The Cave that Swims on the Water Read online

  But deep within her breast a voice seemed to say: “Fight! Fight!” and with all her powers she struggled to rise. Her limbs seemed weighted down, and but slowly and with infinite effort could she stir, yet she stood upright and as Gur advanced, grinning, she closed, grappling him, biting, scratching, striking with fist and knee, so that the chieftain of the Little Hairy Men gave back, amazed.

  Closely A-ta followed, for it was the tradition and training of the Ta-an—and A-ta was a warrior’s child—ever to carry the fight forward, not standing on defense, but ever attacking, and closing with Gur once more she sank her teeth deep in his upper arm, so that the blood gushed forth and the man howled with pain. But he wrenched free, leaped back, and as A-ta came forward again his club fell—once more the lights whirled and danced before her eyes—and all was black

  When she regained consciousness she was being carried over Gur’s shoulder, belly down, her legs in front tight clasped in his muscular left arm, her face, behind, bumping against the small of his back as he proceeded at a shambling trot through the darkening forest. Her feet were tied together with a thong, her hands were tied behind her back, but as soon as A-ta was fully conscious she began once more to struggle.

  Gur stopped, leaned his club against his body, reached around with his right hand, and caught the girl’s long hair, which was flowing loose. He twisted it about his forearm, pulling it taut and drawing her head over to one side, picked up his club, and resumed his swinging trot, and Ata, now helpless and tortured, again lost consciousness.

  All during that long night Gur proceeded thus, never once stopping to rest, but keeping on, on, ever on. At times A-ta came out of her swoon and realized what was happening, at times all was black and she knew but vaguely the pain of the regular jerk, jerk, jerk on her imprisoned hair. Once the slap of cold water on her face roused her to full consciousness as Gur forded a river, and A-ta wondered dully at the marvelous strength and endurance in the ungainly, almost grotesque body of the chieftain who could carry a grown woman thus tirelessly through the midnight dark of the forest, but as the water grew deeper she swooned once more, half strangled by the flood that swept over her face.

  A-ta never knew how long Gur carried her (it was, in fact, for several days, with intervals for rest), nor had she any slightest notion of the route he followed. When next her senses came to her it was late afternoon—the sun was just setting—and she lay, still bound, on the floor of a rude cave, the home of her captor.

  At first A-ta did not move; indeed, she could not, for every bone and muscle ached fiercely from the terrible ride, and her head throbbed agonizingly—she had been carried head downward for long hours. So she lay still, looking about, examining what came within range of her eyes, for the cave fronted the west, and the last rays of the sun struck brilliantly into it. The roof of the cave was not ornamented with drawings and paintings of bison and mammoth, as were the caves of the Ta-an, nor had any slightest effort been made to shape the grotto into a better home; the floor was not swept, nor was the daily litter removed; gnawed bones, scraps of fur, weapons, tools, and other objects mingling in heaps about the place, so that A-ta felt a wave of disgust as she saw the filthy way her captor lived.

  “Even the beasts thrust offal from their dens!” she thought, and her disgust grew as she watched Gur, squatting before a fire, cook and eat his evening meal, for he tore the meat like a tiger, grunting and growling and snarling over it, nor, to A-ta’s amazement, did he allow it to cook through; instead, he roasted the outside over the flames, gnawed off that layer, cooked it a little more, gnawed off the next layer in turn, and so on, cooking and eating alternately.

  A-ta gave an exclamation of disgust, and Gur rose, coming to stand by her side, grinning down at her and saying something which was unintelligible to the girl, for he spoke in the tongue of the Little Hairy Men.

  Turning, he apparently called someone, and four women of the tribe entered, to stand watching the captive, jabbering excitedly, whereupon the girl, exhausted, overwrought, tortured, and in an agony of fear, swooned again.

  Then for many days A-ta, a prisoner, labored for Gur, carrying wood and water, curing hides, preparing food, doing the work of the chieftain’s household, beaten if she failed to do it, beaten if she did it, but ever borne up by the hope of escape. So A-ta labored for Gur, seeking ever her chance, watchful always, thinking ever of some way to get back to the Ta-an.

  Gradually, day by day, she made her plans for escape, deciding finally that by water, if at all, could she win back to the home caves of the Taan. Could she make the journey, beset as it was by nameless terrors?

