed their
progress by the breeze, Hawk balanced a spear in the throwing-stick.

Had there been a pack of dogs he would not have done such a thing. The
spear-thrower was new and experimental, and he had practiced too little
to know much about it. If he kept the spear in his hands he could
certainly kill one of the dogs, but there were only two and he thought
he could handle both with his club, if the spear-thrower failed. He
waited tensely.

He saw motion in the grass, but restrained himself. The instinct to hurl
a spear was born in him; spears had always been the most important part
of his whole life. However, all his life he had thrown spears with arm
power alone. Now he waited because he was not sure; for a second he was
tempted to remove the spear from the throwing-stick. Then the feel of it
gave him confidence. It was strong and good. He must trust it.

He shifted the spear a bit, remembering the lessons taught by practice.
To control the eager spirit of the green wood, the spear must be held
exactly right and the throwing-stick must be given just the right
motion. Hawk remained still until the wind and the gently rustling grass
told him that the approaching dogs were about as far away as the tuft of
withered grass had been. He squinted his eyes, trying hard to see. The
head and fore parts of a dog were framed in the grass.

They were there for only a split second, but that was enough. Anyone who
lived by hunting had to learn, first of all, to take advantage of
opportunities. Hawk cast his spear.

He heard it strike, and saw a thrashing in the tall grass. Instantly he
was running forward, his club upraised. Meeting the other dog, he
side-stepped as it struck at his throat. Hawk smashed his club solidly
down on the dog's head. It staggered, threw itself about, and went limp.

Scarcely pausing, for he was in the fire's outer glow and therefore in a
very dangerous place, Hawk went forward to get the spear-stricken dog.
It was a female, and the one he had killed with his club was a big male.
Doubtless they were a mated pair with puppies somewhere in the forest.

Hawk dragged both dogs to the fire and left them beside Willow. Then he
squatted down near the fire.

He still shivered with excitement at the power of the wonderful new
weapon that was now his. It was a long-sought answer to two pressing
problems: how to stay far enough from dangerous game and at the same
time attack it; and how to reach out and kill small, agile beasts which
hitherto had eluded the hunters. At last he had a weapon with which he
could strike at an unheard-of distance.

Hawk sat still, so entranced by the new and wonderful spear-thrower that
he paid small attention to the familiar smell of burned hair and
roasting meat. But when Willow brought him the roasted haunch of one of
the dogs he tore happily at it. Finished, he looked to his fire and lay
down to sleep.

His slumber was light. Ceaseless vigilance, an ability to be awake and
on one's feet fighting, all in the same instant, was the price of life.
Hawk awakened at intervals to tend his fire and to test the various
winds. No danger threatened.

He slept sporadically, satisfied that all was well and still refusing to
worry about what tomorrow might bring. Banishment should have meant
death in a matter of hours, but he and Willow were still alive and had
food in plenty. They also had fire, their surest protection. Hawk rested
contentedly, knowing that at any moment he might have to fight for his
life but accepting that fact as a normal part of existence.

With dawn he rose and ate more meat which Willow cooked. The day would
bring its own special problems and the question of coping with them
occupied his thoughts.

Until now his life had been a nomadic one. The tribe to which he had
belonged had always found it necessary to wander, to follow the game
herds upon which they depended for food. Often they passed one season
hundreds of miles from where they had spent the previous one. There was
no such thing as a settled or permanent home.

And the tribe, with a dozen strong hunters, had been able to wander.
That many spearsmen, presenting a united front, could beat back almost
anything that attacked. Even the ferocious saber-tooth was not a match
for twelve spears.

But Hawk knew that he could not possibly wander now. Even if he were not
accompanied by the wounded Willow, one man alone was no match for all
the dangers of traveling. He must have a haven, some place of safety,
and the fire was the safest place he knew. He hauled more wood and built
his fire up. Then he looked restlessly about.

The second absolute necessity for just staying alive was plenty of
food. For the present he had plenty, but it would not last. He must get
more, and the fact that he had to hunt meant that he must leave the
safety of the fire.

Hawk carefully fashioned two more spears for himself, then lashed points
to them from the flints and thongs in his pouch. He tried them both for
balance, and fitted them to his spear-thrower. Satisfied, he glided
softly into the forest.

Seeking game, Hawk walked as cunningly and as carefully as any
four-footed hunter. He used his eyes, ears, and nose, as completely as
any beast of the forest. Always he hunted into the wind, so that he
might be sure of everything about him.

Suddenly he halted, his nostrils dilating as they detected a faint
scent. The odor strengthened, bringing to him positive news of a great
cave bear. Hawk stood still, smelling, looking, listening. Cave-dwelling
bears were monstrous things, even more savage than the saber-tooth
tigers. From time to time, when they were desperate for food, the
tribe's hunters had attacked and killed a bear, but such a creature was
far more than a match for one man. Still, for safety's sake, he had
better locate the bear's cave.

Cautiously he stole forward, only to halt again as a new scent began to
mingle with that of the bear. It was the odor of dire wolves, giant
beasts larger than the deer they usually hunted. A pack of them must be
after the bear.

Just ahead of him was a small hillock crowned with a group of trees.
Hawk ran swiftly up the slope and stopped beneath a tree whose
low-hanging branches offered a quick climb to safety if need be. He
peered around the trunk.

Across a small meadow, and against the side of another hill, the cave's
black entrance made a gaping hole. Taller than a man, it was little more
than a yard wide. Nothing was visible, but Hawk was sure that the bear
was within his den. Wolf scent grew stronger.

They swept into sight, a score of them. Lean gray beasts, each almost as
tall as a man, the pack was strong and knew it. Even a herd of giant
bison might fear such a pack. Should they attack a marching tribe, one
unprotected by fire, the best the hunters could do would be to climb the
nearest trees. Unfortunate humans caught on the ground would be torn
apart in seconds.

The pack was intent on the bear's den, and without hesitation swept in
to attack. To Hawk, watching from the opposite hill, the cave's dark
entrance seemed to become a shade darker, and then the massive head and
shoulders of the bear were framed in it. The wolves were leaping now,
crowding each other in their eagerness to close. They swept in from
every angle.

[Illustration]

Like swift clubs the bear's paws flashed. His great jaws snapped, and
three wolves lay where they had fallen. More pressed in, so many that,
for a moment, the caves mouth and the bear were almost hidden beneath a
wave of wolves.

Then, almost as suddenly as it had started, the fight was over. Leaving
its dead behind, the battered pack withdrew. For a few minutes the
wolves milled uncertainly, as though they would attack again. Then they
trotted away.

Hawk waited until he was sure they were gone before he left the
sheltering trees. It had been a surprising fight. The bear should have
been killed, and would have had he been caught in the open. But he had
chosen his position well and defended it easily. His tender flanks and
belly, his most vulnerable parts, had been protected on three sides, and
he had won his battle.

It was something to think about. Hawk added the incident to his wealth
of forest lore.

He continued his hunt, searching out those places where he thought game
would be. Presently he stopped again. Just ahead, a herd of antelope
was feeding. Hawk stalked the small beasts carefully. He fixed a spear
in his throwing-stick, stepped around a tree, and found himself within a
few yards of the antelope.

They reacted in their usual fashion. Leaping and jumping erratically,
they seemed for a moment unable to decide just where they were to go.
Hawk cast his spear and saw it transfix a buck. Entering one side, the
spear head and six inches of shaft protruded through the other. Happily
Hawk went forth to retrieve his game. Again he had done it. Again he had
killed game at a greater distance than a man could throw a hand spear by
strength alone.

As Hawk shouldered the little buck, he straightened and stood still,
alerted by the scent of dog. It was a puzzling odor, last night's stale
smell mingled with a faint but fresh one. Hawk followed his nose.

He looked beneath the roots of a great tree at two snarling puppies.




[Illustration]

  SABER-TOOTH

  CHAPTER 4


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 fore paws 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 tightly 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, turkey-like 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,
he 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.

The flint-edged point snicked into the beast's neck and came out its
back. The cat reared straight up, clawing at the spear shaft, then fell
on its side. For a moment its paws twitched feebly, then it was still.

As Hawk walked slowly up to his fallen quarry, he understood why it had
rushed at him in such an insane fashion. In the recent past, the cat had
foolishly tackled a porcupine, and had become half-crazed from the pain
of the quills. There were so many of the needle-sharp barbs in its
cheeks and face that the tawny gray fur was almost hidden beneath them.
The cat had evidently tried to bite the porcupine, and had succeeded
only in filling its mouth and tongue with quills. Hawk looked at the
little spears with respect.

He knew the porcupines, some of which were almost as big as dire wolves.
They were stupid things that knew only how to gnaw bark, and to eat
grass and roots. But of all the creatures in this savage land,
porcupines were the only ones equipped to survive without fighting. Any
beast that attacked those bristling arrays of small spears did so to its
own sorrow and frequently its own death.

Hawk pulled his spear out of the wild cat and shouldered the carcass. It
was meat, and therefore to be saved. But it had also given him an idea.
A human could not carry and handle more than two or three full-sized
spears, but what if, like the porcupine, he were armed with many small
ones?

When Hawk returned, Willow was turning the bird over the fire on a long
spit. The puppies crowded over to frolic about him, and he pushed them
aside, his nostrils twitching from the savory smell of the cooking fowl.

Hawk tore hungrily at his portion, and looked appreciatively at the
girl. Meat prepared this way was delicious, much better than that which
was just hung over the fire on a green stick. Usually the outside of
that was burned and the inside raw. The bird was cooked to a flaky turn
all through. Hawk wiped his hands on his fur girdle, threw the bones to
the puppies, and let them scramble for them. His stomach filled with hot
food, Hawk sighed happily.

[Illustration]

"I never had such food before," he said. "It is good."

[Illustration]

Her own portion finished, Willow sat cross-legged beside the fire,
weaving a basket from limber willow shoots she had gathered. Hawk
watched her idly. The art of basket-making had long been known to the
women of his tribe. When they gathered a store of food, they used woven
baskets in which to keep it. But the baskets were never kept for very
long. On a long march nobody wanted to carry extra or unnecessary
weight. Only on those rare occasions when the tribe stayed somewhere for
an extended period did baskets appear.

Hawk looked up quickly, distracted by a rustling sound. But it was only
the skin of the bird they had eaten. Pending some possible future use,
Willow had hung it on a limb and he had heard the feathers rustling.
Returning to his problem of more weapons, Hawk went to the dead cat,
pulled a quill from its cheek, and looked at it.

Although he had tried many times, he had never been able to make any
practical use of the little barbs. The quills served their original
owners well enough, but they were too thin and flexible even to think of
tipping a hand spear with them. But he might make a small spear and see
how it worked.

Hawk emptied his pouch of flint spear heads and studied them intently.
All had been fashioned for heavy spears. Attached to a shaft smaller
than that for which they had been designed, they would make it unwieldy
and top-heavy. Nor could they be reshaped without spoiling them. He put
all the spear heads back into his pouch.

Unmindful of the gray puppy that tagged at his heels, he rose and walked
to an outcropping of stone on the side of the hill. He pried among the
tumbled pieces of flint that had broken off, examining every piece with
painstaking thoroughness, rejecting most of them. He was not concerned
with size, but rather with flaws, conformation, and the way any given
piece might be expected to flake. Finally, after an hour's search, he
returned to the fire with half a dozen rough pieces of flint.

Now it was necessary to haul more wood for the night's fire. Grudgingly,
reluctant to leave his task, he rose and went into the forest. While he
made trip after trip, Willow sat quietly, shaping her basket. When it
was finished, she lined the bottom with grass, then put in a large
quantity of seeds she had gathered. As Hawk brought in his last load of
wood, she began cooking more meat.

Holding a long piece of flint in his right hand, Hawk pried a flake from
one of the pieces he had selected. Carefully, making no sudden moves
that might injure the small head, he pried another flake off. Ordinarily
it took only a few minutes to make a good spear head, but these, being
smaller, must be made with great care. The Spear-Maker continued to
shape the head he had planned, using pressure to remove one tiny flake
at a time.

When he was finished he looked critically at the point in his hand. It
was very good, better than most of the spear heads in his pouch, but he
thought he could make a still better one. By the fire's light he
crouched down again and went to work. Willow had been sleeping for
hours when he finally thrust the last half-finished head into his pouch.

With morning he resumed his task, so absorbed in it that he forgot all
else, except to eat what Willow gave him. Finally he balanced half a
dozen flint heads in his hand. Again and again he inspected them
minutely, looking at each for flaws. He could find none. He went into
the forest and returned with an armful of hardwood shoots.

He knew what he had in mind, but he was somewhat at a loss as to how to
accomplish it. The darts must be lighter and shorter than spears, but
they must be long enough so that he could rest them in the
throwing-stick and still balance them. With a sharp piece of flint he
scraped a stick until it was perfectly smooth. Working with painstaking
precision he smoothed off all the uneven edges, so that the stick
balanced perfectly. He made another, and another.

It was noon of the following day before he had finished his task. He had
half a dozen darts, better fashioned and balanced than any hand spears
he had ever made. All six of them did not weigh as much as two spears,
nor would they be any harder to carry. With mounting excitement he
fitted one into his throwing-stick, getting the feel of it in countless
practice casts before he finally threw.

A grunt of disappointment escaped him. Lacking the weight of a spear,
the dart wobbled in flight and fell three feet to one side of the tuft
of grass at which he had aimed. Nor could he get as much distance with
the lighter weapon. He tried again and again, and failed each time to
strike the tuft of grass. Hawk sat before the fire, chin in his hands.
There must be some way to make the darts fly straight, but what was it?
A shadow fell across him and he looked up.

Willow stood beside him, offering him baked cakes on a flat piece of
stone. Hawk glared at her.

"Where is the meat?"

"There is no more. You have not been hunting."

Without answering Hawk reached out to grasp the dun-colored puppy by the
scruff of its neck. He lifted it with one hand, and reached for his
club. This was why he had brought the puppies; now let them serve as
food. He raised his club.

Willow moved so swiftly that she was in and out before the heavy club
could descend. She snatched the puppy from his hands, and stepped
backward. Hawk stared, too startled to move. A woman had defied him! As
he got to his feet with a growl of rage, she swung away from him,
shielding the puppy.

"Do not kill it! We have food!"

Hawk took a threatening forward step. Willow stood her ground for a
moment, then turned and ran. The gray puppy raced at her heels. Furious,
Hawk ran after them, club in hand.

Willow ran across the clearing to the border of the woods. At the base
of a huge, lichen-encrusted boulder, she stumbled and went to one knee.
Quickly she rose, turning to face the enraged Hawk. Her eyes widened in
fear, but not of the man. She was staring over his shoulder.

