The Cave that Swims on the Water Page 4

  For some moments the wolf looked about, seeking danger, seeking to know whether or not he could safely leave his home, and the young man silently rose to one knee, lifting his bow, an arrow fitted to the string.

  Slowly, silently rose the Slayer of Wolves, drew back the arrow to his ear, and sped the shaft—the wolf dodged back, catching sound of the twang of string, and Menzono-men dashed the bow furiously to the ground, cursing—the arrow had flown wild! Again he cursed, and stood a moment in thought, then looked at the sun, now low down toward the horizon, reflected a moment more, and with a reckless air dropped his weapons on the ground, all but his dagger, fell on all fours, and crawled head first into the wolf’s den! The dagger Menzono-men carried was a large one, the flint blade alone being half the length of the young man’s forearm, from elbow to finger-tip.

  Menzono-men had no fear, could he but reach the wolf with this, and on he crawled, down a little slope, the smell of the dank earth, mixed with the strong animal reek, in his nostrils as he went.

  The entrance to the den pitched slightly downward, and the passage was at first barely wide enough for him to travel, but presently it widened slightly, giving more elbow-room, and became higher, so that he could walk, crouching. His feet struck against a few bones as he progressed, but for the most part the hard-packed earth underfoot was bare and clean. And now there came to his nostrils another scent, that of blood, whereby he knew that some partly devoured prey of the wolf still lay in the den; lifting his head to sniff, his eyes caught the gleam of two greenish eyes ahead—the eyes of Menzono—his hand tightened on the dagger—in that instant there sounded a ferocious snarl—the eyes moved—the wolf sprang—and Menzonomen struck!

  Twice he struck, even as the sharp teeth gashed his left arm, outthrown, from elbow to wrist—again—again!—and all was still, save for his own hard breathing. Cautiously Menzono-men reached out and felt before him a warm, furry body; he was conscious of the hot blood gushing down his wounded arm; seizing the carcass, he backed from the den, dragging it after him, and, reaching the open air once more, flung himself down on the grass, panting, the great beast a huddled heap beside him.

  Presently he rose, sought healing leaves, and bound them tightly about his arm, first bruising them between his hands that the soothing juices, entering the wounds, might allay the pain and prevent stiffening, then set to work to strip the hide from the wolf.

  This was no slight task, weakened as he was by fasting, wearied by his labors at the deadfall, and further weakened by loss of blood; but he persisted, though the work was not finished till after nightfall, and Menzono-men saw scores of eyes gleaming about him, and heard rustlings in the brush.

  At length, the hide taken, the young man thought of rest, and as he cast about for a safe place his eye lit with a sudden glint of humor; he would sleep in the wolf’s den! No fear of the wolf’s mate returning; this was the season of young, and there were none in the den, so this was a lone beast, unmated, and Menzono-men, pushing the rolled-up skin before him, crept into the den, curled up, faced the opening, and slept. In the morning he woke, crawled from the den, finding the bones of the wolf picked bare of flesh by hyenas who had feasted during the night, and took up the third and most perilous part of his task, the search for the Poisoned Slayer. For this he struck inland, away from the river, for only seldom and by chance did the reptile come down to the water; he preferred the higher ground, where piled rocks offered many dens and lurkingplaces, and where, stretched out on their hot surface, he could sun himself through the long, unshaded days.

  So Menzono-men turned his face away from the stream, climbing the slope of the gently rising ground to a place he knew, where were many tumbled rock masses, the chosen home of his third prey. All that morning he tramped, the forest gradually thinning out, till toward noon he came to the crest of a low hill and saw before him a little open space, rock-floored, where lay in twisted, intertwined piles the green and shining bodies of thousands of snakes.

  Snakes big and little, snakes young and old, lay in the hot sun, their unwinking eyes staring like black jewels in their evil, flattened heads. Menzono-men, drawing near, was conscious of a strong, sickening odor that rose from the deadly reptile, and he hesitated—the snakes, at sight of a man, lifting their heads and weaving them back and forth, darting their forked tongues in and out, while from the mass rose a low, prolonged hissing sound.