  So thinking, that very night A-ta made up her mind to the attempt, but it was an attempt foredoomed to failure. Gur following hard on her trail, and recapturing her, despite her desperate resistance. Then followed fresh indignities, until she resolved to plan more fully, to see if it were not possible to devise some means which would enable her to evade pursuit, and the thought came that she might follow the stream in rather than beside the water, for then she would leave no trail, no scent would lie, and the sweep of the river itself would carry her on her way.

  But she could not hope to swim any such distance—would it be possible to float on a log? No, a log would roll under her; she could not sleep on it, nor could she carry food, for any least little wavelet would sweep it away.

  Day after day she pondered over the matter, turning it over and over in her mind as she worked for Gur, and at last the solution came. She would travel on a log, beaching it at night—taking the risk of discovery—and would hollow out a place for her food—instantly there flashed across her mind the thought: “Why not hollow out a place for myself, too? Lying down, I could draw leaves and branches over myself, and the Little Hairy Men, passing, would think it but a stranded tree!” The more she thought it over, the more this idea pleased her, and she set about to accomplish her purpose.

  The first thing that occurred to her was that she must work at night, for during the day she was too cleverly watched, so night after night she slipped from the cave to work in the forest, it being, fortunately, full moon, so that there was light enough to see.

  Each night, as Gur placed the bonds on her ankles and wrists, A-ta craftily set her muscles—a trick she had learned from Sar-no-m’rai—so that when she relaxed the thongs might fall slack and her hands and feet, slim and flexible, be drawn through, nor did Gur, dull of brain and slow of wit, but, trusting the bonds, and sleeping soundly, once notice the deception. But for all her care it was no simple matter to escape nightly from the cave, nor was it easy to force her tired limbs, worn and exhausted by the labor of the day, to struggle with the task she had set herself.

  But night after night she persevered, first burning with a slow fire—the coals stolen from Gur’s hearth—the wood from the surface of the great tree she had chosen.

  It was a long task for a young girl, but at length it was finished; and then the thought occurred to her; how was she to propel her log? Down-stream the current would carry it, but she must travel against the current after reaching the junction of the rivers.

  Long she pondered this matter, and finally cut a pole, trusting that she might be able to push her craft along, striking the pole against the bed of the stream; then, ready to start, she placed in the hollowed-out space her provisions, stolen, little by little, from her captor; dried flesh of deer and wild horse, roots and berries, and a bundle of salt, wrapped in a fragment of skin. As she was doing this her eye fell on her adze, and she thought: “A dull tool cuts not well; will not a sharpened log cut the water better than a dull?” And down she sat to debate this new question. All that day this question was in her mind, and when night came she had decided to sharpen one end of the log to a cutting edge—speed might be needed on the journey! This held her back three days—the longest three since she had begun her toil!—but at length the task was finally done and all was ready for the start. Provisions stowed, adze beside them, pole ready, she prepared to slide
the craft to the water—and could not move it!

  A-ta was no heroine of romance, she was a poor, tired girl, worn out by her frantic labors, tortured and tried by the cruelty of Gur and his wives, borne up by the hope of escape, the dream of seeing her home and friends once more—she dropped full length on the ground and wept as though her heart would break.

  Long she lay there, sobbing, thinking of the bitter contrast between her present fate and her happiness of a few short weeks before, when, of a sudden there flashed into her mind the humorous quirk of the chieftain’s mouth and the gleam of his eyes as once he said, in time of famine: “If the prey comes not to the hunter, then must the hunter go to the prey!”

  Raising her head, A-ta stared intently into the forest, thinking hard; she rose, stepped to the waters’ edge, looked long at the river, then: “Perchance can I bring the river to the log!” She looked up at the stars and saw that scarce three hours remained till dawn, then seized her adze and frantically began to scoop a canal, barely big enough to pass the log, from the river to the craft. Long and desperately she labored, until, when she was beginning to despair, she broke down the last barrier, in rushed the water—A-ta held her breath, watching—the log was afloat! About to step into the hollowed log, A-ta heard behind her a rustle, a gasp of astonishment, and whirled quickly, to see Boh, oldest and ugliest and most cruel of the wives of Gur.