Turning, Hawk saw the hunting saber-tooth between them and the safety of
their fire.




[Illustration]

  TAIL FEATHER

  CHAPTER 5


The tiger crouched close to the ground, a fierce, tawny menace. Its
saber teeth, long upper tusks protruding six inches from either side of
its jaw, flashed white in the sunshine. Its short tail was bent in a
half curve behind it, and the powerful shoulders rippled as it gathered
itself for the attack. It did not snarl, but merely looked with deadly
eyes at the two humans it had trapped.

Hawk backed cautiously, keeping Willow behind him and scarcely noticing
the puppies. To have an enemy between him and the nearest place of
safety was a situation that should never occur. He glanced quickly at
the fire, where he had left his spears and throwing-stick. He knew that
it was impossible to fight a saber-tooth with just a club alone. But
that was all he had, and he clenched his fingers around it desperately.

He wasted no time wondering why the tiger was here instead of harassing
the camel herd, where he had been sure it would be. Instead, he glanced
all around, taking exact note of everything that lay about him. A little
to one side was a nest of boulders. If he could get to them before the
tiger charged, the boulders would serve as weapons should he lose his
club in the fight. They would also supply some slight protection. Hawk
began edging toward the boulders.

The tiger followed him, in no hurry. A cat who knew it had a victim
trapped, it was taking its time and playing a bit before delivering the
final killing blow. The tiger advanced a step at a time, hind quarters
near the ground and humped shoulders rising. Hawk gauged the distance to
the boulders, and planned his next move.

Men of the early wandering tribes were distinguished from beasts
principally by their intelligence, their ability to think. It was a man,
and not a tiger or bear, that had first thought of picking up a piece of
flint and using it as an axe. It was a man who thought of tying a flint
head to a stick and thus having a spear. Man learned that fire could be
a servant rather than a terrible master. Man, eternally groping for
cause and effect, rather than meekly accepting what offered, had
progressed because he was inquisitive. Despite the fact that many had
died because man insisted on tampering with things toward which no mere
instinct had directed him, those who survived had learned more and more.

A deer or antelope in Hawk's place would have trembled and awaited the
tiger's charge. A wolf might have prepared to fight back, knowing his
case was hopeless but fighting by instinct. Hawk sought a means to
outwit his foe because he knew that even hopeless situations could be
changed. He should have died when he was banished, but he had not. If he
died now, it would not be because he had not tried to live and to
protect the girl with him. Again he gauged the exact distance to the
boulders, and gripped his club a little more tightly.

All in a split second, the tiger made Hawk's decision for him.
Stiffening his tail, he padded rapidly forward, snarling. Hawk took two
quick steps to the side. As he did so, he shouted as loudly as he could.
It was a war cry, and a challenge, meant to focus the enemy's attention
upon him and to keep that enemy away from what must, if possible, be
protected. He was aware of Willow's breaking away, running toward the
pile of boulders. He grasped the club with both hands, ready for the
most smashing blow he could deliver.

Without any warning, a new warrior entered the fight. Shrilling his own
war cry, the gray puppy flung himself straight at the mighty
saber-tooth.

He was small, weighing scarcely a dozen pounds, but every inherited
sense and instinct had taught him that, from the time he was old enough
to walk, he must help protect his own kind. Accepting Willow and Hawk as
such, he was giving everything he had to give.

The tiger stopped, diverted by the attack. When it slapped with its
paws, the gray puppy wasn't there. Instead, he was boring in from the
side, scoring the saber-tooth's flank with his puppy teeth. The tiger
twisted around, spitting its rage at this insignificant tormentor. But
now the other puppy had entered the fight on his brother's side. The
tiger pounced with both paws and pinned the dun-colored puppy between
them. A shrill scream rent the air.

For a split second Hawk hesitated, for he had neither expected nor
counted on interference. Then he recovered himself. The tiger had made a
kill, and for at least a short time would gloat over its triumph. It
would rend and claw the dead puppy before turning to deal with the
other one or before again centering its attention on Hawk and Willow.
There would be a brief lull, and Hawk took fullest advantage of it.

He wheeled, pushing Willow around. Instantly she fell in beside him, and
they raced around the preoccupied saber-tooth. Hawk heard the tiger's
angry cough, but did not look back for now it was a question of speed.

As they reached the fire, he heard the gray puppy's shrill battle cry
again. Almost without breaking stride Hawk swooped to snatch his spears
and throwing-stick. He swung about.

The saber-tooth had come as near the fire as it dared. Having cast the
body of the dun puppy aside, it was snarling in enraged frustration at
the two humans. The gray puppy continued its valiant attack, and the
tiger swung to strike at it. But the puppy was too agile and elusive.

Hawk fitted a spear into his throwing-stick and purposely advanced.
Seeing him, the tiger paid no further attention to the fiercely
attacking gray puppy. The little dog was nothing more than a nuisance,
now that bigger game was in sight. The saber-tooth crouched and gathered
itself to meet the man's attack.

Hawk slowly continued, keeping his eyes on the tiger, on its tense
muscles, its jerking tail, and its glaring eyes. At every second he must
know exactly what it was going to do next.

Precisely at the right time--in another flick of an eve the saber-tooth
would have charged him--he stopped and cast his spear. It sang through
the air, glancing along the tiger's neck and burying itself in one of
the humped shoulders. Hawk stood his ground, for to run now might prove
fatal, and fitted his second spear into the throwing-stick.

The saber-tooth roared in pain and rage, and turned to bite at the
protruding spear shaft. Blood ebbed from around the imbedded flint head,
and ran down the tawny leg.

Hawk kept his eyes on the tiger, awaiting his second--and last--chance
to throw a spear. Fortunately, the saber-tooth was intent on rending the
spear shaft, as though that were a live enemy which had hurt it, and had
no thought for anything else. Hawk cast his second spear.

This time he struck where he had wanted to, in the neck, and a gush of
blood spouted around the shaft. The saber-tooth roared again, and reared
on its padded hind feet. With powerful front paws it struck at the spear
shaft, fell over backward, twisted to its feet, and came forward with
great, leaping bounds.

Hawk stood with his club ready, prepared to fight to a finish. The tiger
had been mortally hurt, but was possessed of such strength and vitality
that there was no way of telling just when it would collapse. Then it
faltered, coughed hoarsely, took three stumbling steps, and sank to the
ground.

Still full of fight, the gray puppy charged up, seized a fold of tawny
skin, and strained backward with all his strength. Puppyish growls that
foretold the fighting dog to come rolled from its distended throat.

Hawk turned to find Willow, a heavy stone in her hands, at his shoulder.
Then he looked back at the puppy.

Bristled, stiff-legged, he was walking around and around the tiger. At
last convinced that it was dead, he turned contemptuously to scratch
dirt over the fallen enemy. Walking proudly, he came back to join Hawk
and Willow.

It was over. They had been attacked by one of the most ferocious of
their enemies, and they had defeated it. The fight had left its valuable
lessons, too. When the gray puppy brushed Hawk's leg, he reached down to
stroke him lightly. The puppy wriggled in delight, and turned to lick
his master's hand. From now on his place as a valued member of the camp
was secure.

Hawk and Willow grasped the dead tiger by the front paws and dragged it
over the grass to the fire. They knelt on opposite sides, flint knives
in their hands, while they removed the thick pelt, pulled out the
embedded spears, and cut up the meat. And it was Hawk himself who hacked
a choice part from one leg and gave it to the dog. The gray puppy lay
before the fire, growling softly as he gnawed his portion.

The skinning and dismembering of the tiger and the dead puppy over, and
the offal dragged far enough so scavengers would feel safe in coming to
feed on it, Willow devoted herself to cooking while Hawk stared into the
fire.

It had been a very close call; without the intervention of the two pups
he and Willow might have been killed. Obviously they needed better
protection than they had, and the answer to that lay in Hawk's ability
to strike hard and often at any foe. But how to acquire that ability?

Hawk fondled his six darts, and balanced them in his hands. If only the
darts were not deflected by any chance wind! If he could find some way
to make them obey him, to hit what he threw them at . . .

He started suddenly, alarmed. Again it was only the bird skin,
fluttering in the wind. Irritably Hawk rose, tore it from the bush, and
scowled at the rustling feathers. Then he noticed the square-tipped
tail. He studied it thoughtfully.

This he had seen before in some connection, but he could not at once
remember what it was. Then, suddenly, he had it. The bird, the little
bird which proved whether or not a spear was true! The one with which he
had tested Short-Leg's first spear had not been able to fly straight
when its tail feathers were broken. But the second one _had_ flown
straight. What did the tail feathers have to do with it? Did the bird
with the broken tail lack the same power that his darts did?

Hawk plucked a couple of feathers from the skin and laid them in the
palm of his hand. He looked closely at them, but could see no connection
between birds and darts. He let a feather drift to earth, closely
watching its erratic course. Again and again he let the feather drop.

By nightfall he was no nearer a solution to his problem. He had tried
letting the feathers drop from every possible angle and in every
possible way, and there was nothing about their descent to indicate how
they helped guide a bird or how they might guide a spear. Still puzzled,
Hawk brought in more firewood and lay down to sleep.

His problem was there to greet him when he awakened. He was sure that
there was something important in the fact that birds could fly
straight when they had a whole tail, but couldn't when they did not. But
what was it? He stared moodily into the fire. When he finally rose the
gray puppy followed him. Hawk paid no attention, but walked directly to
a place near the willows and leaned on his spear, studying the birds
flitting about the branches.

They were of various kinds, from little insect-eaters to fruit-and-bud
eaters, and had different methods of flight. The insect-eaters could
bend and twist with unbelievable agility as they pursued their prey. For
the most part, the others flew straight. But all seemed to use their
tails a great deal, bending them according to the direction in which
they wanted to turn or holding them straight if they wished to fly
straight.

Hawk's interest heightened. As he watched, a big predatory bird swooped
out of the sky toward the willows, and the little birds scattered
frantically. The big bird selected a victim, and banked sharply to cut
it off. The little fruit-eater dove close to the ground, so close that
the tips of his beating wings almost touched the earth. The baffled
attacker spread his wing and tail feathers wide, to avoid striking the
ground, and rose sharply into the air.

Hawk wandered slowly back to the fire. He had seen and learned much that
he had not known before. With renewed interest he picked up a dart and
examined its slender length. He took hold of the butt end and squinted
down the shaft, then examined the butt.

A bird's tail was attached to the rear extremity. Always, when the bird
wished to fly straight, and apparently they could do so whenever they
wished, the tail was straight. Hawk rolled the dart over and over in his
hand. Experimentally he laid one of the feathers against the butt,
holding it in place with his thumb. He bound it with sinew.

Hawk stood erect, the dart in his throwing stick, and cast at a tuft of
grass. Great excitement seized him.

The dart landed to one side, but it was much nearer the target than any
he had thrown so far. Also he thought he knew what was wrong. A
self-taught master of balance, the Spear-Maker had noticed that the butt
of the thrown dart had traveled too low in flight.

He retrieved the dart, unwound the strip of sinew and laid another
feather on the butt, on the opposite side. Carefully he rewound them
with the sinew, and pulled experimentally to make sure they were tight.
He stood up and cast the dart again.

A happy shout of triumph burst from him. The dart had struck the grass
tuft squarely, within two inches of the place at which it had been
aimed. Hawk bounded high in the air, overcome with elation. He raced
happily forward to retrieve his dart, and cast it again. Twenty times he
cast at the tuft of grass and every time the dart hit close to where he
wanted it to hit.

This was it; he had found the answer. Hawk crouched by the fire,
fletching the rest of his darts. Willow, who had been watching with
great interest, sat across the fire as he worked. She had buried the
dead puppy's skin in the damp ground by the willows, and when it was
soaked she had scraped the hair from it. Then she had stretched it out
in the sun, with stones on the edges to keep it taut. Now she was
working with the cured, parchment-like skin.

She folded it, forming a long, deep pouch, and pierced the edges at
intervals with an awl made of sharpened bone. She laced it with sinew,
then cut a long, thin strip of skin which she folded in half. This she
attached to serve as a shoulder strap. When Hawk finished fletching his
darts Willow gave him the container she had made. Hawk looked at it,
puzzled.

"It is for your darts," Willow explained. "You can carry all of them
within it."

Hawk grunted his pleasure. The container was well and strongly made, and
was a very practical arrangement. He put his darts in it, heads down and
feathered butts protruding. When he slung the filled pouch over his
shoulder, he could instantly reach any dart. A new sense of confidence
rose within him.

Now, carrying his club, spears and throwing-stick, his darts in the
pouch, he was armed as several men. He could strike hard and fast at
anything that threatened, and he needn't depend exclusively on the club
after he had thrown both spears. Now he could keep on throwing, and
though the darts lacked a spear's range and power, he could still hurl
them from the throwing-stick farther than the average hunter could throw
a hand spear.

The pouch of darts on his shoulder, and the puppy trotting happily
beside him, Hawk ranged into the forest. He did not try to drive the
puppy back, nor tell Willow to hold it, because he cared little whether
or not he found game. There was meat in plenty at the camp. The
Spear-Maker was roaming largely because he wanted to try his darts on
various targets and under different conditions.

Trotting ahead of him, the puppy stopped suddenly. His ears were alert,
and one fore paw was lifted as he remained intent on something. Hawk
watched closely. He knew that wild dogs hunted game in this fashion, but
had never seen a hunting dog at such close range.

The puppy took a few more steps and dropped his head to the ground. He
snuffled audibly, and his tail began to wag. Keeping his nose to the
ground, the puppy trotted swiftly away. He did not bark, or make any
sound. Hawk advanced to find out what the puppy was hunting.

A deer had passed this way, but to the man the scent was very faint.
Hawk had to kneel close to the ground in order to detect it at all.
Plainly dogs had an exceptionally keen sense of smell. It was much
better than his own, for the puppy had been some distance from the dim
trail when he smelled it.

Since the puppy was now out of sight, Hawk began practising with his
darts. Time after time he cast them, gaining more and more confidence in
his ability to control their feathered flight.

Presently he heard the puppy barking sharply, the sound coming rapidly
nearer. A deer appeared among the trees, the puppy almost at its heels.
Hawk tensed himself, for here was an opportunity to throw at a moving
target. Crouching in the brush, he laid the throwing-stick in position,
fitted a dart into it, and waited.

The deer was a bounding shadow in the forest. It appeared, then
disappeared, and appeared again. Hawk kept his eyes on a little opening
through which the running deer's course would take it, and not until
the deer was in that opening did he step from behind the bush.

