CHAPTER IX
Not yet recovered from his shock and exhaustion, Ru climbed with difficulty onto the gnarled upper surface of the drifting tree trunk and lay there at full-length, his hands clutching a projecting broken-off limb, his feet trailing behind him more than half in the water. He was still too weak to think of swimming to the bank; and while he lay on his new-found craft, gradually regaining his strength, the current was carrying him steadily toward the unknown blue expanse.
Almost before he was aware of his new peril, he found himself on the surface of an enormous lake—a much larger lake than he had ever seen before. Its rippling indigo expanse spread far, far away, out of sight and to vague infinities; and Ru could make out only dimly the ragged lines of the snow-peaks that fringed the farther shore.
By this time the motion of the log had almost ceased; and, at a barely appreciable speed, Ru was drifting toward the center of the lake. At first he perceived in this no cause for alarm; then, as he observed that hundreds of yards separated him from the bank and that the distance was still widening, sudden terror filled his mind....
How was he to regain the shore? Was he to float out to the middle of the wide waters, far beyond swimming distance of the land? and was he to be there when the sun went down and the darkness dropped over all things? and then again when the sun came up and lighted the world? And would he stay there even till the hunger-pain came and the bad spirits flew down and took him beyond the last mountains, so that he would never again walk with his people among the rocks and woods? Or—most dreadful thought of all!—even if the water-god let him go and he could swim to shore, would he know how to find his way back again to his tribe?
Many times before in his brief career Ru had felt forlorn and forsaken; but never had he been oppressed with the same overwhelming desolation as now, when he gazed across the glittering waters to the tree-lined reaches of the land, and realized that somewhere in those impenetrable vastnesses his people had vanished, and were doubtless even now retreating on some undiscoverable trail. In one swift, cruel stroke, all the terrors of exile flashed across his mind; he felt as if he had been deserted; he felt deliberately trampled upon and thrust aside. And when for a moment he saw himself for what he was—an isolated mite adrift in an unheeding immensity—he had almost ceased to care, would almost have welcomed the smothering flood-waters.
But after an instant of inertia, the old savage desire to live came flaming back upon him. No matter what agonies he suffered, he must save himself; no matter what difficulties and dangers he had to face, he must face and surmount them—he must, for it was the law of life! And if for a while Ru had felt pitifully small, helpless, and abandoned, it was not long before hope had flashed into life again, and had brought his will to life with it, so that he began thoughtfully to calculate his chances of rescue.
First of all, how find his way back to the shore? Never in his life had he attempted to swim much more than the width of a river—would he then be safe in undertaking this far wider distance? Remembering his recent near-fatal experience, he could not persuade himself to take the chance; even the precarious foothold of the log was vastly preferable to the certain risks of the open waters.
But if he was not to leave the log, how return to land? For many minutes Ru pondered without avail, while in growing dismay he gaped at the dark, ragged lines of the trees, whose distance was slowly and yet perceptibly widening. Then, when the delay and the increasing cold and the dread of oncoming night were challenging his better judgment and he again considered hazarding the swim, chance suggested the remedy which his unaided wits could not provide.
Every once in a while, when for the sake of comfort he shifted his weight, the log would lurch and turn abruptly; and on some such occasions, while he was seeking to regain his balance, his feet or hands would fly out haphazard into the water, giving the log a shove that altered its position by a few inches or a foot. At first Ru did not recognize the possible importance of these accidental movements; but after he had observed them several times, it came to him on a sudden that his craft need not move only as the winds and waters dictated! He himself might push it in any direction that he desired! And as this startling thought invaded his mind, he thrust his right hand into the water and shoved with all his might—with the result that the log did actually swerve and turn much as he had surmised it would.
Thus the art of navigation had its beginning!
But the discovery was not without its drawbacks. Although he could indeed propel the log in any desired direction, he found his craft to be most ungainly; it responded with the utmost slowness to his will, and moved only by inches toward the too-distant shore. After the passage of an hour—an hour of most strenuous paddling, during which Ru several times lost his balance and fell into the water—his goal was obviously nearer, and yet still so remote that he almost gave up hope of reaching it.
It was at the moment of returning despair that a new idea occurred to him. And here again chance played a part. He observed the leafless dead limb of a tree floating barely out of reach—about as thick as his arm and perhaps twice as long. With a little cry of delight, he flung himself into the water and seized the prize; then, returning to his log-vessel, he promptly took his second step toward a mastery of navigation.