  Boh’s mouth was open to yell, to call for help, but in that instant, before the sound came, Ata’s pole, driven by her strong young arms, the hatred engendered by weeks of torture urging, plunged, butt-first, into the woman’s stomach. Eyes goggling, mouth lolling, Boh doubled up and fell slowly forward; as she fell the pole swept up and down, striking full on the back of her neck, and the chief of Gur’s wives pitched forward, dead. A-ta watched a moment, pole ready, but Boh did not stir, and the girl, stepping into her craft, sat down and pushed off from the bank, turning the bow down-stream.

  Then followed days of comparative ease for A-ta. Once in her slow progress a band of the Little Hairy Men appeared on the southern bank, shouting and gesticulating, but after that no human being did she see, but many animals, Snorr-m’rai-no, the fear that walks the night; Dom’rai, the hill that walks; Ven-su, the beaver; Vam’rai, the swift runner, trooping daintily down to the water’s edge, his does and fawns following; Kzen, the rat who lives in the water, and once, chancing to look up, she saw, depending from a spreading branch, the green and glistening form and evil, beady, black eyes of the Poisoned Slayer.

  At length the mouth of the great river, as large almost as that on which she was, came in sight, and A-ta, poling her craft ashore, beached it at dusk to sleep one full night and in the morning take up the long struggle against the current that must be hers before she could win once more to the homes of the Ta-an.

  CHAPTER IV

  A WARRIOR’S METTLE

  Meanwhile, Menzono-men fasted on the great Rock of Council, finding the task, indeed, more severe by far than he had expected it to prove. A fast of seven days and seven nights was naught to the young man, glorying in the strength of youth, nor—after the first day—did the wolf in his belly gnaw, but from the fierce sun Menzono-men sheltered himself as much as might be, following the shade while it lasted, and covering his bowed head with his hands, but for all he could do it seemed at times as though the blood seethed and bubbled within him, and more than once he felt, during the hottest hours, as though worms and maggots and grubs crawled and writhed within his skull.

  And at night the coolness brought a chill from which he shivered.

  Twice daily, at dawn and at sunset, water was brought by Ta-nu-ko and Kan-to, for neither priest nor warrior clan would trust the other to deal fairly, and the two made each trip in company. So the weary days wore on, and on the fifth came the worst torment of all Menzono-men endured.

  On the fifth day the wind had blown all morning, hot and searing, his scanty allowance of water was exhausted long since, and he huddled, bent over, clasping his head in his hands and moaning slightly from time to time. Once more Menzono-men groaned, and, stripping his scanty garment of hide from his loins, he wrapped it tightly about his head. Hot and suffering before, he was now half suffocated, yet he knew it was his only salvation, so he endured. Presently, little puffs of yet hotter wind came, bringing with them faint, sifting dust, which touched his skin almost caressingly, then faster and faster they came, till the dust, wind-borne, struck against him continuously, like rain, but no longer caressing; it burned and cut and stung, it dried yet further his already parched skin, it sifted through the covering about his head, it clogged his eyes, it filled his ears, it drove into his nostrils, it scorched his lips, till Menzono-men, tortured, could scarce restrain himself from leaping from the rock and running to the river, that, plunging in, he might find relief from his agony. One thought only held him back, and over and over he repeated to himself.

  “A-ta! A-ta!” grinding his teeth and clenching his fists till the nails, cutting into the flesh, brought a new pain which in some measure diverted his mind from the old.

  So for three long hours he held on, till the storm had blown itself out, and with the coming of the shade came Kan-to and Ta-nu-ko, bearing the precious water.

  Menzono-men, knowing his haggard looks from the shocked expression of the warrior’s face, yet contrived a twisted smile of greeting, winning thus a nod and smile of approval from Kan-to, who loved brave men.

  “Endure yet two days,” said Kan-to. “And it is permitted to say to you that the Ta-an march not till your test is done, the great chieftain, Lord of the Winged Death, having sworn that should you succeed it shall be yours to seek out and slay the one who has taken A-ta captive.”