Seeing the motion, the deer jumped spasmodically, then stood still a
moment, head thrown up. Hurrying, but not fumbling, Hawk cast the dart.
It flew straight to its mark. The deer gave a single bound, staggered,
and fell.

Hawk ran forward. The deer had been pierced just where he wanted to hit
it, behind the foreleg, and it had died almost at once. He pulled out
the feathered shaft and looked at it proudly. It was good. In the darts
he now was master of a weapon with three-fold magic: the hardness of
stone, the strength of wood, the flight of birds.




[Illustration]

  MAMMOTH HERD

  CHAPTER 6


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 moment, 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 trees 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 on 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 a scarcity of food. When there was little game, they must
move to some place 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 settled 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
wild life, 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.

It missed completely; the dog was far too quick to be trapped by
anything so slow. But when it struck at the dog it turned, and Hawk saw
something he had not noticed before. The sloth was protecting a
quarter-grown calf that huddled at its side. Hawk calculated his
chances.

He might kill the mother sloth, but it would take most of his darts to
do so and then what if the sloth waddled off, wounded? His darts would
be gone, and he and Willow might be attacked by something before he
could make new ones. But perhaps he could kill the young one.

He circled cautiously, a dart ready in his throwing-stick. Working its
mouth nervously, the giant sloth wheeled with him. Hawk feinted in the
opposite direction, and the sloth turned to meet this new thrust. It was
slow and stupid, but determined when the defense of its own young was
involved. Always it managed to shield the calf with its own ponderous
body.

Hawk kept moving, awaiting a chance to hurl his dart. Then the dog
attacked.

He flung himself in with a rush, leaping high as he grasped a mouthful
of the sloth's coarse hair. As swiftly as he had attacked, the dog
retreated, escaping the blow of a massive claw-tipped paw by a hair's
breadth. But in wheeling to repel the dog, the sloth exposed its calf.

Hawk hurled his dart, and saw it bury itself to the feathers in the
calf's chest. The calf groped at it with both front paws, and started to
waddle away. Hawk cast another dart, that pierced the back of the neck
and severed a vital nerve. The calf slowly tumbled to the ground.

Still the mother sloth refused to leave. Flicking its long tongue in and
out, it stood protectingly by the calf's body. The dog snarled furiously
in, and out again. The sloth struck at him and stood her ground,
refusing to leave the calf.

[Illustration]

Hawk pondered. He had killed the calf, but could not get at his prize
unless he could drive the mother away. Deliberately he danced in front
of her, teasing her to strike. When the giant sloth tried to crush him
he leaped backward. The dog barked furiously. The sloth pursued them a
few feet, looked back at her calf, and returned to it.

"Fire! Try fire!" Willow cried.

Hawk looked appreciatively at her. Fire had driven the giant bison, and
it might work on this great beast. Going into the grove of trees, he
sought among the lower branches for twigs covered with dry bark. He
shredded this into the finest of tinder and made a little heap on the
ground exactly to windward of the sloth. Keeping dry sticks ready, he
struck a spark into the tinder.

It caught, making a tiny glow that might live or might die out. Hawk got
down on his hands and knees to blow into it. The newborn spark glowed
more hotly, then a tiny flame spread through the tinder. Hawk laid a few
twigs on the little fire, then added more. In a moment a plume of smoke
blew about the giant sloth's head.

It snorted, shook its head, and stared nervously. Then the smoke
increased. At a lumbering trot, the sloth started away. A hundred yards
from the fire it stopped, looked around, then at a slow walk it started
toward another grove of trees. Its own personal tragedy was already
forgotten in the pressing need to get more food to keep its massive body
alive.

As Willow bent over the dead sloth, a stone knife in her hand, Hawk
gathered more wood for his fire. They had started out to seek food and
now had much more than they could possibly carry. Therefore, their camp
would automatically be right here until the meat was gone.

While Willow tended the new camp, Hawk and the dog ranged into the
surrounding country scouting for game signs. The sloth would not last
forever; they must locate more game for the future.

But in ten days the dog found and ran only one deer at which Hawk could
get a fair shot. But the wounded animal escaped, and they could find
nothing else. They must move again.

The rich river bottoms, the best grazing lands, were still the logical
place to go. Of course, if they attracted herds of grazing animals, the
grass-eaters, in turn, would draw more dangerous beasts. There would be
saber-tooths in plenty, packs of dire wolves and wild dogs, and the
whole range of meat-eaters, big and small. There might be men, too, the
fiercest hunters of all, and they might or might not be friendly.
Though different tribes could live amiably together, in times of hunger
any tribe that found a good hunting place would defend it. But that
chance they had to take.

Cautiously, his own senses always alert and keeping his eyes on the dog,
Hawk led Willow over the small hillocks, toward the river bottoms. Three
days later, they looked down on the meadow where the unsuccessful fire
drive had been attempted. All scars of the fire were gone, and a rich
carpet of green grass covered the meadow. A herd of mammoths fed there.

There were twenty in the herd, ranging from immense, heavy-tusked bulls
to calves at their mother's side. As Hawk watched, a bull circled
cautiously. He faced into the wind, his trunk extended. The Spear-Maker
took interested note.

The hairy elephants were so big, and so strong, that almost nothing
dared attack a herd. But obviously this one had known danger and was
expecting it again. Although the bull could not have scented them, he
seemed to have some premonition of their presence. Hawk drew Willow back
into the sheltering forest.

Evidently there were, or had been, human hunters ranging the river
meadows. If so, they were desperate hunters. Failing to find giant
bison, camels, or other game which they could kill with comparative
safety, they had been attacking the mammoth herds. As a result, the
mammoths were alerted. Whoever went into the river bottoms now did so at
the risk of his own life. To be seen meant to be attacked. Unlike the
sloths, the mammoths were intelligent beasts and despite their bulk they
could whirl and twist like cats.

The dog sat down, ears pricked up as he studied the herd of mammoths. He
looked questioningly at Hawk, and fell in beside him as the two lone
humans started up the series of forested hills that rose out of the flat
river meadows.

The meadows had been flooded by a veritable inundation of mammoths. The
lumbering beasts were everywhere, and all seemed aroused and
belligerently ready for whatever danger might come. But Hawk saw no
humans, only a few saber-tooths that probably hoped to catch a calf
separated from its mother, and a pack of dire wolves. Though he
continued to study the situation, Hawk did not dare go down into the
meadows. He would have to find his food on the forested slopes.

But there was nothing, and that night they made a hungry camp in the
hills. The next morning they went on.

Ranging ahead, the dog bristled and came to a sudden halt at the edge of
a little clearing. Lips curled back from long fangs, he backed against
Hawk's legs. Hawk fitted a dart into his throwing-stick and intently
sniffed the various winds. He looked all around, then centered his
attention on the clearing.

There was a trampled place in the center of the valley. All about were
smashed bushes, and a few broken tree limbs. Faintly dominating all was
the scent of mammoths.

The dog snarled, and pressed closely against Hawk's legs as he went
forward, Willow following fearfully.

He stooped, attracted by an object that met his eye, and picked up a
spearhead. As he examined it, he realized that it was one he himself had
made. Near it, smashed into splinters, was the broken shaft. The spear
was one he had made for a hunter of his own tribe. Then he knew.

Some of his former tribesmen had died here, but what had killed them?
There were no tracks in the trampled earth save those of mammoths, and
rains had obliterated most of those. There were no bones, but of course
anything left to eat had already been devoured by starving beasts, and
bones might have been dragged away. Nothing whatever remained except the
broken spear. Had the tribesmen, driven by desperation, attacked and
been trapped by a herd of mammoths? Had they been overwhelmed by a pack
of dire wolves? Or had hunters of some other tribe killed them? Perhaps
his whole tribe had been wiped out here in a grim, determined battle for
food, without which they could not live.

Shuddering, Hawk left the place. He led Willow up the opposite hill and
looked again into the river bottoms. His interest quickened.

Far out, near the river's edge, a herd of a hundred or more mammoths was
dozing in the sun. But just beneath the hillock, a single cow and her
calf had detached themselves from the herd and were wandering alone.
Hawk remembered the young sloth. If he could somehow manage to kill the
calf, then wait until the rest departed, he and Willow would have meat.
Hawk turned to the girl.

"Hold the dog," he directed, "and wait for me."

Quietly he slipped down the slope. This would be the ultimate test of
his hunter's skill and ability. He must get near the mammoth and her
calf without being detected, then cast his dart and escape before he
could be overtaken.

Hawk hid himself in the tall grass and crept forward, careful to stay
downwind. Carefully he raised himself just far enough so he could see
his intended quarry.

The cow, suspicious, shuffled nervous feet, spread her ears, and snaked
her trunk in various directions. The calf, too young to be aware of any
danger, squealed happily. It ran a few steps, intrigued by something it
heard or saw, and the cow promptly followed. She whacked it with her
trunk, grunted, and shepherded her baby toward the river.

Hawk followed, knowing that he had to get his shot before she neared the
rest of the herd. He ran swiftly along, maneuvering for position.

Suddenly, without any warning whatever, a thrown spear came so close to
his head that he felt a little wind brush him as it passed. Hawk spun
around.

Coming through the grass, spread out to cut him off, were more than
fifteen strange hunters. There was no escape; the hunters were too well
dispersed and coming too fast. Nor was there any doubt about their
purpose; for whatever reason, they were deadly intent on killing him.

Without hesitation Hawk ran straight toward the cow. He hurled his dart,
not at the calf, but at its mother. The cow bellowed for help.

Answering bellows and angry trumpetings came from the herd at the
river's edge. They wheeled, and at top speed stampeded to the aid of
their wounded comrade.




[Illustration]

  ESCAPE

  CHAPTER 7


The dart was sticking in the cow's neck, just behind her flaring ear,
and a little blood dribbled down her hairy side. She bellowed again,
high and shrill, and waved her trunk. Wheeling on her huge pads, she
examined her calf to make sure it was safe. Then she whirled and
launched herself straight at Hawk. Behind her appeared the charging
herd, literally shaking the earth as it pounded along. In another few
seconds everything in the meadow would be overwhelmed.

But Hawk was poised for instant action, another dart ready in his
throwing-stick. When the cow swerved toward him, he cast his dart
straight at the calf.

[Illustration]

It skidded across the baby's back, plowing a bloody furrow with its
flint head. The calf squealed its alarm. Instantly the cow pivoted and
returned to it. She stood protectingly over her baby, rumbling threats
while she awaited the rest of the herd. Hawk turned and ran, straight
toward the enemy tribesmen.

At the best he had only a very few seconds, and two kinds of enemies to
avoid. He had purposely aroused the mammoth herd, hoping by so doing to
divert the human hunters on his trail. But now he had to run back toward
the enemy tribesmen, to escape the greater danger of the thundering
mammoths.

[Illustration]

His ruse had worked. The hunters were running, too, most of them
scrambling toward a high pinnacle of rock that reared from the base of a
nearby hill. Seeing the many hunters, the approaching herd bulls roared
their defiance and led the herd toward the pinnacle. Hawk stooped, so
that the waving grass reached over his head, and veered toward the left,
away from the rock pinnacle. He swung far out, making a wide circle, and
when he thought he had run far enough he changed his course to take him
back into the forest where he had left Willow. Not until he was well
within the trees did he stop to catch his breath.

He tried to look back, but the trees obstructed his vision and he could
not see what the angry mammoths were doing. The roaring and trumpeting
of the enraged herd filled the air. They were, Hawk guessed, milling
around the base of the pinnacle where the hunters had found safety. High
above the mingled sounds, there came the angry squeal of a cow.

Hawk shivered. This was undoubtedly the cow at which he had cast his
dart to bring on the stampede, the mother of the calf he had wounded.
She had probably assured herself that he was not among the hunters on
the pinnacle, and now was seeking him. The cow knew her real enemy.
Again she squealed, and Hawk decided that she had detached herself from
the herd and was casting about for his scent. He started running again.

He had no plan beyond finding Willow and taking her to some safe place,
but he knew they would have to move fast. The enemy tribesmen would
know, from the action of the cow, that he had not been killed in the
stampede. Therefore they would trail him at the first opportunity, and
human hunters were far more deadly than any other kind. Judging by their
first actions, these tribesmen would not be contented until they had
caught and killed him.

Without any warning another spear sailed out of the brush, flicked into
a tree a few inches from his shoulder, and quivered jerkily.

Hawk realized that he had made a mistake in assuming that all the
hunters had fled to the pinnacle of rock. And in that confidence, and
his haste to return to Willow, he had become careless. He had run with
the wind instead of against it, and therefore had been unable to scent
whatever might lie ahead of him. Now he dodged behind a tree, fitted a
dart to his throwing-stick, and made ready to defend himself.

There were three hunters after him, savage, hairy men with bison-skin
girdles flapping about their waists. Hawk noted with relief that none of
them carried throwing-sticks; he had that much advantage, at least.

As soon as he saw them, Hawk cast his dart and struck the first hunter
squarely in the throat. The wounded man dropped his spear, clutched at
the dart with both hands, and took two backward steps. Then he fell,
dead or dying.

The two remaining hunters screeched their rage, and melted into the
brush. Hawk waited, knowing that he could do nothing else, for now he
could see neither of his enemies. He tried to locate them by their
scent, but the eddying wind came in fitful gusts and he could detect
only occasional snatches of either man's odor. They were working around
him, one to either side, until such time as one or the other, or both,
were in position to throw another spear.

Again there came the squeal of the enraged cow. She was very near the
forest now, working out the way Hawk had taken and still on his trail.
He tensed himself.

In the deep brush at the left he caught the faintest sound. His back to
the tree, Hawk stood perfectly still, trying to pierce the brush with
his eyes but unable to do so. The two men hunting him had worked out a
cunning strategy. He could be seen. They were in brush where they were
hidden, and they knew it. When both had maneuvered themselves into
position, they would attack.

Faintly the sound came again, and Hawk saw a slight motion in the brush.
With lightning swiftness he cast another dart. The man in the brush
rolled into sight, clawing at the dart in his chest, and Hawk pivoted.

The other man was closing in, club held high. Hawk snatched at a dart,
but knew that he could not possibly shoot in time. The man was almost
upon him, and coming fast. Hawk grabbed for his club and stepped forward
to meet the attack. As he did so, his toe caught under an unseen vine
and sent him sprawling. Hawk threw himself sideways.

Then, as though he had appeared by magic, the dog hurled himself out of
the brush, straight upon the hunter. The man whirled to meet this new
attack. He half-swung his club at the dog, but before he could complete
the blow, a rock struck him squarely on the side of the head. He dropped
in his tracks, and Willow stood framed in the brush.