  Menzono-men was no coward—none save a man of proved courage could crawl into a wolf’s den to slay the beast!—but he was smitten with sick horror at the dreadful sight before him, instinctive fear, racial, from his ancestors, came upon him, and he retreated a few steps, shuddering; he leaned against a tree, shaking from head to foot, his empty stomach retching agonizingly as he strove vainly to vomit.

  For some time he stood thus, then, calling up all his forces, he cut from a tree a straight branch some six feet in length, and with this in his hand approached once more the heap of snakes. Thrice he drew near and thrice recoiled, as there rose before him the memory of one he had seen die from the bite of the Poisoned Slayer—as there rang again in his ears the screams of the dying man, and his cries: “I burn! I burn! In pity, slay me!”

  Menzono-men feared not death, but torture he feared! At last, with bitten lip and blood therefrom trickling down his chin, he stepped forward and extended the stick toward the nearest snake, which instantly flung itself into a coil and struck, recoiling swift as a flash of light. Still Menzono-men held out the stick, and again and again the snake struck till, exhausted or sullen, it refused to strike again.

  Immediately the young man pressed the stick down firmly on the back of the snake’s neck, and, despite its writhings, held it down while he gripped it tight with his right hand, clasping three fingers about its neck and pressing hard with thumb and forefinger against the sides of its jaw. He rose erect, the reptile twisting itself about his arm and wrenching in its efforts to reach him with its fangs, but Menzono-men held fast and turned once more toward the river.

  Suddenly a thought struck him—how was he to carry the snake?

  For a time the young man was puzzled, and was minded to slay this snake and capture another, but there came to him a recollection of what an old man of the Ta-an had told him; that should he press firmly on a certain spot on the snake’s neck the reptile would sleep for a time. He tried, using his left hand, and to his amazement the snake ceased its struggles, became utterly rigid, stiff as the haft of an ax, and so remained. He laid it down, took a thong of rawhide, made in it a slip-knot, fastened the other end to a long stick, slipped the loop over the snake’s neck, drawing it snug, lifted his prey, and made his way to where he had left the hide of the wolf and the horn of the Beast that Wears a Horn on His Nose. These he lifted, and with them, and his weapons set his face again toward the homes of the Ta-an and the Great Rock of Council.

  CHAPTER V

  TO THE DEATH

  Down the bank of the river marched T’sanva- men, Great Chieftain of the Ta-an, followed by more than four hundred armed warriors of the tribe, each bearing ax and dagger, lance and bow, and a quiver of arrows. A magnificent body of men were they, each man stepping proudly in the company to which he belonged.

  Menzono-men, a full-fledged warrior, had knelt at the altar while Ta-nu-ko, the chief priest, with the adze and hammer of ceremony, struck off the little finger of his left hand, thus proving his induction into the clan, and he now strode forth proudly in the Company of the Wolf, following directly behind L’vu, Sar-m’rai-no, Kan-to, and Sen-va, these in turn stepping in the footprints of their chieftain, while beside Menzono-men walked Tsu-ven, son of the chief, claiming fulfillment of his father’s promise.

  The chieftain had sent out scouts, seeking a passage directly overland to the homes of the Little Hairy Men, but these had returned, confirming his belief that the Farther River was impassable, and he had resolved to march down the river on which he was to the junction of that with the one on which lived the Little Hairy Men, to cr
oss the broad water by swimming, and make his way up the confluent branch along the southern shore.

  Now, for seven days had the warriors marched, pressing on through forest and brush, fording or swimming small streams, and sleeping where night overtook them. Five days of rest and feeding had Menzono-men received, then three of fasting and prayer before the ceremony of induction, so it was now the twenty-eighth day since the disappearance of A-ta, and Menzonomen feared greatly, though L’vu oft reassured him, saying: “Did she not die forthwith, she still lives, a slave.”

  On the evening of the twenty-eighth day, as the warriors were preparing to camp, came one to T’san-va-men, greatly excited, begging speech with the chieftain. This granted, he knelt and drew on the grass the three circles of ceremony, saying:

  “Oh, T’san-va-men, Lord of the Winged Death, Great Chieftain of the Ta-an, an omen!’“

  “Speak!” answered T’san-va-men, and the warrior replied: “There comes a log toward us, moving against the stream!”