  Menzono-men, glancing from Kan-to to Tanu- ko, surprised a curious look on the latter’s face, but thought little of it, taking it merely for disappointment at the favor shown. Rinsing his mouth, he took a long swallow of the life-bringing water, and after a vain effort spoke in a harsh, rasping croak:

  “Bear my thanks to the great chieftain, I pray, and tell him I will endure, the suffering is great, but so likewise, and greater, is the reward!” Kan-to nodded approvingly, and said: “Good! Your words shall go to him.” Then, turning, the two left Menzono-men to the last stretch of his fasting.

  The worst was now past; there came no more dust-storms, and cooler weather made more endurable the days, the chill of night being less hard to bear than the heat of the day. Still, Menzono-men suffered, and was rejoiced when, at sunrise of the eighth day, there came to the Rock of Council T’san-va-men and Ta-nu-ko, none others being with them.

  “Descend, Slayer of Wolves!” said the great chieftain, and the priest nodded, whereat the youth, gathering his strength, leaped from the rock and knelt before them.

  “Menzono-men,” said the chieftain gravely and solemnly, “the first part of the test have you passed. It remains now to pass the second. From this day forth water is yours where you shall find it, but not food. Swear now, by your honor as one of the Ta-an, by your worship as a child of O-Ma- Ken, the Great Father, and by your hope that after this life you may be with the spirits of your fathers in the Place of Good, that no food shall pass your lips till you come once more to the Rock of Council, bearing the horn of the great beast, the hide of the wolf, and the Poisoned Slayer; for none goes with you into the forest.”

  “As you have said, so do I swear,” answered Menzono-men, solemnly and reverently.

  “It is well!” said T’san-va-men. “Take now these weapons, a gift from me to you. Bear them into the forest and use them well, that your prayer may be granted! Go!”

  And T’san-va-men dropped over the youth’s shoulders the thong of a quiver of arrows and the string of a bow, placed in his girdle a beautiful dagger of flint, with handle of oak, and in his hands ax and lance. He touched the young man lightly on the shoulder, repeated: “Go!” and, turning, disappeared into the forest, followed by Ta-nu-ko.

  Menzono-men remained kneeling while he uttered
a prayer for aid, then, taking his way to the river, luxuriated in a quiet pool, whence, when he had bathed, he set out in search of a trail along which he might place a trap for the Beast that Wears a Horn on His Nose.

  All that morning he tramped, till the sun was high overhead, when he rested for a time, and again took up the search, walking along the bank of the river and examining carefully and with attention the grass and brush which grew close down to the stream. Many game trails he passed, but none which bore the mark of the huge foot he sought, till about the middle of the afternoon he found the desired track. Casting a glance at the sun, the young man decided it was too late to set his trap; so, climbing a tree, he made a rude platform of branches wattled across two great limbs, and lay down to watch the trail. At length, grunting and rolling his little piggish eyes, the prey he sought, the Beast that Wears a Horn on His Nose, came to the river to drink and then went away. This done, Menzonornen climbed cautiously down from the tree and with all possible speed—for it was at best a long task—selected a heavy tree, from which with infinite labor, he made a deadfall.

  Presently came the first of the beasts, a troop of wild sheep, but they passed in safety, unalarmed—Menzono-men had cleared away, as well as might be, all signs of his labor, and had strewed the ground with strong-scented leaves plucked near the river. Next came a dozen wild cattle, and at last the chosen prey of the hunter. Slowly he walked down the trail, grunting and snorting, his huge, ungainly bulk looming large in the dusk of the forest. On and on he came, and Menzono-men’s heart beat fast—never had he hunted such mighty game! On and on, and Menzono-men, lips parted, watching closely, gathered tight the end of the vine—nearer and nearer came the beast—Menzono-men’s eyes glowed—his muscles drew slowly taut—one step more—a strong jerk—the upright pole snapped— the great log, gathering speed, swept crashing down, striking the prey just behind the shoulders—and Menzono-men, after watching a moment, climbed down his tree and, taking his ax, began to cut away the horn; the deadfall had broken the beast’s spine and it had died instantly. The following day saw Menzono-men returning toward the homes of the Ta-an, for while searching for the Beast that Wears a Horn on His Nose he had marked down a wolf’s den, a cave in a pile of tumbled rocks, and here he planned to take the hide of Menzono the Slayer. Here the young man lay in wait, and late in the afternoon his vigil was rewarded, for there suddenly appeared, without warning, like a magic trick, the head of a great gray wolf, framed in the black mouth of the den.