To his great joy he found that, seated astride the log with the long stick for paddle, he could advance much more rapidly than when he used only his hands.
Even so, his progress was still plodding and laborious—the most cumbrous raft of a later day could have offered him lessons in speed. Yet, to Ru's way of thinking, his rate of movement was encouragingly swift; and his mood became self-congratulatory when he saw that the shore was approaching, actually approaching, so that he should surely reach it before dark. And from his thankful heart there issued something like an unspoken prayer, a prayer of gratitude to the spirits of the woods and the waters that had given to him—to him, the despised, the Sparrow-Hearted—an almost miraculous control over nature.
But this joyous feeling had deserted him when at last he stood on the sandy shore of the lake. Except for the pole which had been his paddle and was now his club, he was without resources or defense other than nature had offered him. He had no food; he had lost his flint implements in crossing the river; his covering of deerskin had slipped from him. And these handicaps—although assuredly serious enough—were by no means the worst. How far he might be from his people he did not know, and of their general direction he had only the vaguest idea; but that they would send no scout to look for him was certain, and that days might be consumed in the return to them was probable. Meanwhile he was alone in an unknown land, with neither landmarks nor trail to guide him. He would have to dive through forests where the sun-god could not penetrate, and dart across plains where the wind-god thundered and roared and bade the wolf and the wild bull roam like mad. What gigantic obstacles loomed before him, what ambushed perils lay in wait, was more than the gods themselves could say!
For many minutes Ru stood in a mournful reverie by the rippling lake waters, now gazing out across that imperturbable, unfeeling deep-blue expanse, now staring up into the quivering tops of the densely massed pines and the ampler towers of the oaks. He could not decide what to do or how to begin; he was thinking with anger of the brutality of his tribespeople—of how they had brought him to this pass, yet would not care, even could they know, but would only gibber and grin inanely. In imagination he saw one of them—her who was known as the Smiling-Eyed—and watched her grin and gibber with the rest; and at this fancy a great rage seized him. He was filled with longing to rush back to her, and seize her in his arms, and hold her with such passion that the insolent smile would vanish from her face and she would look up at him meekly and in wonder.
But even while such thoughts crowded through his brain, he did not forget that he was standing alone in a perilous country. Some subconscious protective sense—a sense far keener in those primitive days than in a later age—aroused him abruptly to a dread reality. Suddenly Yonyo and his people vanished from his mind; he was aware only of himself and of the little tree-encompassed patch of beach whereon he stood. A great fear went shuddering through his heart, fear swift and all-enveloping as at the stealthy approach of death. His breath came short and fast; his heart began to hammer ferociously; the hair along his back bristled, and his eyes were twin points of terror fixed upon a dark spot in the underbrush.
Yet all the while there was no visible cause for alarm. Nothing could be seen to stir among the dense verdure; there was no sound except for the distant cry of a bird calling to its mate, and the nearer sound of the wavelets lapping the shore; the breeze peacefully swayed the tall spires of the pines, and from along the lake a butterfly went zigzagging and spiraling happily.
Then suddenly, from the throat of the watching man, came a blood-curdling scream. And, as he screamed, he turned and went streaking toward the trees; while after him, with great feline leaps, darted a monstrous tawny form, with green eyes lustfully glaring, and saber-like tusks curving downward from cavernous jaws.
Ru hides from the sabertooth
Ru hides from the sabertooth
Ru hides from the sabertooth
In an instant the contest was over. Barely in time to beat the spring of the lithe body and the thrust of the murderous fangs, the pursued dashed up the nearest tree and swung himself out of sight in the foliage. And the pursuer, with hair-raising screams and yelps of baffled rage, slid agilely about at the base, at times rearing its massive form against the trunk as if to dare the ascent, at times peering upward with blazing, evil eyes as of a cat that covets an inaccessible robin.
Never before had Ru beheld such a beast. Wolves, bears, rhinoceroses, hyenas, he had learned to fear and to fight; but never had he heard his tribesmen even tell of a terror such as this which, half lion and half tiger, was prowling at the foot of the tree. Still wide-eyed with horror, as the screams of the beast sent chill shivers down his spine, he drew himself up into the highest branches; then, although he knew that he was secure for a time at least, he continued to shudder as if the fanged one were even now springing at his throat.