"Hurry!" she panted.

Hawk leaped to join her, and the dog bounded alongside. From behind they
heard the smashing of trees and brush, and the angry trumpeting of the
cow mammoth. She had body scent now and was coming fast.

Willow plunged deliberately into the thickest brush, a tangle of vines
and small trees, and threaded an agile way through it. Hawk followed,
silently approving her strategy as he did so. There was no place in the
forest they could go where the mammoth would be unable to follow, but at
least the brush would slow her. In open forest again, Willow swerved
sharply to the right.

A moment later Hawk saw why she had turned. Some of the small hills were
separated by gentle valleys, others by deep gorges, and they were now
approaching such a gorge. About forty feet wide at the top, its sides
dropped sharply down in uneven layers of rock. Scrambling from ledge to
ledge, they worked their way down one side and up the other. Hawk turned
to lift the dog over the last high ledge, and they clambered to the top.
Willow turned breathlessly.

"The mammoth cannot cross here!"

"No," Hawk agreed, "she cannot."

He sat down, panting heavily while he regained his spent breath. The
dog, tongue lolling, whirled to look back in the direction from which
they had come. He did not bark, or make any sound, for the value of
silence had been born within him. A few seconds later the cow mammoth
appeared on the opposite side of the gorge.

Somewhere she had brushed against a tree or ledge of rock and broken the
dart; its ragged end still protruded from her neck. She stamped angry
feet, extended her trunk to its full length, and screamed her hatred of
the two humans. Cautiously she tested a ledge with her front feet,
seeking a safe way down, and when she could not find it she beat a
restless patrol back and forth on top of the ledge.

Hawk watched her calmly, no longer concerned about her or the herd. That
danger had been passed. But there was another, vastly greater peril to
worry about.

The hunters trapped on the rocky pinnacle would be likely to remain
there for a considerable length of time; the herd of mammoths would see
to that. But the mammoths would eventually go away to feed, and when
they did the men could escape.

Their first thought would be the man they had tried to trap, and when
they took the trail they would find out that Willow was with him.
Whatever had been their original reason for attacking Hawk, they would
be doubly determined to catch him when they found the men he had killed.

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 mid-afternoon 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 he awakened sometime during the night, a bright moon had risen and
was shedding a soft brilliance that almost matched the light of day.
Hawk 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 side-stepped 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, but 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 the
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."




[Illustration]

  CAVE BEAR

  CHAPTER 8


The great cave bears were large and powerful, and as ferocious as
saber-tooths when aroused. If a dozen hunters attacked one they could
kill it, but somebody was almost sure to be hurt. For one man to attack
a bear deliberately was unthinkable.

But Hawk had learned a valuable lesson from his encounter with the giant
sloth. They were larger than bears, and though slow and stupid, they had
enormous vitality. Since the dull-witted sloth had been disconcerted
when smoke blew about its head, Hawk thought it might be possible to
smoke the great cave bear out of its cave.

That would not be the end of it, he realized. The monster bear would
not willingly relinquish its home and would get back in if it were
possible. Such a beast, always lurking about and awaiting an opportunity
to re-enter, would be far too dangerous to leave around the cave.
Therefore the bear would have to be killed.

Hawk reviewed his plan, in his mind going over and over each tiny
detail. He knew that he must have everything right beforehand, because
once the fight was started there would be no stopping it and even a
minor slip could spell disaster.

As they approached the cave, Hawk gave Willow his torch, and told her to
hold the dog. Then he went on alone.

He advanced cautiously, carefully staying downwind, until he could see
the bear. It was outside the cave, busy ripping the lower branches off a
tree laden so heavily with purple, meaty berries that some of the
branches were already broken from the weight of the fruit alone. Hawk
parted a leafy branch so he could see better.

The bear was about forty feet from the door of its cave, eating berries
from a branch it had broken. It licked furry chops with a berry-stained
tongue, and looked all around. Then it reared on its hind paws, braced
its body against the tree, and ripped another branch down.

Hawk shivered, partly from excitement and partly from nervous fear. The
bear was a monstrous beast, three-quarters of a ton of sheer brute
strength. It would not be an easy thing to overcome.

The bear turned, silently and swiftly for all its bulk, and gazed
steadily at the tree behind which Hawk lay. Some eddying breeze had
carried an alien scent to it, or perhaps some deep-seated instinct had
merely made it suspicious. At any rate it was alert, without being sure
of just what might be trespassing on its domain.

Hawk slipped away. He moved slowly, always careful to place his feet so
that he would make no noise and traveling with the wind. Conditions were
as he had hoped to find them, and now he could put the rest of his plan
into effect.

When there was sufficient distance between himself and the bear, Hawk
ran swiftly back to Willow and the dog. He looked to his supply of
darts, picked up his hand spear and throwing-stick, but left Willow with
the torch. She fell in behind him when he started back toward the bear.

The dog trotted tensely by his side, sensing that they were after game
which the man had already located. Furthermore, since the man kept the
dog beside him, it would be dangerous game. Hawk stopped, and the dog
stopped beside him, quivering with excitement.

The blazing torch in her hand, Willow waited questioningly. She, too,
had a part in this or she would not have been brought along. But, like
the dog, she did not as yet clearly understand what that part was. Hawk
turned to her.

"The dog and I will drive the bear into the cave," he explained. "Stay
here with the torch until you hear me call. Then come as fast as you can
and give the torch to me."

"I understand."

The dog at his side, Hawk slipped away. They came within the area where
the bear's scent could be detected, and the dog looked inquiringly at
Hawk. The man did not turn aside and the dog moved two steps ahead of
him, sure now of their quarry. Ordinarily they avoided creatures as
powerful as this, but the dog was willing to fight anything as long as
the man thought it should be fought.

Making no attempt at concealment, Hawk walked openly into the clearing
in front of the cave.

Having scented or heard him, the bear was waiting. It stood at the foot
of the tree from which it had been ripping branches, feet braced and
tensely alert. Its ears were flicked forward, its eyes questioning, and
its snout moving slowly from side to side. The bear took an uncertain
step, and reared on its hind legs the better to see. Dropping to the
ground, it stood still a moment more and then snarled, its jaws gaping
wide. Hawk fitted a dart into his throwing-stick, shouted and bounded
forward.

He stopped suddenly, for this was part of his plan. To wound the bear
where it was, and to lack a place of refuge, would mean disaster. The
bear must be driven into the cave and forced to take a temporary stand
there. Hawk had started a false attack to incite the dog; he wanted him
to go after the bear on his own initiative.

The dog snarled forward. Hawk halted, and stepped back with the dart
still poised in his throwing-stick. If his plan went wrong now he would
have to go in anyway and help the dog. He watched tensely.

The bear remained beneath the tree, snarling at the onrushing dog. Then,
when less than twenty feet separated them, the bear wheeled and lumbered
into its cave. It turned about in the entrance, knowing that it could
defend itself there.

Hawk breathed easier. This was the way he had hoped it would work out.
The bear would not run from a man, but it had been assaulted by at least
one pack of wolves and, presumably, by wild dogs as well. It knew that
it could stand them off if protected on three sides by the mouth of the
cave.

The bear's enormous head and front shoulders protruded from the cave.
The dog leaped in and out again, never going near enough to be hit by
one of those sledge-hammer paws.

Keeping his throwing-stick beside him, and a dart ready, Hawk grasped a
handful of dry grass, wrenched it loose, and laid it on the ground about
twenty feet from the cave's opening. A gust of wind scattered the little
pile, and Hawk laid a dart on it to hold it. He gathered more dry grass,
and more, until he had a great pile. Then he raced to a bit of nearby
marsh land, pulled up some swamp roots and damp muck, and laid them on
top of the grass. Then he called Willow.

At the cave, the dog continued to harass the bear. He feinted, growling
and barking, and leaped in to snap whenever an opportunity offered. But
at no time did he put himself within reach of the bear's paws, which
would have broken his back as easily as a stone breaks an egg.

The blazing torch in her hand, Willow broke out of the forest and ran
lightly into the clearing. Handing the torch to Hawk, she stepped back,
cast about until she found two rocks, and held one in each hand while
she awaited whatever came.

"Stay near the fire," Hawk cautioned Willow. "Don't leave it no matter
what happens."

He touched the torch to the great heap of dried grass he had gathered,
and threw the torch on top of the pile. The sun-dried grass exploded in
a roar of flame, and for a moment blazed high. Then, the readily
combustible portion having burned out, thick yellow smoke rose from the
wet swamp refuse. Hawk stepped back, his darts ready.

So far everything had worked well, even the wind's direction and force.
What happened now depended on whether or not he had been able to guess
how a cave bear would react to smoke.

Like a large, elongated feather, yellow smoke curled toward the cave. It
paused there, as though not quite knowing where to go, then sent an
exploring finger into the cave. The bear backed up. In a moment it was
almost hidden by smoke; only its furious snarls showed it was still
there. Suddenly the bear came out.

Every hair on its body was erect, lending it an appearance of being much
bigger than it was. Coughing, snapping its jaws continuously, roaring
mad, it ran to one side of the fire, out of the smoke, whirled about,
and faced the two humans. The dog bored in from the side, and the bear
swung to slap ineffectively at him.

A dart ready, Hawk advanced. The crucial test had come; from now on it
was up to him and the dog. Hawk hurled his dart with all his strength.
It sang through the air, and buried half its length in the bear's shaggy
side.

The bear stood erect, a mountain of flesh that for a moment walked on
its legs like a man. Dropping to all fours, it exploded its fury in a
mighty, snarling roar, and charged.

Hawk retreated back toward the smoldering fire. In attacking the great
cave bear, he had counted on the fire as a safe retreat. Now his
reckoning was to endure the acid test; would fire stop a wounded,
enraged bear?

A thick plume of smoke enveloped the oncoming bear. It stopped, shifting
its fore paws uneasily, and backed up. The dog threw himself furiously
upon it.

Another dart fixed in his throwing-stick, Hawk walked out of the smoke
to where he could have a clear view. The bear, safely away from the
smoke, was sparring with the dog. Hawk loped toward them, and when he
was near enough he threw the dart. The bear turned, bawling its rage,
and bit at the shaft protruding from its side. Then it threw itself at
the dog.

Hawk readied another dart, and circled to get in good throwing position.
Careful not to let the bear between himself and the smoke blanket, he
threw the third dart.

[Illustration]

The bear grunted, spun in an erratic circle, and struck with blind fury
at a nearby clump of grass. As though that were its real foe, and the
thing that had hurt it, it hit again and again until the grass was
ripped to shreds. It lumbered to another grass tuft and destroyed that.
When the dog came near it bellowed at him and in a series of insane
hops tried to pin him between its front paws.

[Illustration]

Hawk followed, ready to shoot another dart. But since he could not tell
which way the wounded bear would leap next or what it would attack, he
dared not get too near.

The bear broke suddenly. Racing across the clearing in long leaps, it
headed straight for the sheltering trees. Running, it was a terrifying
sight. Blocky legs worked like swiftly moving pistons, carrying the
bear's huge body along so fast that even the pursuing dog was hard put
to keep up.

Although the dog was barking and snarling continuously, the sounds of
the running pursuit faded deeper and deeper into the forest. Hawk
followed, confident now that his battle was won. The bear would run for
a long way, probably, but the darts were sunken deeply and eventually
they must take their toll of even such strength as the bear's. It could
not run on forever.

For as long as he could hear him, Hawk guided himself by the barking
dog. When the noise faded in the distance, he ran along the plainly
marked trail. Bright spots of blood showed on the leaves, with here and
there a patch of coarse hair. Faintly, he heard the barking dog again.

He ran easily, fast enough to cover distance swiftly but not so fast
that he would tire himself out. Five minutes after he was again within
hearing of the dog, he came upon his quarry.

The great cave bear was backed against a tree, swaying from side to
side, its front feet braced. When it saw the man it left the tree and
lurched forward, growling hoarsely. Hawk stood still and fitted another
dart. He could take his time now; the bear's pace was a mere crawl. Hawk
cast his dart.

Straight and true, it sailed to its mark. Still the bear tried to come
forward. It had lived all its life by brute strength, and would fight
as long as that life remained. The bear made one more valiant effort to
crawl forward, then lay still.

Hawk remained where he was, troubled by an emotion he had never felt
before. He lived in a world whose basic rule was kill or be killed, eat
or be eaten, and he hunted and killed as much as he could because, if he
did not, he could not continue to live. But he felt a strange sympathy
for the bear, a stout and lonely creature like himself, which had given
up only when there was nothing left with which to fight.

Solemnly Hawk approached the inert monster and intently studied the
curving claws, that were polished to ivory whiteness by almost constant
digging for roots and small animals. He would keep those claws, he
decided, and from now on would conduct himself as the bear had. When the
time came, he too would fight with all his heart and strength.

But he had no time for further contemplation of the bear's might; the
grim business of simply staying alive was too pressing. The bear
represented a great deal of value in both fur and food, and scavengers
must not have it. Also, Willow was alone in the clearing and save for
the fire she was defenseless. He must secure the bear and see to her
safety.

He shredded tinder, added kindling to it, struck a spark, and when the
fire blazed he arranged green sticks on it. He piled them high, to
arrange here a fire that would last until such time as he was able to
return. While the fire burned, nothing would dare come near his prize.
Then he called the dog to his side and trotted back to the cave.

Willow, who had built her own fire into a roaring blaze, waited
expectantly beside it.

"The bear is dead," Hawk told her. "It lies in the forest, well-guarded
by fire."

He went eagerly to the cave, the real prize for which he had dared
challenge a great cave bear. Hesitantly he entered, and when the dog
would have backed out Hawk pulled him roughly to his side and made him
stay there. At the same time, he fought a growing desire to escape from
the place himself. He had been born under a tree, and except for
scattered occasions when his tribe had taken shelter in caves or under
ledges, he had lived his whole life in the open. The cave made him
nervous because he was confined. Still, the real purpose for which he
had wanted it remained foremost in his thoughts.

Dimly illumined by the little daylight that filtered through the
opening, the cave was roughly circular in shape and about thirty feet in
diameter. Spear-shaped stalactites depended from the roof, but there
was no evidence of dampness or water. To one side was the bed of leaves
and sticks where the bear had slept.

Willow came in behind him. At first hesitantly, then eagerly, she
explored the cave. Already she could foresee some of its possibilities
as a home. More interested in its offer of safety, Hawk swung to look at
the entrance.

