CHAPTER XVII
When at last the river had been crossed, the tribe continued southward for many days. Although there was no trace of a path and Mumlo the Trail-Finder no longer knew the way, the people pressed on as best they could along a route selected by Mumlo and Grumgra. In a disgruntled, straggling group they pushed their way down the long corkscrew defiles of the mountains, through the underbrush of unknown forests, around the marshes of treeless valleys, and over boulder-strewn wildernesses where serpents hissed and the lone wolf slunk. Many a tongue cried out to complain that they did not know where they went; many a heart was filled with terror at the tracks of huge beasts, or occasionally at sight of some great horned form among the bushes. But, no matter how they groaned and grumbled and lamented, the people no longer thought of doing otherwise than to follow Grumgra as he led them on and on.
Of daily occurrence were the mutterings at the scarcity of food. Roots, herbs, and berries were of course still to be had, and these were supplemented by grasshoppers and grubs, and even at times by ants and butterflies; but very little actual game was captured, and day after day the people complained at their enforced vegetarian diet. Once, indeed, they did all feast, when, led by Ru and his firebrands, they drove the vultures and hyenas from the carcass of a newly dead mammoth; occasionally they slew some small bird or beast with their pebbles, or literally dug it out of its burrow; but such times were rare, and to waylay the larger animals was beyond their power. There were suggestions, to be sure, that they should pause for a day and hold a hunt; but Grumgra vetoed this idea with a single gesture of his club, and growled half under his breath that not even a day must be wasted.
And so, never actually starving and yet almost always hungry, the tribe trudged along a weary course that seemed endless. Scarcely a night went by but that the camp was disturbed by the wailings of some woman at the death or threatened death of her babe; and there was hardly a day when someone did not have a tale to tell of his close escape from the hoofs of a rhinoceros or wild bull or from the trap of quicksand, precipice, or lake. But where they were going, and to what end their sufferings and dangers led, the people had only the vaguest idea.
Now, by a curious irony, all their grumblings began to concentrate about a single object. If Ru and the river-god had not helped them across the waters, then their troubles would all have ended; they would have turned around and gone back to their abandoned cave—and they would now have been living as happily as of old. The fault was therefore Ru's for showing them how to cross the river. Thus, as the gathering days brought fresh discontent, the people began to reason; and now, when they muttered their complaints, the name of Ru was almost invariably spoken—it was he who had brought them to suffer and pine so far from home, he who had turned against them the spirits of the woods and caves and streams and those more terrible spirits in the hearts of the wild beasts!
And now Ru went about always with club in hand and with eyes alert. Wherever he walked, he was greeted with hisses and snarls, or with silent, unfriendly stares; sometimes, when he approached, his tribespeople would withdraw into little groups, whispering among themselves, with furtive glances in his direction; and the very children—they who had once been his particular friends—would echo the antagonism of their elders by shouting accusing names at him and flinging stones.
Even his prestige—that prestige which he had enjoyed as an ally of the river-spirit—was under partial eclipse. He was no longer Ru the Eagle-Hearted, as in the days of the river-passage; the contemptuous appellation "Sparrow-Hearted" had returned, despite Grumgra's promise to the contrary; and always it was by this term that his tribesmen addressed him.
It was Grumgra himself that had brought about the change. When the tribe was halting for its first night's rest after crossing the river, Ru had chanced upon Yonyo in a secluded corner of the encampment; and, finding her face bright with smiles at his approach, he had paused to speak with her. But scarcely had he uttered the first word when a tall shadow intruded. With a low cry, Yonyo flitted away and disappeared—and Ru found himself face to face with Grumgra.
"What is this? You dare to speak with my woman?" bellowed the chieftain, in tones so loud as to attract many of his tribesmen to the scene.
"She is not your woman!" denied Ru, with one eye watchfully upon Grumgra's club.
"All women are my women!" growled Grumgra the Omnipotent. "She is not yours—not yours, Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!"
By this time a dozen hairy forms had gathered near, and a dozen pairs of eyes were regarding the contestants expectantly.
"I do not know Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!" came the angry reply. "I am Ru the Eagle-Hearted!"
"No! Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!" Grumgra chuckled evilly, and his laughter was echoed by the crowd. "Ru the Sparrow-Hearted! Or should it be the Rabbit-Hearted?"
Again Grumgra chuckled derisively; and again his merriment found ready response among the auditors.
"Do you forget your promise to me and the river-god?" demanded Ru; but his words were drowned out by the roaring of the chieftain.
"We will see whether you are the Sparrow-Hearted!" the Growling Wolf exclaimed. "We will see!" And his great club flashed high in air, and he started toward Ru as if with murderous intent.
At that crisis Ru did precisely as he was expected to do. He did not remain to meet the impact of the descending club; he sought the way of safety and of flight. In an instant, his fleeing form had disappeared behind a little rise in the land.