For a long while he could still make out the tawny form among the vague shadows beneath; and when those shadows began to deepen and twilight slowly settled over the world, Ru did not know whether or not his foe still lay in wait for him.
But he did not desire to take any chances; he held resolutely to his fastness in the tree tops, determined to remain there until morning. Even had there been no sabertooth, he could not have entrusted himself to those perilous woods in the dark. Here among the branches it was not likely that any night marauder could reach him; and though it was most uncomfortable to balance himself on his lofty pinnacle, and though he was obsessed by continual fears of falling, yet he found it possible to huddle up safely in a crotch of the boughs and even to secure some sleep. He was surprised to find that the experience—although he knew it to be his first of the kind—did not seem exactly new to him; he felt almost as if he had come back to an old home, as if he had slept countless times before among the tree tops, had rocked and swung in the same wind-blown couch, had known that the same green leaves were above him, had stared down fearfully into the same blackness where shadowy terrors prowled.
But while he could not have explained why, Ru knew that every sound and sight of that interminable night seemed familiar. The tigerish scream from far off when some great beast pounced upon its prey; the shrill and horrible death-shriek of some slaughtered creature; the hooting of some owl-like bird, and the lonely plaint of some roaming wolf; the mysterious shadows that occasionally went streaking across the open space beneath, and the glowing, ghostly eyes upturned now and then as if staring malignantly at him—all these seemed as things known and feared in lonely vigils long ago, known and feared in some half-remembered dream. And lying in a clinging heap among the branches, with ears alert for every sound, and eyes searching the darkness for every flash and glitter, Ru thought of his people slumbering securely beside their camp-fires; and as he remembered how comfortably they rested on their earthen couches and how little they need fear slashing fangs and claws, the heart within him was envious and sore.
By the first dreary morning light, his eyes began to explore the ground for trace of his saber-toothed assailant. But there was no sign of the cat-like monster. Was it lurking in ambush somewhere just out of sight? or had it wearied of waiting and gone off in search of easier prey? Ru had no way of knowing, and felt by no means certain that the beast had left; but after he had hesitated for many minutes, and the full light of day streamed from above, his hunger and impatience and sheer discomfort combined to decide for him.
Warily he began the descent, inch by inch, with motions so cautious that not a leaf was ruffled—still no sign of a possible foe. At length he had reached the lower branches and stood perched there in uncertainty, ready to fling himself back into the tree top at the first hint of danger. But no such sign appeared; only a few buzzing gnats and now and then a murmuring bee broke the stillness of the woods; and his senses brought him news of nothing threatening.
At last, choking down his visions of huge fanged jaws and ambushed tawny forms, Ru released his hold on the tree and slid silently back to earth.
But nothing happened, absolutely nothing—the motionless trees and the wide rippling waters and the clear blue sky alike seemed unconscious of his deed of daring. And though his limbs were trembling and his eyes were filled with dread and he stood long by the tree, still prepared to dash back to safety at the least suspicious rustling, the world appeared friendly and serene as if it harbored no saber-fanged marauders.
Finally, when he had convinced himself that his persecutor had gone, not to return, Ru started cautiously across the open space and regained his club, which he had dropped in his precipitate flight. Thus protected, he strode to the brink of the lake, where he bent down and sucked in a long, refreshing draft, following which he was ready to set out again into the unknown.
It seemed to him that there was now only one possible course to pursue—to keep close to the lake and the river until he reached the point where his tribe had crossed. Then, guided by the tracks they had made, by the scraps of food and clothing they had cast aside, and by the damage they had done to the vegetation, he should have little difficulty in tracing their route and ultimately overtaking them.
But this plan was by no means as easy to carry out as Ru had expected. In places the lake shore was lined with bogs and swamps, around which he had to tramp endlessly; in other places there were steep bluffs to scale, rapid streams to ford, and thorny thickets to penetrate; and all the while he had to maintain a keen lookout for serpents and hostile beasts, and had to keep near enough to the trees to be able to reach them if necessary. Once, indeed, he did seek them in a panic when a suspicious stirring of the foliage brought reminders of the sabertooth; but it proved to be nothing more than a wild horse, which went about its business without disturbing him. On another occasion, his heart almost stopped short with fright when a tremendous crashing burst forth from a little clump of woods just ahead; but having sought his usual retreat among the branches, he observed the enormous, hairy light-brown bulks and immense curving tusks of two mammoths, and noted with relief that the beasts were evidently in a sportive mood, for they went ambling out of sight with trunks playfully waving, apparently oblivious to any creature so puny as man.