The cave's opening was somewhat taller than a man, and just wide enough
so that anyone standing in it would have plenty of freedom for action.
Any enemy would have to come through the entrance, and if there were
more than one, only one at a time could attack. The place could easily
be defended. A man on the inside could not possibly be overwhelmed from
the sides or rear. It was a snug retreat, ideal for their purposes.

While Willow remained inside to complete her examination of their new
home, Hawk went out, crossed the clearing into the forest, and gathered
wood. He arranged a fire in the middle of the cave's floor, and lighted
it with a burning brand from the still-smoldering fire with which he had
driven the bear out.

Almost instantly they were coughing and sputtering. Instead of a
cheerfully crackling blaze, the fire was nothing but a smoking pile of
assorted sticks. There was no place for the smoke to go, and no draft
to fan the fire. This was something Hawk had not counted on. As the cave
filled with smoke, he ran out the entrance, Willow at his heels. They
looked back into the cave.

"The fire will have to be built nearer the entrance," Hawk said. "It
does not like to be shut in the cave."

Willow said nothing, but her face was thoughtful. Hawk took a deep
breath, stumbled back into the cave, and knocked the fire apart. He
stumbled out again, coughing smoke from his lungs. After a few moments
he peered cautiously into the cave.

The smoke had lifted, and was hanging near the ceiling, most of it in a
cleft that seemed to extend up into the roof. Hawk re-entered the cave,
gathered his scattered sticks, and moved them to a new place just inside
the entrance. He lighted his fire again and stood back to await results.

They were infinitely better insofar as most of the smoke could now
escape through the entrance. Some still went back into the cave and left
a foggy wreath, but at least the cave could be entered without danger of
choking. Hawk grimaced. From a fighting man's viewpoint the cave was the
answer to his needs, but he already knew that he was not going to like
living in it.

"Stay here," he told Willow. "I am going back to the bear."

The dog accompanied him when he set off toward the place where he had
left the bear. Once he was back in the forest Hawk felt better. He had
done what he wanted to do, and assured himself of a place from which he
could fight almost any number of men who dared to come against him, but
he was still uncomfortably aware of the cave's restrictions and of its
sense of confinement. It was much better to be free, and in the open,
than in any cave. But there remained the grim necessity of having a
place he could defend; they needed the cave.

When Hawk returned with the bear's shaggy skin, Willow was in the cave.
She had carried two boulders inside, and built a platform of sticks on
top of them. Standing on this platform, she was digging at the cleft in
the cave's roof with a sharpened stick. A shower of dirt and pebbles
fell about her, and gathered in a growing pile at her feet.

Hawk looked at her, puzzled, but said nothing. Women were always busy,
and much of what they did made little sense to him, so there was no
point in questioning her. Going back to the bear, he brought an ample
supply of the meat, laying it on ledges near the top of the cave. He
stood doubtfully back because a heavy pall of smoke swirled there.
Still, smoke shouldn't spoil the meat and certainly it was safer inside
the cave than it would be anywhere else.

Then he returned to their old camp to bring up Willow's baskets and an
additional supply of shafts for making new darts.

That night he built up the fire and slept on the grass outside the cave,
the dog beside him. He liked it better there, for the wind carried most
of the smoke away. Rising at intervals to replenish his fire, and to
scout the winds, Hawk spent a comfortable night.

The next morning he again took up the seldom-absent problem of renewing
his stock of weapons. Willow, who had refused to sleep outside the cave,
was again on her platform deepening the hole she was making in the roof.
She had already dug so far that she had had to use a longer stick, but
there was still no explanation as to what she was doing. Hawk grunted
and left the cave.

The dog at his side, he started toward the ledge of rock where he found
the best flints for dart heads. As they started up the slope, the dog
roamed ahead, nose to the ground.

A hare leaped out of the grass ahead of them and scooted swiftly away.
The dog gave half-hearted chase, then returned when Hawk called him.
The hare ran to the top of the ledge and turned to look back. As it sat
up, it was clearly silhouetted against the skyline.

Then something like the swiftly moving branch of a tree rose near the
hare. It flashed toward the little animal, then disappeared. The hare
leaped high, stiffened convulsively, and fell back.

It had been struck by a big, deadly grass serpent whose bite meant
instant death.




[Illustration]

  GRASS SERPENT

  CHAPTER 9


The dog trod warily, the hackles on the back of his neck raised. He knew
that when they wished to lay an ambush, the deadly grass serpents were
able to conceal their odor, but the scent was very plain now. It was a
musty smell, and strong, faintly reminiscent of crushed, pungent leaves.
The dog started a wide circle that would bring him to a little rise from
which he could see the snake but at the same time would keep him from
going too near.

Hawk stooped to pick up a rock. It was a woman's weapon, but very
effective for fighting snakes. He had met such serpents before, but
luckily there was not a great abundance of them. When they wanted to
feed, the few that existed haunted grassy trails along which hares and
other small game were apt to run. The serpents were vicious creatures,
so sure of themselves and their own power that they refused to move
aside for anything. Angered, they would freely attack whatever provoked
them. Once they had fed, they sought sunny ledges and lay on them almost
unmoving, until they were ready to feed again.

Hawk kept his eyes on the place where he had seen the serpent. He knew
how they fed. After they had killed their victim, which invariably died
on the spot, they opened their jaws and literally crawled around it
until the meal was in their belly. But this snake seemed to have sensed
the presence of an intruder, and was apparently waiting to see whether
or not the trespasser would have to be routed before it fed.

The dog, having sighted the serpent, was stretching his nose forward
while at the same time he remained tense, ready to leap aside should the
snake slither toward him. Again, like a violently snapping limb of a
tree, the serpent rose and struck. The dog jumped, but the strike would
have fallen short anyway. Never lacking in good judgment, the dog knew
which creatures he could approach closely and which he could not. A
grass serpent was one of the latter. The dog began an excited barking.

Hawk walked forward calmly, unafraid because he now knew exactly where
the serpent was. It was only when one blundered upon them unaware, as
the hare had, that the serpents were dangerous. They could strike with
lightning-swift speed, but when they had to move from one place to
another they were almost sluggish. A man could easily avoid them if he
knew where they were.

From a little rise, Hawk looked down at the serpent and the dead hare.
He was mystified. The hare was a small thing, but it was hardy and not
too easily killed. There were no marks on it and no blood on the grass,
yet the hare had died almost in its tracks. It had given only a few
convulsive leaps after the snake had struck it.

Therefore the snake had some mysterious power. Hawk did not know what it
was, but it must be as strong a magic as fire, which he could now
control, and the flight of birds, which his darts now possessed. His
curiosity grew, and he went a step nearer.

The serpent raised its squat, ugly head, its neck bent in a graceful
curve, and pounded the earth with a warning tail. When it slithered a
few feet forward, Hawk stepped back.

He remembered that he had once seen a bison calf step on such a serpent,
and been bitten by it. The calf had been able to take only a few
stumbling steps before it, too, had died. At the time he had given the
incident only a passing thought because he had been still a member of
the tribe and the tribe was strong. Since he had been banished from the
tribe, and entirely dependent on his own resources, he had learned that
he must neglect nothing which might add to his own strength. Now he
wanted to understand the snake's secret.

He threw his stone, deliberately making a false cast so that the stone
rolled beside the serpent instead of hitting it. Instantly the snake
struck, and a thin liquid streaked the stone.

Hawk shook his head, having learned nothing. He did not know how snakes
killed their prey because he had never thought them worth studying; they
were merely bad things to be avoided. But obviously they possessed few
brains, or this one never would have been teased to strike at a stone.
Hawk circled the snake, to examine it more closely.

It was longer than a man, pale green in color, with rough, overlapping
scales. But there was little to be learned from examining its body.
Plainly the serpent's lethal qualities lay in its head, for it always
struck with its head. Just as plainly, it inflicted death by some
method other than a serious bite, for the hare had no visible wound.

He sought and found another rock, and when he threw it he did so
accurately. It struck and broke the snake's back, and the serpent
thrashed its mighty body about. In its struggles it crushed grass and
knocked bushes down, then turned over and over. Overhead, a vulture was
already soaring.

[Illustration]

The dog at his side, Hawk turned away. Snakes could be eaten, but
belonged in that category of foods which were to be eaten only if
nothing else offered. Hawk did not like the taste of the flesh, and
anyway he had all the meat they could possibly use. Replenishing his
supply of weapons was the important thing now.

At a frightened, throttled squawk from the vulture, he whirled about.
The big scavenging bird was in the air, its ten-foot wings spread wide,
the snake clutched in its talons. Even as Hawk watched, the vulture's
wings fluttered and it dropped limply to the ground. Hawk turned and
trotted back.

Though the serpent was dead, its reflexes remained vital. When the
vulture alighted upon it, the snake's head had snapped back and its
fangs had penetrated the bird's breast. They were still there, entangled
in the feathers. Hawk squatted and looked very closely.

The snake's curved fangs, about an inch and a half long, protruded from
its mouth and into the vulture. Hawk looked at them in bewilderment. The
fangs were tiny things, no bigger than needles, and within themselves
they were surely incapable of inflicting a mortal wound. There was
something else here, some secret power which he had not fathomed.

When he touched the snake, its body twitched but the fangs did not
loosen themselves. Venom had spilled onto the feathers, and Hawk poked
at it with a dart, remembering that the stone the snake had struck had
been streaked with the same fluid. It was colorless, and looked
harmless, but surely it had some direct connection with the serpent's
magic power to kill. There just was no other answer.

Replacing the dart in his throwing-stick, he left the serpent and
vulture still entangled and walked thoughtfully away. There were many
things in this world of his that would bear the closest possible
inspection. He was increasingly aware of forces and powers which were
all about, but which he did not understand. He must learn their secrets,
for he and Willow could continue to live only if they remained stronger
and shrewder than the many things that would kill them. His thoughts
remained with the serpent. It had a marvelous power, a magic ability to
strike things dead almost instantly, but just what was the source of
such magic and how was it used?

Hawk neared the ledge of rock he wanted, and turned to climb to it. The
dog fell in behind him, and while the man selected the stones he desired
the dog rested in the sun. Hawk filled his pouch with choice pieces of
flint and they started back.

A herd of deer had drifted across their trail and were feeding in one of
the many open meadows. When Hawk approached, the deer stared curiously
at him, and when he was as near as they thought he should get they
skipped away. He glanced disinterestedly at them; there was plenty of
meat in the cave and they could not possibly use any more now. But the
dog gave enthusiastic chase.

As the deer raced into the forest the dog came to a sudden stop and an
angry snarl rippled from him. He gave voice to his battle roar.

A puma-like beast, a short-fanged cat whose size was midway between the
saber-tooth and the wild cat, had been lying on a limb of a tree. When
the deer herd passed beneath, the puma dropped on one and for a few
seconds had a wild, plunging ride. Then the cat's probing teeth met
through the deer's spine, and brought the quarry down.

It crouched on its victim, fangs bared and tail jerking angrily. The dog
made a furious attack which he halted just short of the crouching cat.
When the puma made a short rush at him, the dog dodged warily. He was no
match for the puma, but the big cat was unwilling to leave its game and
give chase. Meat abandoned, even for a moment, was frequently meat lost.

Hawk sprang into action. Game was none too plentiful as it was, and
every meat-eater raiding the stock of game meant less for Hawk and
Willow. A puma such as this one might well make a kill every other day,
and such a toll mounted terrifically. In many areas there was little or
no game solely because a preponderance of meat-eaters had cleaned it
out.

The dart in his throwing-stick, Hawk stalked the crouching puma. It was
a dangerous antagonist, well able to put up a good fight, but Hawk had
fought bigger and more savage creatures. He had killed a saber-tooth and
a great cave bear, and he felt sure of his ability to kill the puma. If
he did not, he would have to share the game with it.

He came nearer and nearer. The puma, eyes fixed on Hawk, tensed its
muscles for the spring that would carry it upon the man. The dog,
awaiting this moment, attacked furiously and the puma wheeled to spar
with him. Hawk cast his dart.

Instantly he reached for another, for just as he threw the first dart,
the puma moved. Instead of piercing the throat, its intended target, the
dart had merely skimmed across the big cat's neck and sliced through the
skin. It was scarcely more than a scratch, enough to infuriate the cat,
and Hawk backed rapidly away. He laid the dart in his throwing-stick,
and awaited another opportunity. But the puma was behaving strangely.
Instead of attacking the man, it crouched where it was. At last the puma
rose, stiffening all four feet and arching its back. Its tail became
very stiff. It reared on its hind paws, while it lashed the air with its
front ones. Then it fell to the ground, retched convulsively, and was
still.

For a moment Hawk remained rooted in his tracks, overcome with
amazement. Slowly he walked forward. The dog, as surprised as the man,
was stretching his nose as far as he could, snuffling the dead cat.

Still incredulous, Hawk looked down at the slain puma. In his whole
memory nothing else like this had ever happened. Even severely wounded
pumas were capable of putting up a terrific fight, and this one had been
scarcely scratched.

Suddenly Hawk was overcome by a hot surge of excitement. The puma had
been killed by the serpent's magic power!

This, then, was the secret. He was master of a new and mighty power,
almost unbelievable strength, for he remembered now that he had shot the
puma with the same dart which he had dipped into the strange fluid that
came from the snake's deadly head. It was the fluid and not any wound
that killed the snake's victims. Hawk stood still, shaken to the core by
this new thing he had learned. A dart dipped into a serpent's venom was
indeed a mighty weapon. Equipped with such a thing, he might well walk
safely anywhere at all.

Awed and fearful, trembling with what he had learned, Hawk shouldered
the deer and made his way back to the cave. The big grass serpents were
scarce and therefore hard to find, but he must hunt some more at the
earliest opportunity.

He came in sight of the cave and stopped, while a feeling of alarm rose
within him. He had left Willow safe, protected by a fire at the cave's
entrance, but now the fire was only smoldering ashes. He tested the
winds, which carried nothing except an odor of smoke. But he could see
no smoke. Hawk dropped the deer, fixed a dart, and stalked forward.

He peered cautiously into the cave. Inside, a cheerful fire leaped high
and beside it was Willow, working on another basket. Hawk followed with
his eye the course of the ascending smoke, and saw it rising through
the hole Willow had poked in the cave's roof. Thus her mysterious
actions with the stick were explained at last. She had been making an
opening where the smoke might escape. With a grunt of admiration, Hawk
went back for the deer.

