CHAPTER VIII
For three days following the bear-chasing exploit, Ru was as much sought after as he had previously been shunned. It was as if his people now felt him to be the possessor of some unique and supernatural power; as if they believed him to be in league with unseen but mighty spirits, whose friendship was at all costs to be won. And since the obvious way to court such friendship was through courting Ru, he was showered with attentions where of old he had met only neglect. Four or five of his kinsmen were at all times ready to go chattering at his side whether or not he desired their company; and, when he sat down to rest at the end of the day's migration, there was always someone to approach with flattering words and seek either to wheedle out of him the secret of the firebrand, or else to beg some charm that would give protection against the fire-god. Even the young women of the tribe—Mono the Budding Tree, Sizz-O the Serpent-Tongued, and others—cast admiring, half-inviting glances toward him from beneath their high-ridged bushy brows; while more than once Yonyo the Smiling-Eyed approached with jests and laughter that scarcely availed to break down his sullen silence.
For he was still disdainful of his people—as disdainful of them as they had been of him. Brooding upon the wound on his breast, whose cross-shaped ghastly scar was as a mark of shame, he distrusted their vows of friendship; he suspected that at heart they loved him no better than before. And so, although at times in his loneliness he longed to dash down the barriers at a stroke and be one with his people as of old, yet his pride and wounded sensibilities combined to keep open that rift which his own peculiarities and Grumgra's hatred had created.
But after three days, he suffered a fall at once sudden and disconcerting. And the indirect cause of the misfortune was a lack of that caution which, had he been but a little wiser, he would surely have exercised. One evening he was seated in a lonely corner of the encampment, experimenting before his own little fire with some long sticks and a mass of tallow, when suddenly he became conscious of two gleaming black eyes peering at him from amid the shrubbery. At the instant of his discovery, the eyes disappeared, and he could not be sure whose they were nor how long they had been watching; but an hour later the unhappy sequel told him all that he desired to know.
It was late twilight, and he was seated in the midst of the tribe, chewing eagerly at the roasted ribs of a wild horse, when Woonoo the Hot-Blooded came strutting from behind a clump of shrubbery, waving a brilliant yellow torch—almost precisely like the torch of Ru's invention! And behind Woonoo towered Grumgra, wielding a similar but very much larger torch! They both moved without a word to the center of the encampment, while scores of gaping men and women paused between bites to stare at them in awestricken wonder.
At length, mounting the recumbent trunk of a huge dead tree, Grumgra began to speak in his usual bellowing voice.
"One of our people," he commenced, without formality, "has just done a great deed. He has learned how to make the fire-god work for us. He has given us these fire-sticks you see now." Here Grumgra swung the torch about his head in scintillating circles. "After this, we may all have fire-sticks to help us in our hunting. Is it not strange magic, my people? This magic was made by one of our bravest men—one of the wisest and biggest of us all—Woonoo the Hot-Blooded!"
Grumgra paused, and a tumult of excited gibbering signified the applause of the audience. Ru, trembling with anger, noted an admiring gleam in the eyes of Yonyo as she glanced toward the Hot-Blooded; and at the same time Grumgra continued in words that scorched him to the heart.
"There is another of our people," resumed the Growling Wolf, in tones that justified his name, "who would have us think him a friend of the fire-god. But this man is really like a worm; he is not strong at all, and did not make the fire-stick. For the fire-god is mighty and would not help a half-man like the Sparrow-Hearted—"
"Lies! Lies!" screamed Ru, springing to his feet in a quivering frenzy. "All lies! I was the one that made the fire-stick! I was the one—"
But his words were drowned by a chorus of hisses and hoots. He felt someone seizing him from behind; he was thrust brutally to earth; while on all sides rang the jeering laughter of his fellows.
Released from the bruising hands, Ru crawled away like one in a nightmare. As he reached the outer fringe of shadows, he could still see the monstrous form of Grumgra waving the flaming brand, and just beneath him the huge but smaller fire-wielding shape of Woonoo; while dozens of grimacing hairy faces, shining with apelike grins and contortions in the unsteady light, seemed to burn and glow maliciously as the taunting faces of imps.