But after him rang the derisive howl of Grumgra: "See how the Sparrow-Hearted runs!" And from a dozen mocking voices there came gleeful screams and cries: "Sparrow-Hearted! Sparrow-Hearted! Sparrow-Hearted!"
But though once again Ru had to face the hostility of his people and of Grumgra, he found his hopes brightening in at least one respect. Between him and Yonyo things were no longer as they had been. Ever since that encounter in the woods, when he had fought for her and she had screamed in terror at his peril, they had been drawn together as never before. Forgotten now was Yonyo's treachery, her scornful ways, her callousness; it was enough for Ru that she had given some sign of a kindlier feeling. All the mysterious attraction she had exerted came flashing back upon him, so that he felt himself again at the beck of her sparkling glance, her self-willed nods and gestures, and roguish smile.
His enthralment was all the more complete since Yonyo seemed to be separated from him by an impassable bar—Grumgra still cast covetous eyes upon her, and she lived in terror of his approach. Hence all their little meetings were brief and fear-troubled; they saw each other at odd times and places and clandestinely as children dreading a parent's arrival; they were in constant alarm lest Grumgra should find them together, or lest some gossip-loving tribesman should bear him news of their rendezvous.
Yet in those stolen moments Ru found a joy beyond anything he had known before. Yonyo was gracious to him now as never in the past; she could still smile her tantalizing smile, but she would not jeer and mock; her face would at times assume a look that was almost gentle, and her tongue would murmur softly; she would peer at him with eyes in which he caught an admiration that had never been there before, and at the same time there was just the trace of a shyness that puzzled and provoked him. Again and again Ru felt the old unaccountable impulse to fold his arms about her and draw her close; and more than once that impulse was about to be gratified, when with a sly laugh she slipped away and led him a merry, hopeless chase through the forest. But, on each occasion, he seemed nearer to success; and no doubt the moment of victory would not have been long delayed except for the perpetual shadow of Grumgra.
Grumgra's attitude was still something of a mystery to Ru and Yonyo. Now that the chieftain had safely crossed the river and had no further dread of the river-god, he did not hesitate to taunt and ridicule Ru, and even to assail him with his club. But, at the same time, a little of the awe Ru had inspired seemed to remain—and it was no doubt this that restrained him from pursuing Ru relentlessly and from hunting down Yonyo as he would have hunted down any other woman whom he desired.
Prayers to the gods of the waters and of the winds were still frequently on Ru's lips, and on sundry occasions were uttered within the hearing of Grumgra; and while the chieftain perhaps doubted, still he had more than once been heard to mutter uncertainly to himself while listening to the Sparrow-Hearted's supplications; and in his tiny black eyes Ru had beheld a glint of wonder which verged upon fear.
Yet, at one of the tribal meetings, he had let it be known that Yonyo was his woman, and that none but him must lay hands upon her. And thus by a word he had ended the courtship of Kuff the Bear-Hunter and the possible courtship of all the other tribesmen—with the sole exception of Ru.
But the days went by, and little happened. Sometimes Grumgra, casting greedy eyes upon Yonyo, would start toward her with a growl that was perhaps meant for tenderness. But she would dash away, screaming with fear, and he would turn aside indifferently, as though she were not worth the trouble of a pursuit. This was not like Grumgra, and the people wondered; and still more they wondered when Woonoo and Kuff brought tales that Ru had been seen with Yonyo, and the chieftain rewarded the informers with a snarl and a blow from his club.
Each day excited rumors circulated that Grumgra was about to take vengeance upon Ru. Yet the expected outburst was long delayed—was delayed, in fact, until the people had lost patience and almost ceased to anticipate it—and when it did occur, the results were totally unexpected. And the reason was that, in the interval, Ru had gained an ally of a type unique in the history of the Umbaddu.
It chanced one day that half a dozen men of the tribe—Ru among them—came across some new-made wolf tracks. "There may be some little wolves in a cave," suggested one. "And little wolves are good to eat. Let us find out." So curiosity and hunger prompted the men to follow the trail through the wilderness.
As they slowly advanced, the clubs of all were poised alertly; the eyes of all gleamed warily; not a murmur gave token of their excitement. At length, to their delight, they came upon that which they had hoped for—among a cluster of rocks there was a little hollow, and it was from this retreat that the wolf had evidently emerged.
Very cautiously, creeping on hands and knees, they approached. The stench of carrion came to their nostrils; confused low growls were borne to their ears. For an instant they paused, then crawled on again; actual pleasure was expressed in each wily eye; the clubs were lifted a little more cautiously than before, but slowly and steadily they still pressed forward.