When the deer had been cut up and stored in the cave, Hawk sat down to
work on his dart heads. He had practiced so much and made so many that
he knew almost by instinct whether or not he could make a good one from
any piece of flint. He also knew exactly how the stones were going to
split, and often, by striking a good-sized stone in exactly the right
place, he could break it into a dozen fragments, all of which were
already partly shaped. It was work to which he was so accustomed that he
could do it with his hands and part of his mind; the rest of his
thoughts wandered elsewhere.

The serpent's venom was very powerful magic; a mere touch of it had
killed the puma. If he could transfer the snake-magic to his own dart
heads, would it not be possible to use even smaller darts? It would no
longer be necessary to inflict a mortal wound, and if he could make his
darts smaller he could certainly carry many more of them. The more he
could carry, the better he could hunt and defend himself.

But how could he make small darts fly any distance? The heavy darts he
was now using depended on their own weight, their feathers, and the
power of the throwing-stick. It would be impossible, even with the
throwing-stick, to hurl a small dart a long way.

Willow had finished her basket and was stretching sinew which she would
later use in sewing skins. She stretched it by tying one end to a
slender green stick, bowing the stick, and then tying the sinew to the
other end. The stick itself, slowly straightening, kept the sinew taut.
Hawk was annoyed because a strip of sinew had broken with a loud snap,
and disturbed his thoughts.

"Bring me water," he said.

Willow rose to get the two skin pouches which they used for water
containers and started out of the cave with them. Hawk watched her
impatiently.

Cave life had positive advantages, but it was not without its
disadvantages. When they had lived in the open they had been within a
few feet of a clear-flowing spring where they could quench their thirst
any time they wished. But there was no water at all in the cave. The
nearest spring was across the valley and up the opposite slope. All
their water had to be carried from there, and there was never enough of
it. Neither of the pouches held more than a thirsty man could drink,
and water left in them for any length of time had a bad taste. At night
they dared get no water at all.

Willow came back with the two filled pouches and Hawk drank. The dog
looked expectantly up, and when no water was forthcoming for him he
drifted out of the cave to go get his own drink.

Hawk laid down the empty container thoughtfully. Until now it had not
occurred to him that lack of water could be a very serious thing. He had
wanted the cave largely because it was a safe place, and one he could
defend if they were attacked by alien hunters. But now he realized that
if the hunters came, they could block Hawk and Willow from their source
of water, and that would be fatal. He turned to Willow.

"You must make more containers, many more, and keep them filled so that
we will always have water."

"We do not need them," Willow replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Let me show you."

Willow brought the basket she had woven. It was wide and deep, and so
finely woven that when she held it up, no light showed between the
supple sticks of which the basket was made.

"It is strong and tight," Hawk said, "but it will not hold water."

"No," Willow admitted, "but if the holes between the sticks were filled
in, it might."

"Filled with what?" Hawk asked, his interest aroused.

"The sticky black mud you use to catch little birds," Willow replied. "I
watched you the day you made the new spear for Short-Leg. There was a
little pool of water on the black mud. If water did not sink through the
mud there, it might stay in a basket coated with the mud."

Hawk remembered the tar pit and grinned delightedly. It was an excellent
idea and might work. It would be much easier to fill and carry a
tar-coated basket than several skin containers, and the basket would
hold more water.

"We'll try it," he said, snatching up his spear and throwing-stick.
"Bring the basket."

Together they left the cave. The dog, sunning himself in the warm grass,
looked lazily up and thumped his tail at them. He rose to follow as they
made their way to the tar pit.

Hawk dug into the sticky surface with his fingers. He brought out a
handful and examined it closely. The tar formed a firm but pliable ball,
and when he squeezed it, it spread out readily. It did not disintegrate
as a handful of mud would have done. He handed the tar to Willow, who
began pressing it against the inside of the basket. Hawk dug out more
tar.

An hour later their work was done. The basket had a smooth, sticky
lining of tar, which Willow had carefully worked into each tiny crack.
Returning to the spring, they lowered the basket into the icy water, and
breathlessly lifted it out again. It was brimful of clear, sweet water,
and only a few drops seeped through here and there. Willow patiently
began to work the tar in tighter at such places.

As pleased as though it had been his own idea, Hawk squatted beside the
spring, watching her.

"Why did the women of the tribe not make these lined baskets before?" he
asked.

"I do not know," Willow replied. "Perhaps it was because we were always
moving, and skin containers are easier to carry."

As she carefully lifted the basket and carried it back to the cave, Hawk
walked beside her, greatly pleased. Back in the cave, he took a long
drink. He smacked his lips, while a vast sense of well-being filled him.
Nobody else had ever been as well off, he was sure. There was meat in
the cave, and dried seeds and berries, and plenty of water, and a good
supply of darts. Hawk awakened to the startling fact that he need not
devote every waking minute to the grim business of just getting enough
to eat or protecting himself and Willow. Luxuriously he stretched out
beside the fire and slept while Willow began cooking bear meat.

The dog's low growl brought Hawk back to reality.

Darkness had fallen while he slept, and the dog was lying in the cave's
mouth rumbling at a prowling tiger. Hawk felt a sudden little panic.

Again the cave seemed small and close, a prison of a place. The only
light was that cast by the fire. Hawk went to the entrance and peered
out. He had intended to sleep outside, but there was no way now he could
do so, for it was unsafe to go out at night and attempt to build a fire.
Disgusted, he ate in silence, then threw himself down on the bearskin
and went to sleep again.

He did not sleep heavily, and as usual was ready to awaken in a second,
but there were no alarms during the night. With morning's first light,
Hawk rose and stretched. He threw wood on the low-burning fire and
looked at the basket, which was still nearly full.

It was good, very good, and they should have more of these tar-lined
baskets. Willow started weaving one while Hawk went out to gather more
dart shafts. He knew where the best ones grew, in a thicket of small
trees in a nearby valley. There were so many that they crowded each
other, and their limbless trunks were of a uniform size, free of
branches. Hawk entered the thicket and started cutting sticks. Suddenly
he was aware of the dog's warning growl.

Hawk peered out cautiously, to see the first of a long line of strange
hunters swing down a slope and disappear into a gully. A moment later
the head and shoulders of a man, with the lower body still concealed by
the slope, reappeared. Hawk faded silently into the thicket, the dog
beside him.

Beyond any doubt, the hunters were on his trail.




[Illustration]

  BESIEGERS

  CHAPTER 10


Hawk quietly faded farther into the thicket. The dog stayed right beside
him, making no noise and ready for whatever came. As the dog had fitted
his hunting to meet the needs of his master, so he now fitted his other
talents. He would do whatever was required, always looking to Hawk as a
guide. Born to be part of a pack, the adaptable dog had blended himself
perfectly into the life of a human being.

Beyond the thicket, Hawk broke into a swift run. He had no idea how the
strange hunters had at last found him. It might have been chance, but
more likely they had sought him endlessly, following every tiny clue
and as patient as wild beasts while they traced the man and woman who
had eluded them once. It mattered little how they had come here. It was
important only that they were here, and that they had undoubtedly come
to kill.

When he reached the next thicket, a tangle of small trees and brush
wherein visibility was limited to a few feet in any direction, Hawk
slowed his pace again. He got down to crawl, staying on rock ledges
wherever that was possible and leaving no more traces than he could
help. The dog left his tracks freely, but Hawk could do nothing about
that. He could only hope that the invading hunters would not connect the
dog with the quarry they sought. Dogs were common wild creatures, and
their tracks might be anywhere.

Deliberately Hawk entangled his trail, crossing and re-crossing the
thicket and leaving a maze of signs that would be very difficult to
unravel. Still, he had no real hope of baffling his enemies for more
than a few hours at the most. They might not be able to see where he had
gone, but they could ferret out his tracks. By trying to throw them off
at this point, Hawk hoped only to gain time.

When he reached the end of the second thicket, he grasped a trailing
vine, climbed to the crotch of a great tree, and walked out on a limb to
another vine several feet from the first. He slid down this, struck the
ground with running feet, and dodged into the trees ahead of him.

He stopped to reconnoiter, looking over his back trail. But in his haste
to escape the men who pursued him, he had run with the wind instead of
against it, and now the soft breeze brought him no evidence at all of
the enemy. Hawk circled cautiously.

The dog detected the first fresh sign of the invaders. He stopped,
bristling. Hawk squatted beside him, trying hard to read the message
which was already very plain to the dog. Then he caught it.

The hostile hunters were evidently trying to work out the trail he had
left in the thicket. Hawk guessed that there were more than ten of them
and not as many as twenty; but certainly they were in formidable
strength.

Hawk ran to a clear-flowing stream he knew. He stepped in and, unmindful
of the dog, who ran along the bank beside him, waded down the stream.
Two hundred yards down he stepped out of the water on the bank opposite
the one he had entered.

The hostile hunters had come a long way, and they had worked out a very
difficult trail to do so. They were not to be thrown off lightly; even
if he got Willow and ran again, the hunters would find them. The battle
had to come, and it might as well be at the cave. But first there were
things to be done. Hawk stepped out of the stream and gave a precious
moment to a long backward look.

The invaders were not in sight; evidently they were still trying to work
out the trail he had left in the thicket. It would be some time before
they got this far, and he had a little time. The dog loped beside him as
he set a direct course for the cave.

He stopped in a clearing where deer usually browsed. The fight was close
at hand. During it, he would be a virtual prisoner in the cave, until he
had either defeated the hunters or they had killed him and Willow. They
would need food to last out the siege that was sure to come, and the
only food they had was some bear meat, the deer the puma had killed, and
such dried food as Willow had ground. Meat spoiled quickly in weather
like this and they should have some fresh-killed game.

The dog cast back and forth, nose to the ground while he sought a scent
fresh enough to hunt. Hawk watched anxiously, impatient to find game and
be on his way. Willow was alone and should the hunters find the cave
they would have little difficulty in killing her.

After the dog had cast for ten minutes, and failed to rouse any game,
Hawk abandoned the hunt; they would have to make out the best way they
could. At a fast trot, he returned to the cave. Willow met him at the
entrance.

"Give me the water basket!" Hawk panted. "The hunters have come, and we
will have to fight."

Willow brought him the basket without a word. Hawk ran to the spring,
filled the basket, and returned to the cave. During his absence, Willow
had been carrying rocks and boulders into the cave, and was now storing
them in strategic places. Hawk waited at the entrance. Had there been
time, he would have again tried to find game. But there was no way of
telling just where the invaders were or what they were doing. They might
arrive at any moment, and Hawk had no wish to be caught outside the cave
or to have the enemy trap Willow alone. He must stay, and hope they had
enough food.

The dog slunk out, padded restlessly back and forth across the meadow,
then returned to Hawk's side. He stood still, close to his master, and
waited tensely. The dog knew that something was going to happen without
knowing what it might be. He remained in the mouth of the cave, bristled
and alert, while Hawk went back to inspect his store of weapons.

He was glad now that he had made additional darts; there were nine in
the quiver and sixteen in his reserve stock. In addition there were the
two spears and his club, but lately he had seldom used these. They would
be useful only in a close-quarter fight, when and if the invaders tried
to rush the cave. Hawk laid both spears at the cave's entrance, far
enough back so that they could not be seized from the outside, and put
his club beside them. Restlessly he prowled outside, and mounted the
bluff above the cave to look all around.

There was nothing in sight; evidently he had hidden his trail well and
the hunters were having difficulty unraveling it. But they would come.
They had come too far already to turn back now. Sooner or later they
were sure to find the cave.

Hawk considered their stock of firewood. He had carried much into the
cave and Willow had brought more, but fire was their strongest weapon
and their stoutest defense against constantly prowling beasts. Without
fire, another bear, or a tiger, or a pack of wolves, might try to enter
the cave. They needed fire all the time.

The dog padded close to his side as Hawk started across the valley and
into the forest on the other side of the clearing. Willow took a stand
in the cave's mouth, standing guard and ready to call a warning should
anything appear. Hawk found a dead tree, dragged it across the valley,
and into the cave. He went back for another, and a third.

About to start a fourth time, he was halted by the dog's warning snarl.
Hawk stood quietly in the entrance, testing the winds. They brought no
news to his nose, but obviously they had carried a message to the dog's
much keener senses. Something was coming. Silently Hawk retreated to the
cave, and warned Willow.

Two by two, she was bringing up her store of rocks and placing them near
Hawk's spears and club. Fear showed in her eyes, but she said nothing.
Hawk appreciated her strength and courage; it was good to have her
beside him in this crisis, even though she was only a woman.

A moment later he caught a glimpse of the enemy through the trees.

They were coming fast, on a clear trail. Hawk moved about, assuring
himself that he had plenty of room, and fitted a dart into his
throwing-stick.

They came out of the forest, sixteen shaggy, hairy men with fur girdles
flapping about their waists. The dog rose and stood ready, growling, but
at a word from Hawk he subsided. The dog waited, uncertain what his
master would do.

The oncoming warriors halted in the clearing, and milled about
uncertainly. While they stood still, Hawk appraised them.

They were strange men, he saw, but doubtless of the same tribe as the
three he had fought back near the river meadows. Their foreheads
receded, and they lacked the firm chins which characterized the people
of his own tribe. Their spears were also of a primitive type; a full
half of the warriors carried only sharpened sticks that had been
hardened by scorching them in a fire.

The leader of the warriors looked directly across the valley and saw
Hawk. He stood a moment, as though unable to avert his eyes, then leaped
furiously up and down. His bare feet rapped a sharp tattoo on the earth,
and he swung his arms wildly. Then an unearthly shriek rolled from his
throat. The rest followed his glance and they, too, began a concerted
shrieking, and all leaped up and down. Hawk braced himself to meet the
attack.

They came in a body, still yelling and waving their spears. Hawk forced
himself to remain calm. He had already planned how he would meet such an
attack if it came, and he knew the exact range of his darts. He could
fling a dart twice as far as they could throw a spear, and certainly
could kill some of the hunters before they were able to get within
their spear range.

The hunters pressed on, howling at the tops of their voices and
brandishing their spears. Inflamed with the lust to kill, they ran
recklessly, each inspiring the other.

The dog was tense and ready to spring, but Hawk remained relaxed. He was
afraid of this howling mob, but experience had taught him that he could
not shoot straight when his muscles were tense. He must be relaxed and
easy, and he had faced danger a sufficient number of times so he could
force himself to be that way.

The howling was fierce, but Hawk knew that there was nothing in that
which was able to hurt him. It was only meant to strike fear into the
heart of an enemy. There was no indication that the hunters intended, at
once, to press right up to the cave's mouth. Perhaps they would break
and run, and launch half a dozen of these screaming attacks before they
drove one home.

However, they had ventured into dart range, so Hawk stepped out of the
cave and shot. Before the first dart had reached its target, he shot
again and reached for another dart.