As he glided through the woods and along the shore of the lake, Ru stopped now and then to pluck berries from the dense clusters of bushes; or else to gather certain familiar roots, which he washed in the lake waters and then devoured without further preparation, masticating their tough fibers long and vigorously with his huge grinding teeth. Even so, he had difficulty to find sufficient nourishment; and though he lost nearly half his time in the search for food, he was conscious of an increasing hunger as the long hours of the day dragged wearily past.
So many were the delays, and so circuitous the route he had to follow, that twilight was descending by the time he had reached the Harr-Sizz River. To arrive before dark at the crossing-place of his tribe was now out of the question; and so, with renewed forebodings, he began to look about him for a suitable tree for the night's lodging.
But it did not take him long to decide. While he was peering contemplatively at the serene blue lake and the plunging river and the long graceful lines of the forest, he was startled by a cry that suddenly broke from the depths of the wood.... Long-drawn and shrill, it shrieked and screamed with a savagery as of some challenging beast, an utter ferocity that made his blood run cold. Yet it was not the call of a beast; despite its demoniac fierceness, it was unmistakably and horribly human; and it rang and echoed at first with a fiendish menace, then with a note almost of triumph, of exultation, as of a devil rejoicing.
Following the cry, and blending with its final tones, there burst forth another and even more blood-curdling yell—a howl as of extreme terror, of hatred, of agony. Swiftly rising in a crescendo, it ended abruptly in a half-stifled moan; then came a series of moans and dreadful gasps, as of some creature writhing in torment; then once more the shrill challenging voice, followed by other voices screeching in wild glee or still wilder terror; then the sounds of scuffing and heavy blows mingled with a clamorous confusion of voices that chorused like a din of demons, but gradually and slowly died down, until the silence of the vast solitudes once more covered all things.
Long before those cries had ended, Ru was perched among the tree tops. Clinging to the upper branches, well out of sight of the ground, he sat as still as though he were a man of wood; yet his wide-open eyes were alert with wonder and fear, and his ears missed not one note or tremor of the mysterious tumult. Who might those strange combatants be? he inquired of himself; and he trembled merely at the knowledge that they were human. For a moment it came to him that—ferocious as they were—they were perhaps his own people; but he dismissed the thought instantly, for the voices had in them a savagery surpassing even that of the Umbaddu. But, if not his own people, who could they be? He had never been told that there was any tribe in the world except his own; but there were old legends—legends ridiculed by the wiser tribesmen—that other peoples existed, and that some of these were brutal and fierce as wolves.
While remembrance of these discredited legends was troubling Ru's mind, the twilight was gradually deepening, and utter darkness was stealing down about him. And through the gathering night, in the direction whence the voices proceeded, he was amazed to observe a faint glow—so dim at first that he could not be sure whether he had not merely imagined it, then by slow degrees brightening into unmistakable reality: a ruddy luminance that seemed to issue from beyond the tree tops, filling the spaces just above the black rim of the foliage with a flickering ghostly light, which wavered and rose and wavered and rose with uncanny fitfulness. And in the midst of that appalling radiance, whose pale red was of an indescribable ghastliness, there shot forth from time to time little yellow sparks, which leaped up brightly against the sultry background and instantly vanished.
By this time Ru had forgotten the legends about strange tribes of men. He was remembering tales that old men told on winter evenings beside the firelight—tales of red goblins that danced and sported in the woods at night, with eyes of flame, which could shrivel a man to ashes, and claws of flame, which could strike through the trees like lightning.
As the slow, anxious minutes wore away, Ru caught no glimpse of the dreaded ones, although the weird, wavering light continued to trouble him, and now and then, by straining his ears, he thought he could hear that which sounded suspiciously like a murmuring of voices. But he could not be certain; and, as time went by, the ruddy glow grew dimmer, and at last only the far-off querulous calls of bird and beast disturbed the profound silence of the night. Then gradually the lonely watcher succumbed to the lulling mood of the woods; and forgetting his doubts and solitude and terror, he folded his arms about the limbs of the tree as about a dearly loved friend, and slipped into a delicious dream that he was back again among the comforts of the old familiar cave.