And thus ended the three-day reign of Ru. Thus ended that power which he had won by his wits, and lost by his carelessness. Henceforth he was to be again the despised, the outcast, the butt of derision, the solitary wanderer; henceforth he was to hear that hated appellation, "Sparrow-Hearted," dinned again and again into his ears, and was to be shunned by his people, and most of all by her, the tantalizing, the Smiling-Eyed.
All the rest of that night no one came near him; and all the following day he roamed by himself, no longer sought by the gay, chattering groups; and the merriment that rang about him from the forest recesses burdened him with melancholy thoughts. A feeling of sadness and of desolation was upon him and would not be shaken off, a sense of frustration, of anger and of futility. He would scarcely have known how to laugh even had he had someone to laugh with; and in the brooding silence of the woods and the overshadowing gloom of the hills and crags he found but little compensation for the scorn in the eyes of Yonyo and the sneer in the eyes of his kinsmen.
But if he had fallen from his momentary high estate, his present troubles were as nothing beside those which awaited him after another day or two.
Having kept close to the Harr-Sizz River for scores of miles, following its innumerable twists and turns and serpent-like convolutions, the tribe was unexpectedly confronted with the necessity of crossing the stream; for the waters turned abruptly northward in a long, unbending line, and Mumlo the Trail-Finder insisted that the land they sought lay toward the mountains in the direction of the noonday sun.
While a tumultuous throng clung to the bank shouting directions, several of the men began to wade into the stream, seeking a suitable spot for fording. The river at this point was fairly wide, and seemed to be correspondingly shallow; yet its current was rapid and angry, and gurgled past in a steadily moving muddy torrent. As a result, not a few of the men were buffeted off their feet; and, except for the fact that they were unimpeded by clothing, they would hardly have been able to force their way back to safety.
But despite innumerable setbacks, they persisted. And at length Mumlo, moving some distance down-stream, found the point where he claimed to have crossed before. The stream here was perhaps double its average width and much more shallow than in most locations; yet it was not quite so shallow as the more timid might have desired, and in places the waters came well over Mumlo's shoulders.
But there was little chance for hesitation. Straight into the stream plunged the men, their shoulders bent beneath the weight of the rapidly diminishing provisions; and straight after them followed the women and children in a shouting, splashing rabble. Some—particularly among the younger folk—seemed to take the crossing as a pleasant sport, and leaped and pranced in the waters like aquatic animals; others screwed up their beady little eyes into an expression of extreme gravity, and peered out across that broad flowing expanse with no sign of relish. Toward the center of the stream, the shorter tribesfolk lost connection with the bottom and had to trust to their swimming ability; and this they did with invariable success, although one or two of the children seemed in danger of being washed away and were saved only by the timely outthrust of a parental arm. As for the infants, of whom there were well over a score, they were carried on the shoulders of the tallest men, where, screaming with terror and clinging with a grip that showed no sign of relaxing, they were perhaps safer than their older brothers and sisters.
One of the last to attempt the crossing was Ru, who had been loitering near the bank examining a shrub whose flexible stem seemed well fitted for the long-distance weapon he was planning. It was only when he feared being left behind that he tore himself away; and when at last he plunged into the water, he was in a great hurry to make up for lost time, and recklessly swam almost the entire distance.
Half exhausted, he was about to clamber up the opposite bank, when he saw two pairs of familiar eyes peering at him in malicious glee. At a glance, he realized that Woonoo the Hot-Blooded and Kuff the Bear-Hunter could mean him no good; but he could not imagine what evil design they might have. And, at all events, he had no choice except to attempt to pull himself up the moist, slippery rocks as though nothing were amiss.
But he very speedily learned what was in the minds of Kuff and Woonoo. With one accord, as though following a prearranged plan, they reached out their powerful arms, seized Ru about the neck and shoulders, and flung him back into the river. And, as he descended with a splash and felt the flood racing above him, their guffaws rang loud and heartily through the startled woods.