At last the foremost of the party halted—not more than a yard from the cave entrance. Then, while the others gripped their clubs more firmly and a petrified silence held them all, the leader stole forward another pace, and peered anxiously into the hollow.
Straightway a whoop of triumph split the air, and the huntsman waved his arms exultantly. His comrades, crowding up to see, observed that the cavern was empty—except for six furry little forms huddled together against the farthest corner of the rocky wall.
Swinging his club with savage relish, one of the men crept in through the entrance. The wolf cubs snarled, and their feeble jaws snapped; then madly they scattered in all directions. But the club swung, and then swung again, and then swung once more; and the air was filled with the squeals and yelps and baby wailings of the slaughtered.
Yet there was one among the six that long eluded his persecutor. After the last of his brothers and sisters lay blood-smeared and motionless on the cave floor, he still darted about as distractedly as a rat in a trap. Several times, when the smashing club descended, he escaped by the bare fraction of an inch.
Shouting with glee, the men pressed close to watch. But the sequel was not as they had expected. Just when the cub seemed to be cornered; just when the club was coming down to do final execution, the intended victim did a surprising thing. In a frenzy of terror, he gave a swift furious leap, as though to plunge straight through the waiting line of men. But his infant limbs were too feeble; he fell short of the mark, and came down in—the arms of Ru!
Ru never knew just why it was that his hands reached out and seized that desperate little living mite. But he did know that, once he had grasped the cub, he was thankful for his action. He could feel the tiny heart thumping fiercely upon his breast; he could feel the hot moist breath coming fast against his palm; he could feel the furry little form huddling close for safety—and a strange protective instinct came over him, the swift stirrings of an emotion that was all gentleness and pity.
Loud laughter convulsed Ru's companions as he caught the harassed cub; but in the heart of Ru there was no laughter. And his arms, once pressed about the little creature, were folded there as if not to be released.
"Come, Ru, give us the beast," directed one of his tribesmen, when at length their merriment was over. "We must make an end of it before the she-wolf comes back."
"I will not give it to you," refused the Sparrow-Hearted. "You shall not make an end of it."
New laughter racked the frames of the spectators. "What! Not give it to us?" they roared. "Do you want to eat it alive?"
"I do not want to eat it at all!" cried Ru, with a trace of anger. "I am going to keep it!"
"Keep it?" they all echoed, in unfeigned amazement. "Keep a wolf? But it will devour you!"
"It will not devour me!" came Ru's vehement denial. And after a second, while his fellows stood regarding him as though certain that his wits had fled, he added that he would work a charm over the creature to prevent it from harming him.
"It is not easy to work a charm over a wolf," commented one of the men, shrugging his shoulders, as he went to gather the carcasses of the slain whelps from the cavern floor. "You will want to kill it after it bites you!"
But the others, after enjoying some further laughter at Ru's expense, were tempted to try more forceful tactics—and were confronted by an irate Ru, who swore that if they so much as touched the cub he would bring down against them all the evil spirits of the woods and caves.
Hesitatingly and somewhat doubtfully, they decided to leave Ru to himself. "Only the Sparrow-Hearted would fight about such a little animal," they concluded. And so it happened that, when Ru rejoined the tribe, the young wolf still nestled safely in his arms.
Yet, having rescued the animal, Ru had no idea what to do with him. At first he had perhaps some vague notion of releasing him to find his way back to his kindred; but from the cub's quivering, frightened manner of huddling against him, he knew the creature was helpless—and, though he could not have said why, he had no desire to abandon him to the talons of some roving eagle or hawk. There was something in those timid, bright little eyes that awakened his sympathy, something that made him feel almost a sense of fellowship. And gradually—since there seemed to be no other way—the thought came to him that he might himself feed and care for the cub.
And thus began the memorable partnership between Ru and Wuff the Little Wolf. The people stared in amazement to see Ru sheltering a wolf cub. They laughed merrily as they told one another how the beast would bite and tear Ru for his trouble. They crowded close to watch when Ru fed him with bones and the skin and discarded remains of slaughtered animals. They jeered and hooted as Ru indulged in all sorts of games and queer antics with his new-found companion, leading him a merry race through the woods while the cub pursued in puppylike glee, or wrestling with him for a stick or bone, or merely holding him in his arms and fondling him. Wherever Ru went, Wuff went with him; at night the wolf huddled close at his side, and during the day trotted contentedly at his heels. So, in less than a week, Wuff had apparently forgotten all about his lost home, and he became as devoted to Ru as a dog to its master.
Ru plays with Wuff
Ru plays with Wuff
Ru plays with Wuff
Ru meanwhile found himself increasingly attached to Wuff. Several times, with outbursts of ferocious anger, he saved his young charge from assaults by his tribespeople; and he threatened such horrible vengeance upon anyone who harmed Wuff that in the end the people were careful not to come within touching distance of the beast.