The foremost hunter stopped, a look of disbelief on his face as the
first dart pierced his chest. He grasped it with both hands, tried to
pull it out, then collapsed where he stood. The second dart struck
another hunter squarely in the neck. He went to his knees, and fell
limply backward, blood gushing from his jugular vein. The rest of the
hunters turned and ran.

Hawk took his time with his third dart. Carefully he gauged the distance
between himself and the leader, knowing that he would have to shoot very
well to kill the man at such a distance.

Instead of shrieking, the hunters were now yelling in fear as they
scrambled to get out of range. Hawk shot, purposely aiming high because
the distance was so great. As the dart flew toward the fleeing men, Hawk
caught his breath. He had aimed well, and if the dart kept on course it
would strike the leader in the middle of his back.

However, at the last moment, a gust of wind deflected the dart. It
curved to one side and went past the leader. A shout of mingled fear and
rage broke from the man.

A moment later they were all safely out of range. Hawk did not pursue
them. He had killed two and just missed a third in the first mad rush,
but one man did not have even a faint chance of overcoming fourteen
unless every advantage was on his side. To leave the cave would mean to
give up his strong position and his only chance of meeting his enemies
on something remotely like even terms.

The enemy tribesmen assembled at the point from which they had launched
their charge, and swung to look back. Bewilderment was plain on their
faces, and fear. They had come expecting to kill a man armed with a
spear and a club, the only weapons they knew. Instead, they had run into
something utterly beyond their comprehension. Not one of them should
have been in danger at the distance this cave-dwelling man was able to
kill. For a few minutes they stared stupidly at the cave. Then the
leader spoke to them, gesturing violently.

Presently they came again, shrieking as before but spread in a thin line
instead of grouped together. Again Hawk stepped out to meet them.

Instead of rushing forward, in an attempt to overwhelm the cave's
defender by sheer weight of numbers, the hunters halted. They danced up
and down, yelling, and made little dashes back and forth. Hawk tried
desperately to reach them with a dart. He shot again, and again. Each
time the dart fell short. Then Hawk stopped shooting, realizing what had
happened.

The hunters had once made the mistake of coming within range of his
darts, but they could not be tricked a second time. They were dancing
and weaving just out of range, knowing that Hawk must have a limited
supply of darts and tempting him to shoot what he had. They might be
primitive, but they were crafty.

Hawk took stock of the darts remaining in his quiver and turned quickly
to speak to Willow. Immediately she was there, handing him six darts to
replace the six he had expended. Never taking his eyes from the enemy,
Hawk maintained his stand just outside the cave's entrance.

He waited, watching carefully for someone to make a break and come a
little farther toward the cave. When an unwary hunter did so, Hawk shot
again. But his target was a leaping, writhing one, and he missed.
Instantly the hunter bounded out of range, and Hawk resolved not to
throw another dart until he was reasonably sure of hitting his target.

Soon after, one of the men went into the forest and returned with wood
and tinder. He knelt to arrange his fire, and added wood to it when it
began to blaze. Two others busied themselves gathering a great quantity
of wood.

Hawk's heart sank. The hunters had been defeated in two initial
skirmishes, but obviously they had no intention of leaving. Instead,
they were going to besiege the cave.

Three hunters started into the forest, probably to look for game. The
rest gathered about the fire, and Hawk watched them closely. There
seemed to be no immediate danger of another attack, but neither was
there any indication that the enemy intended to leave.

Hawk ventured outside the cave, and all leaped to their feet and stood
with spears ready. Hawk understood now why only three had gone hunting.
With their quarry cornered, the rest had no intention of permitting it
to escape. They would attack again, but next time they would not rush
forward foolishly, or give any advantages. As he retreated back into the
cave, Willow questioned him.

"What are they doing?"

"Waiting. Either they have some plan, or they wish us to make a foolish
move."

"Then they will attack again?"

"I am sure of it."

Hawk sat down at the cave's mouth, patiently waiting for his enemies to
make a move. They did not, and an hour before dark the hunters returned
with two deer. Their fire leaped higher, brighter, and the smell of
roasting meat filled the air. Hawk came back into the cave.

He and Willow were safe, at least until morning. Meat-eating beasts
might not attack the hunters lying about their fire, but the odor of
cooking meat would attract them to the vicinity. Already one saber-tooth
was in evidence. The tiger had come, as usual, to patrol the camp in the
hope that somebody would stray from it. In consequence, the hunters
would be anchored to their own fire until morning.

Furtive rustlings in the grass told of wild dogs that had come to tear
at the slain warriors. Then came the hoarse cough of the saber-tooth,
and the sound of the wild dogs disappeared. In the darkness, Hawk heard
bones cracking and knew that, with morning, there would be nothing left
of the hunters he had killed. Already they were filling the lean belly
of the big cat. Hawk lay down to sleep fitfully.

He was awakened by the dog's warning growl, and sprang instantly to his
feet. The first faint, wan streaks of daylight filtered dismally through
the cave's opening, and the mournful twitter of an early-waking bird was
borne to his ears. Snatching up his darts, he went to the opening and
looked out.

Morning mists swirled lightly over the clearing, and smoke from the
enemy fire curled lazily up through them. Three of the hunters squatted
on their haunches, just out of dart range, looking steadily at the cave.
Others dawdled about the fire, but not all were accounted for. They
could not have gone hunting, for it was too early to hunt. Suspicious,
Hawk peered out of the mouth of the cave to see what had happened to the
rest.

A pebble fell behind him, and a little chunk of earth dropped to the
floor of the cave. The dog snarled fiercely and trotted back into the
cave. He stood still, muscles tense and head alert, then nervously
padded back to Hawk. Another clod of dirt dropped from the cave's roof,
and another. Again the dog returned to the cave, as though he wanted to
locate something that should be there. He bristled.

Hawk jerked about, startled. There were faint scrapings and pawings on
the roof of the cave, and dirt sifted down steadily. Now he knew where
the missing hunters were. They were on top of the cave, trying to dig
their way through the smoke hole. After they had an opening through
which a man could drop, doubtless they would attack from two sides at
once. But until the hole was big enough, there would probably be no
further attacks.

Fear touched Hawk's spine with icy fingers. He could defend the door,
but this was a situation which he had not anticipated. Obviously it was
impossible to be in two places at once, and Willow was no match for even
one hunter. She could help little if some came through the door while
others dropped through the hole in the roof. Hawk squatted in the
entrance, considering this new danger.

Willow brought him a chunk of roasted meat, and Hawk grimaced as he took
it. The weather had been warm, and meat did not keep well in warm
weather. When it started to spoil it was both distasteful and apt to
induce a sick stomach. They should have had fresh meat today, but there
would be none until he dared leave the cave.

Gingerly Hawk smelled of the meat, then sniffed again, more deeply. It
should be spoiled but certainly it did not smell that way. Rather it had
a smoky odor, not unpleasant. Hawk nibbled a bit, then took a bigger
portion. It was not spoiled at all, but good, with a smoky taste as
pleasant as its odor. Hawk looked up at the ledges where the rest of the
meat lay.

Most of the smoke went out the smoke hole, but some always lingered near
the top of the cave, so that the stored meat lay constantly in a thin
pall of smoke. Evidently the smoke was responsible for keeping the meat
from spoiling.

Hawk stored this discovery in his brain with all the others he had made.
It was most useful. If meat could be preserved, for even a little while,
it meant that they could have that many more meals out of any large game
animal, instead of eating just a little and throwing the rest away.
That was something for the future--if there was any future.

From overhead came a muffled pounding, and the scraping of rock on rock.
The diggers, Hawk guessed, had struck a ledge of rock and were trying to
break through it. The scraping and pounding continued. Hawk picked up
the water basket, and drank. He put the basket down and listened
intently.

The diggers on top of the cave had abandoned their first hole and were
starting a new one in a different place. Hawk breathed a little easier;
perhaps the entire cave was roofed with rock and could not be broken.
The smoke hole might go through a crack in the rock too narrow for a
man. Or maybe it was too difficult to dig there; the smoke emerged in a
grove of trees, and digging a hole large enough to admit a man, through
interlaced roots, could be almost as difficult as digging through rock.

Suddenly a boulder, dislodged from the roof, bounded against the rim of
the water basket and tipped it over.

Both Willow and Hawk sprang instantly to right the basket, but they were
too late. Their precious water flowed in a spreading, dark stain on the
floor of the cave.




[Illustration]

  BENT BOW

  CHAPTER 11


The dog, padding over, bent his head to the spilled water and licked up
as much as he could. Then he ran a pink tongue over his furry upper jaw
and sat back on his haunches, looking expectantly up at Hawk.

Hawk brushed a hand across his shaggy mop of hair and dangled the empty
water basket while the enormity of this tragedy sank in. They could
live, for days if need be, without food. But not without water, and
their entire reserve stock had been in the basket.

Almost automatically he swung to look at the cave's entrance. Under no
conditions must the enemy learn of this disaster. If they knew, or found
it out, they could get both Hawk and Willow with no risk at all to
themselves. It would be necessary only to wait until thirst drove the
two mad, and kill them when they came out. He must get more water before
their situation became desperate, but the only water near the cave lay
in the spring across the valley.

Hawk's throat and tongue were dry, and already he felt thirsty. Having
water, he had used it sparingly. Now, lacking anything with which to
quench his thirst, he had a sudden strong desire for something to drink.

Willow's eyes were haunted, desperate, and she licked her lips. She,
too, was suddenly thirsty. Her eyes were riveted on the damp floor of
the cave, as the dog scratched inquisitively at the place where the
water had spilled.

Dirt and small stones continued to patter into the cave, a monotonous
dribble like rain, as the diggers on top strove to enlarge their hole.

Hawk went to the entrance, carefully choosing his way over the tumbled
dirt and stones, and looked out. As usual, excepting for those who were
trying to dig through the top of the cave, the hunters were merely
sitting well out of dart range. Their only purpose seemed to be to
prevent the escape of the people trapped in the cave. They apparently
had no wish to attack again, or to make any move, until there was all
possible chance for success. The digging went on.

Again Hawk licked dry lips. It was cool inside the cave, but outside a
hot sun beat mercilessly down and even the birds were not moving.
Instead they had sought the forest's shade, and were lingering in it
until such time as the sun started to sink so they could move about
comfortably.

The panting dog came to sit beside Hawk. In his own way the dog
considered the situation, too, although he did not see the complete
picture. The people outside the cave were enemies and must be regarded
as such, but the siege had become an accepted thing and nothing special
was happening. The besiegers had not broken in, and until they did those
inside the cave were in no danger. Therefore there was no use in
remaining constantly excited. The dog returned to the cool cave, and lay
down facing the entrance. The monotonous thud of the diggers' tools
still sounded on top of the cave but that, too, had become a customary
thing, almost an accepted part of living.

Suddenly the dog leaped backward. A large crack had opened in the roof,
just behind the doorway, and stones and dirt poured in a steady stream
through it. The dislodged earth piled unevenly on the cave's floor, so
that there were two narrow alleys running to the entrance and a pile of
debris in the center. The dog scurried toward an overhanging ledge at
one side of the cave, and hovered uncertainly near it.

The two humans looked worriedly at the disturbance. Hawk listened
intently to the sound of the diggers, while he tried to think of
something he might do. The falling earth had left a thin cloud of dust
behind it, so that breathing was difficult. Dust gritted between his
teeth, and when he swallowed it added to the torment of thirst.

When the digging finally ceased, so accustomed had they grown to it,
both looked questioningly up. Now that the sounds had stopped, they
missed them. The fire leaped higher and brighter, painting the inside of
the cave with its yellow glow, and they realized that twilight had come
again. The diggers had to leave and return to their fire because of the
dangers night brought with it. They would be easy prey for any prowling
beast if they remained on top of the cave.

Hawk dug thoughtfully in the cave's floor with his bare toes. Tomorrow
would be another hot day, from all signs, and already thirst was hard to
bear. Before the night ended it would be harder, and by tomorrow it
would be torture.

Hawk went again to the mouth of the cave, careful not to stir up any of
the piled earth, and peered out. The sun had gone down, and with it the
day's heat had gone too. In the valley, the besieging tribesmen were
dark shadows beside their leaping fire. There was no smell of roasting
meat; evidently the hunters had failed to get any. Tomorrow the enemy
camp would be a hungry one.

Dim light still lingered, and familiar things had become night-haunted
shadows. Like such a shadow, the same saber-tooth that had been at the
enemy camp last night drifted within thirty feet of the cave's entrance.
Ordinarily Hawk would have thrown a dart at it, and tried to kill the
tiger, but now he welcomed it. It would keep the enemy from attacking at
night. There was a chance that one of the hunters would stray from the
fire, and that the tiger would kill him. In that happy event, Hawk would
have one less to deal with.

The darkness deepened, and as it did the fire across the valley became
very bright. Back in the forest a dire wolf sounded its lonesome wail,
and at a distant point another wolf replied. They must have fed
recently; wolves never gave away their positions by making noise when
they were hungry.

The tiger, again on its regular patrol around the camp fire, came back,
and when it passed the cave it stopped to look searchingly at the
entrance. It did not come any nearer because the tiger had already
investigated the cave thoroughly. It knew there was fire within, and
fire it dared not approach. The tiger went on its way around the enemy
camp.

Hawk timed its beat, and it was a regular one. The saber-tooth appeared
in the same places at about the same time. After a while it failed to
pass the cave and Hawk knew it had become discouraged and gone to seek
other game.

A night breeze stirred, blowing from the hunter's camp to the cave, and
Hawk tested the scents it carried. There were none save those of the
usual timid creatures which had found what they hoped were safe places
for the night and were staying in them.

Willow was roasting meat, but Hawk had no appetite for it. His lips were
dry, his tongue a twisted piece of grass in his mouth, and he felt very
warm. His need was for water, not food, and he must drink before he
could eat. Hawk walked back to the fire.

Willow's lips were cracked and dry, and her eyes seemed abnormally
bright as she looked up at him. Suffering more than he, she wanted
nothing to eat either. Hawk came to a sudden decision.

"I am going to get water," he said.

Willow's eyes filled with fear. "It is night."

"We must have water, and I cannot get it by day. I think the saber-tooth
has gone, and that I can be back before it returns."

Willow offered no further protest, as Hawk picked up the water basket
and a spear and went to the mouth of the cave. When the dog would have
followed him, he told Willow to restrain it. For a few moments he
remained quietly in the cave's mouth.