Panting, and half choked with the water he had swallowed, Ru rose to his feet and started unsteadily back to the bank. He did not suppose that his fellows would repeat the prank—the first time, it might be excused as a joke; but, if continued, it would turn into something more serious than a friendly bit of sport.
So, although both exhausted and angry, Ru tried to take the little game in the proper spirit and to grin. But his effort was a feeble one, and failed woefully.... With renewed guffaws, Kuff and Woonoo ran to meet him as he struggled up the bank; the next he knew, he had felt the irresistible arms gripping him again, had gone flying through space, and had splashed once more into the strangling flood.
Recovering himself with an effort, Ru stood for a moment breast-deep in the water, staring furiously at the impish, grimacing faces of his persecutors. He was now convinced that they were ready to repeat their pranks time after time; consequently, he sought to elude them by swimming to a little projection of land about a hundred yards down-stream. But, upon arriving, he found to his dismay that they were there awaiting him. And, not content with merely waiting, they were wading after him into the stream, forcing him to retreat hastily toward the center.
By this time, half a dozen spectators had gathered to watch the sport. With titters and chuckles of raucous mirth they encouraged Kuff and Woonoo, meanwhile joining in boisterously by jeering the Sparrow-Hearted with every evil-sounding name at their command. And after a minute one of the more audacious spirits, not to be satisfied with mere words, picked up a pebble and ostentatiously flung it at Ru, who was now standing waist-deep a dozen yards from shore, undecided how to attempt another landing.
With a splash, the pebble disappeared in the water just to Ru's rear. And a chorus of gleeful shouts broke forth as Ru turned with a start to see what had happened. Immediately several of the men, quick to seize upon ideas, profited from the example; and in another instant Ru was the center of a little shower of missiles. Most of them vanished into the water without effect, but one of them struck his arm with a painful thud, to the immense amusement of his tormentors; and so many stones were whirling through the air and splashing in the water that Ru took the one obvious course, which was to make with all possible speed toward the center of the stream.
But his withdrawal lent additional zest to the amused chorus on the bank, as well as additional speed to the stones that pursued him. So insistent was the bombardment that he had to press on and on through the deepening torrent, until at length the bottom slipped from beneath him and he had no choice except to swim.
But his tribesmen did not seem to know when they had had enough of a joke. Although by this time Ru was so exhausted that he could barely keep afloat, the mood of entertainment that possessed the spectators was far from satisfied. Not realizing or not caring what grave results threatened, they continued to pelt Ru gleefully, following him along the bank as he drifted down-stream, and all the while jeering him to their hearts' content.
Ru meantime was engaged in what promised to be a life-or-death struggle. Again and again he felt the powerful swirling torrent breaking over him, and only with an effort lifted his head for a reviving breath. Again and again he swallowed huge gulps of the muddy water, and heard a muffled roaring like a death-threat in his ears; while, in his terror, he had visions of huge strangling arms reaching out for him from the depths and dragging him down as he had once seen a stag dragged down by the quicksands.
He heard no more the gibes and taunts of the mob on the bank, heard no more the splashing of the stones; he was waging a desperate fight against the current, which was narrower here and much swifter than where his tribe had crossed—and the current was winning the battle. His panting heart was straining in vain, his tugging muscles pulled feebly against the gigantic body of the water; his bulging eyes were staring in a last agony at the vague, rushing shore; louder and louder dinned the drumming in his ears, more insistent the force of that pounding, suffocating fury that broke over his head; he floundered and lunged, rose again and sank, slowly rose again and sank, while over him came a maddening, baffling longing for air.... Then strange lights and shadows were wavering about him, something dark and formless was bearing down upon him—and, the next he knew, his fingers were clinging to some great and solid object.
Opening his eyes, he felt himself returning by degrees to life, and realized that he was gripping the floating trunk of a dead tree, which was bearing him swiftly down-stream toward an unknown expanse of blue water.