Curiously enough, the cub throve under Ru's treatment. He grew at a prodigious rate; and, as the days and weeks went by, his legs became long and scrawny, his jaw lengthened and grew heavier, and his teeth waxed dangerously sharp; while the shining little eyes gleamed ever more alertly. "Ru's wolf will devour him yet," prophesied the people, as they saw the cub daily assuming more of the characteristics of his race. When he snapped his jaws and snarled in harmless play, they foretold how he would soon snap and snarl in earnest—with Ru as the victim; and when Wuff began to go dashing eagerly although unavailingly after every stray rabbit, squirrel, and butterfly, they predicted that not many months would pass before the wolf's assaults would be more successful—and would be turned against his protector.
Yet with Ru, Wuff showed a gentleness that seemed to belie his savage ancestry—and never once did Ru receive so much as a scratch from him even in play. Toward most of the other tribesfolk, however, the cub exhibited a growling hostility. Yonyo alone he would endure, for Ru made him vaguely understand that she was to be tolerated; but upon the approach of any of the other people he would show his teeth and snarl. And—by some strange chance that delighted Ru—Wuff seemed to take an especial dislike for one man in particular. Whenever the wolf's nostrils would catch the scent of Grumgra, he would seem to go mad; his jaws would snap, his eyes shine with a light that was truly wolfish, his black hair would bristle, and low mutterings would issue from his throat. And more than once, had not Ru interfered, Wuff might have leaped to his death in the effort to set teeth in Grumgra's throat.
Grumgra, meanwhile, took little notice of the hatred of the beast. Once or twice, in his contempt for the creature, he went so far as to kick the cub with his enormous unshod foot—and, on each such occasion, it was only Ru's prompt interference that saved Wuff from striking back and ending with his skull crushed.
But thanks to Ru's watchfulness, Wuff survived the peril from the archenemy. And before finally the animal showed how fierce was his hatred of Grumgra, many a week had gone by and Wuff was no longer a mere cub but had attained the imposing proportions of a half-grown wolf.
Then, with amazing suddenness, the suppressed fires burst forth. One evening the tribe had paused to make its encampment in the glade of a hillside forest, when Ru, strolling with Wuff near the verge of the woods, was startled by a sharp cry from the thickets. Alarmed, he paused to listen; the cry was repeated, a distressed feminine cry that he recognized. Then there came a half-human grunt, followed by a groan that he thought he also knew, and the noise of a scuffle in the underbrush.
Meanwhile Wuff was sniffing significantly at a new-made trail. A low growl issued from his throat; his eyes shone angrily, and the hair upon his back began to bristle.
"Come!" commanded Ru. And, followed by the willing beast, he glided into the woods.
Not many seconds later he paused—directly before him was that which he had anticipated.
Clasped in two enormous brawny arms, with head bent back helplessly and long hair streaming, a woman was feebly struggling; while Grumgra, chuckling in evil glee, drew her to him tightly, then bent down and pressed his thick ugly lips to her reluctant ones.
Not an instant did Ru waste. "Go!" he muttered to Wuff, and pointed an angry hand at Grumgra.
Wuff, needing no second invitation, sprang with a snarl at the chieftain and buried his teeth deep in the flesh of the sinewy neck.
Grumgra, taken by surprise, was for a moment defenseless. His club lay on the ground, hopelessly out of reach; he could only release Yonyo as suddenly as if she had been a hot coal, and, howling with pain and rage, grapple instinctively for the throat of his aggressor. Meanwhile the sharp teeth cut deeper and deeper; a warm stream began to trickle down Grumgra's neck and chest; he could feel the fierceness of the living fury that was rending away at his flesh.... A madness such as even he had rarely known came over him as his hands closed about a hairy throat; with desperate power he pressed, squeezed and pressed with all the vehemence of hatred and the lust for life. And gradually the tormenting fangs were withdrawn and the body of his foe crumpled up in his grasp.
Then, while a murderous frenzy possessed him and he was about to break the neck of his adversary, a club came down violently upon his arm. Who it was that struck him he did not know—screaming with agony, he unclenched his fingers. As he did so, someone behind him snatched the furry form away, and his ears caught the patter of retreating footsteps. Blinded as he was by frenzy and pain, he wheeled about a fraction of a second too late; he saw no more than the foliage closing above two dark, swift-moving figures.
That night, around the tribal camp-fire, Grumgra was unusually sullen and morose. More than one erring tribesman felt the chastisement of his club; and it was noted that several times he started with a growl toward Ru, and that Ru, followed by his pet wolf, made haste to disappear amid the shadows. It was also noted that Grumgra's throat bore a great ragged new-made wound; and the rumor circulated that he had received this injury while wrestling single-handed with a bear.