It was an unheard-of thing that he was about to do. Night was a time of
terror both real and imagined. The darkness was always alive with fierce
creatures that did exist and fantastic things that lived only in the
mind. No sane person ever voluntarily left the fire's safety at night,
but Hawk was desperate. Spear in one hand, water basket in the other, he
slipped quietly into the darkness.

He walked fast and erect, making no attempt to hide, but he was careful
to stay on soft grass where his padding feet would make no noise. Away
from the cave, he broke into a trot. The spring was a long way off, and
though the tiger was gone there was no guarantee that it would not
return.

When he neared the enemy fire, Hawk slowed to a walk. The hunters were
lying about, sleeping, but Hawk knew how lightly they slept. If they
suspected his presence, they could tell as easily as he had that there
were no tigers or other dangerous beasts close by, and would be after
him.

Past the camp, Hawk breathed more easily. He reached the spring, faintly
illumined by glowing fox fire, and dipped his basket. Hastily he yanked
the half-filled basket out, while cold fright made his heart pound. The
camp was alert!

He himself had made no noise, but he had forgotten that water gurgled
when it poured into the empty basket. Now, every hunter was on his feet,
spear and club ready. All were staring toward the spring. They knew that
there was plenty of water all around, and no reason to suppose that any
beast would drink so close to a camp. Besides, drinking beasts did not
make that kind of a noise.

The half-filled basket in one hand, and his spear in the other, Hawk
remained rooted in his tracks while he sought some plan of escape. He
could not stay here, but the alerted camp was between him and the cave.
Pursing his lips, he brought the growl of an angry tiger from the very
depths of his chest. Then he started circling away from the fire on a
course that would take him back toward the cave.

For a moment the watching hunters were silent. Then the wind veered
sharply from Hawk to the fire, and at once the hunters began their
insane leaping and their weird, animal screaming. Following their
noses, they rushed toward the place where they knew their enemy, and not
a saber-tooth, waited.

Clinging to the basket of water, Hawk ran desperately. He had been
discovered, and there was no more need for subterfuge. Even as he ran he
made ready to hurl his spear, for the enemy was between him and the
cave. He would have to fight, but he would do it in his own way. As soon
as he could see the first hunter outlined against the glow of the fire,
Hawk stopped suddenly and hurled his spear.

He missed; in the dim light he had been unable to see the man clearly.
Then, as he turned to run again, there was a sudden interruption.

Another snarl, a real one, sounded in the night, and was followed by a
wild shriek. The hunters scrambled desperately to return to their fire
and Hawk ran faster. The tiger had come back, and just in time. There
was no immediate danger because the tiger had its victim, and would not
leave it. Hawk sprinted into the cave, still clutching the basket with
its precious contents.

When he and Willow had satisfied their thirst, Hawk lay down to sleep.
It was a peaceful sleep; tomorrow would bring its problems but he had
solved the most immediate one.

During the night he awakened, and went to the mouth of the cave to test
the winds and to listen. The hunters apparently remained about their
fire, and anyway the dog was lying close to the cave's entrance. Hawk
looked gratefully at him. More and more he was coming to rely on the
dog. The animal always alerted him when anything was about, and never
gave a false warning. He would be sure to create some disturbance if the
hunters were foolish enough to leave their fire and try to attack the
cave by night.

It was most unlikely that they would. They had already gone out once and
learned that night was no time to venture away from their fire. But
another day was soon to come, and sooner or later the diggers on the
roof would find a way to break through. When they did, and if they came
through the entrance at the same time, he could not repel them. Even if
the dog and Willow helped, there were too many to beat back.

Hawk came back to throw more wood on the fire, and the flames leaped
halfway to the cave's roof. Hawk fretfully paced about.

He must do something, but what could it be? The hostile hunters knew how
far he could shoot his darts; they would not again come within range. If
he went out to meet them he would certainly be killed. Hawk looked at
his darts, particularly the special one whose tip carried the
mysterious power of the serpent's deadly ability to kill. If he could
reach his enemies with it, if he could enlist the serpent's magic in his
defense, he might yet win this battle.

The dog got up to sit expectantly beside him, as though he thought
something was about to happen. Hawk paid no attention. The dog was
valuable in his own way, but Hawk could see no use for him in the
present problem.

Hawk looked up at the roof of the cave, where the firelight made dancing
shadows. The diggers had tried to break through in half a dozen places,
and had as yet succeeded nowhere. But sooner or later they were sure to
find a soft place, one that would yield to their efforts. Hawk paced
about, looking from the roof to the fire, and back again. If he knew
where the enemy would finally enter, and had a great fire underneath
that place, the flames might drive them back.

But where was his fire to be built? The cave was roofed with dirt,
broken here and there by a layer of stone. Looking at the roof from the
inside, there was no way to tell exactly where those digging from the
outside might finally gain an entrance. It took time to build up a
roaring fire, and if it was even a few feet away from the right spot,
the hunters could attack anyway.

His eyes on the roof, Hawk stepped backward, and trod on something that
snapped against his foot. He looked down, and saw that he had thrust his
foot between the sinew on one of Willow's drying sticks and the stick
itself. With an annoyed grunt, he bent down to free himself, but the
stick caught on his toe and only bent when he tugged at the sinew. The
sinew slipped from his hand and snapped against his foot as the stick
tried to straighten itself. Hawk squatted down, looking more closely.

As a spear-maker, he had always been intrigued by the magic life in a
supple green stick. That magic was still evident in the drying stick,
but now it seemed to be controlled in some way by the sinew tied to it.
Fascinated, Hawk carefully disengaged his foot and picked the stick up.
Experimentally he pulled at the sinew, and when he did the stick bent.
As soon as he released it, the stick straightened. The quivering sinew
seemed to sing softly to him.

Hawk forgot everything else. He took the drying stick in his left hand
and, with his right, pulled back the sinew. The stick bent, but when he
released the sinew, the stick immediately straightened and the sinew
became taut. Again it sang its humming song.

A green stick itself had great power, a mysterious force that belonged
to things that grew, but did not move freely by themselves. And animal
sinew, Hawk reasoned, so useful to both beasts and men, who could move
as they pleased, must contain some magical element of its own. Combined,
the two seemed to possess a power greater than either alone. Hawk drew
the sinew again, and again, and let the stick snap itself back to its
former shape.

The cave, the dog, the hostile hunters, even Willow, who had awakened
and was quietly watching him, faded into insignificance. For years he
had tried to master the strength and life in the green wood, and now he
knew that he was on the verge of finding what he had been seeking. Wood
alone was not the answer. He must pair wood with sinew; the strength of
trees with the agility of animals.

Sitting beside the fire, he drew the sinew taut and flexed his fingers
across it. It sang pleasantly to him, a happy song of triumph, a promise
of great strength. With fingers that trembled from excitement, Hawk took
one of the darts from its quiver. He fitted it against the sinew, pushed
against the bent stick with his feet, and let the sinew go. The dart
wobbled weakly across the cave, and bounced against the far wall with
scarcely enough force to make a mark.

Hawk looked down at the stick, baffled. He almost had the answer he had
been seeking; it was almost in his grasp. But something was lacking;
what was it? A moment later he knew what that was. In three great bounds
Hawk sprang across the cave.

A spear shaft! It had been a supple spear shaft that had first awakened
him to the life in wood! Feverishly he sought among his bundle of
shafts, and plucked out the greenest and most limber. He grasped it by
both hands and bent it. A happy smile lighted his face.

This was what he needed! Sinew-drying sticks were green, and as such
they had strength, but they were not strong enough to propel a dart. The
spear shaft was stronger, thicker, and had the needed power. Hawk tied a
length of sinew to one end of the shaft, braced that end against the
cave's floor, and bowed the shaft. Making a loop in the free end of the
sinew, he tied it over the other end of the shaft. Very carefully, a
little awed, knowing he held magic in his grasp, he pulled the sinew and
bent the shaft more. He released the string and the shaft snapped back.

The breaking sinew snapped with a sharp report, and Hawk winced as one
end struck him smartly across the cheek. Unmindful of the sinew's sting,
he looked in bewilderment at his handiwork. The shaft was powerful
enough, but the sinew lacked strength to control it.

"Twist several long sinews together," said Willow.

She was on her feet now, gathering lengths of sinew from her longest
drying sticks. Tying the ends together, Willow looped three lengths over
a stick and swiftly twisted them into one smooth, compact cord. Then she
handed the triple-strength sinew to Hawk.

Eagerly Hawk bowed the shaft again and tied the sinew to either end. He
drew it back slowly, a little afraid that it might break again when he
let it snap forward. But it merely sang to him, a humming, stronger
vibration than before. Hawk rested the butt of a dart against the sinew,
drew it back, and shot.

The dart struck the cave's wall so hard that its stone head shattered,
and the wooden shaft bounced halfway back to him. Exultantly Hawk
swooped to pick it up, and shot again, and again. When the wooden shaft
itself was broken, he chose another dart.

Dawn was breaking when he knew that, finally, he had made and mastered a
satisfactory bow. He could shoot the length of the cave and hit what he
aimed at. Hawk looked grimly at the eight darts remaining in his quiver.
The rest were shattered, but he had these left, and if that mysterious
power in the animal sinew did not betray him, he might yet win this
unequal battle. Hawk went to the mouth of the cave and looked out.

Only four hunters remained to guard the prisoners in the cave. The rest
had evidently gone hunting. Soon they straggled back, empty-handed, and
stood disconsolately around the fire.

For a moment Hawk stood tensely, then forced himself to relax.
Experience had taught him that he could not shoot well when his muscles
were taut.

[Illustration]

Sitting in the mouth of the cave, he fitted a dart into the bow, braced
it against his feet, drew the sinew, and took careful aim. As well as he
could he calculated the wind, the distance, and what last night had
taught him about the bow's strength. When he shot, the dart flew
straight and fast, but dug itself into the earth several feet short of
the hunters and quivered there.

[Illustration]

The hunters stared uncertainly, muttering their astonishment, not sure
whether this dart had come from the cave or from some other source. Most
of them had paid no attention when Hawk first shot, but now they stood
in a close group by the fire, watching his every move.

Now, Hawk decided, was the time to see if the serpent's deadly power
would come to his aid. Picking up the one dart with the venom-dipped
head, he fitted it against the sinew, and drew with both hands. Slowly,
letting no muscle quiver, he drew the sinew as far back as he could, and
again took careful note of the wind, the distance, and the trajectory
which he thought the dart would assume. He moved the bow very slightly
to one side and shot.

The whistling dart left the bow. Faster than the swiftest bird it
traveled, a flashing streak in the dim morning. It rose in its upward
curve, and began its descent, down toward the leader of the enemy
hunters. But instead of striking him squarely, the dart's head merely
nicked his shoulder.

The hunters milled about, confused by fear and awe of the lone man who
could send his little spears such an incredible distance. The leader,
however, apparently enraged by the slight wound he had received, was
dancing up and down, brandishing his spear. From his actions, Hawk
concluded that he was trying to overcome the hunters' fears. Had the
serpent's power no effect, then? His hopes began to give way to black
despair.

Suddenly the leader of the band took two faltering steps, stiffened,
tried to take another step, and fell face down, writhing on the ground.

Bereft of their leader, panic-stricken by the mysterious manner of his
collapse, the rest of the hunters took one terrified look and fled into
the forest as fast as they could run.




[Illustration]

  RETURN

  CHAPTER 12


Hawk stood outside the cave, the dog beside him and the bow in his
hands. The quiver on his shoulder held a dozen feathered arrows which,
together, weighed no more than a few darts. It was an easy burden; the
loaded quiver seemed feather-light and the bow was no heavier than his
throwing-stick.

It had not been an easy or sudden transformation. Several experimental
bows lay behind him, and uncounted arrows. He had learned to shoot the
bow by holding it in his hands, standing upright. He could shoot an
arrow, accurately, five times as far as he had ever been able to throw a
dart. And the arrows were within themselves so powerful that he had no
more need of the serpent's venom. That was always in reserve, a deadly
addition to his armament should he ever need it.

The bow spelled security. Even the mighty saber-tooths, which could be
attacked with a very rain of arrows whenever they came near the cave,
now stayed away from it. Two saber-tooth skins served as beds for Willow
and himself, and there were deer-skin coverings ready when the weather
should turn colder. Now, in reality, Hawk was master of his world.

Willow came from the cave, a new basket in either hand. Hawk and the dog
led the way back to the tar pit at their old camp site.

Save for a few tumbled ashes and bits of charred wood, all traces of the
fire which they had maintained here, so long ago, were obliterated. The
spot had seemed a haven then, but now, accustomed to the shelter of
their cave home, they regarded it as a cheerless, exposed place. They
had come only to pitch more baskets for Willow's ample supply of storage
containers.

Hawk sat down in the sun, the dog at his feet, while Willow began to
line her baskets. Hawk's only function was to protect her while she
worked.

The first basket was nearly finished when the dog pricked up his ears
and growled warningly. Hawk stood up, looking about alertly. Topping a
nearby rise he saw a human figure, then another and another. He spoke
softly and Willow came to his side.

Hawk was not worried, for his arrows were more powerful than many
spears. Besides, the approaching humans had a strangely familiar look.
But it was not until they approached nearer that he identified them
positively. They were Wolf, Chief Hunter of their old tribe, Kar, the
Chief Fire-Maker, two women, one boy child, and two girl children. They
were all haggard, worn, and very thin. Obviously they had eaten little
more than enough to keep them alive.

"Come no nearer," Hawk called out warningly. "If you do, I will kill
you."

Wolf's voice was weak and husky. "We seek food, and only food."

"From us?" Hawk cried angrily.

"We have no right to expect anything from you," Wolf croaked, "for it
was we who banished you. That was an evil day for us, for no one else
could make spears that flew as true as yours. When we tried to steal
some from another tribe, there was a great battle in which half of us
were killed."

Hawk remembered that battle ground, back at the scene of the mammoth
stampede.

"Where are the rest?" he asked.

"Dead," Wolf said. "Some killed by wild beasts and some by lack of food.
All save us are dead."

"And you seek only food?"

"Only that."

As Hawk hesitated, Willow said softly, "They are our people, and they
are in great need."

"Come with us, then," Hawk said at last. "We have food in plenty, and we
no longer wander to find game." He touched his bow proudly. "There is no
need."


  =Transcriber's Notes:=
  hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in the original
  Page 26, no knowdedge of ==> no knowledge of
  Page 41, had been eated ==> had been eaten
  Page 58, but restained himself ==> but restrained himself
  Page 89, Hawk two two quick ==> Hawk took two quick
  Page 201, to restain it ==> to restrain it




[End of Fire-Hunter, by Jim Kjelgaard]