  At these words there was a stir among those near the chief, and Tsu-ven broke out: “Oh, father—great chieftain, rather—is the omen of good?”

  T’san-va-men smiled at the boy’s eagerness, answering gently: “Go we forthwith to learn.” And, rising from where he sat on a fallen tree, he led the way the few steps to the bank, where the crowd of warriors, eagerly peering, made way respectfully.

  In very truth, far down the stream, there appeared a log, and in very truth was it making its way against the current. T’san-va-men looked for a time, then turned to him who stood at his left, saying.

  “Sar-no-m’rai, keenest of all is your sight; look now and tell us if the omen be of good or of evil!”

  Long Sar-no-m’rai looked, shading his eyes with his hand against the glare from the sky, then, smiling, he turned to the chieftain, replying: “Good, in very truth! It is A-ta who comes!” At these astounding words a buzz of wonder ran through the crowd, and T’san-va-men looked keenly at the most skilful tracker among the Taan.

  “A-ta!” he cried. “Sar-no-m’rai, is this indeed sooth?”

  “I speak not with two tongues,” replied Sarno- m’rai, and the chieftain answered: “Indeed, that is known to me. It is A-ta!” Forthwith a great shout broke from the warriors, and crying: “A-ta! A-ta!” they rushed along the bank till opposite the strange craft, which swung inshore to meet them. Amid much buzz of talk it was dragged up on dry land, and Ata, half led, half carried, was taken to where the chieftain had resumed his seat on the log, over which had been thrown a lion’s hide.

  As she drew near he rose, and when she knelt he lifted her, pressing her in his arms and seating her near him on a smaller log which was quickly brought. Menzono-men was sent for, and food and drink were brought, and when the girl had rested and eaten she told her tale, showing the scars of the beatings she had received from Gur and his wives, and showing also her limbs, gaunt from starvation.

  Frequent and loud were the curses as the tale was told, for A-ta was loved of all the tribe, and many were the demands to be led at once, without delay, against the Little Hairy Men, but T’san-vamen, thoughtful, asked: “Was it chance, think you, A-ta, that Gur waited at the Great Rock? Or was it appointed?”

  “Nay, great chieftain,” replied A-ta, “he boasted that the chief priest of the Ta-an had sent me to him!”

  “Gur speaks the tongue of the Ta-an?” “Nay, he did but point to me and to himself, saying: ‘Ta-nu-ko! Ta-nu-ko!’ and laughing.” For a long time the chieftain sat silent, thinking, remembering various trifles which at the time had made no impression, then, rising, he said: “L’vu, Kan-to, Sen-va, take you the trail to the homes of the Ta-an. Reaching there, tell Tanu- ko I require his presence here. Tell him no other word, and in especial speak to none of the return of A-ta. Should he refuse—though it is not in my mind that he will—bring him by force, but unharmed. Go!”

  The three bowed and took their departure, and T’san-va-men spoke to Sar-no-m’rai.

  “A-ta being once more among us, the Little Hairy Men may wait our pleasure. Here we camp till these return with Ta-nu-ko; see to it!” So camp was made, and for ten days the warriors of the Ta-an busied themselves with hunting and with drying over fires the flesh of the animals slain, adding thus to their store of food, to the supplies they carried with them to the war. On the eleventh day, at about the middle hour of the morning, appeared the messengers, and with them the chief priest, coming of his own will, though wondering.

  Straight to T’san-va-men they went, bowing before him where he sat on his skin-covered log at the edge of a little glade in the forest, L’vu— having drawn the ceremonial sign—saying: “Oh, great chieftain, the errand is accomplished; before you stands Ta-nu-ko, chief priest of the Ta-an!”

  “It is well done,” answered T’san-va-men. “Call now the warriors.” Presently, full-panoplied, the warriors of the Ta-an came hurrying, and grouped themselves in a semicircle about where sat the chieftain, none speaking; Ta-nu-ko standing alone three paces from him, and facing him. When all were placed T’san-va-men, closely watching Ta-nu-ko, said: “L’vu, go you and bring A-ta,” and he saw that Ta-nu-ko, for all his self-control, started and looked about quickly as though seeking escape. Quickly came A-ta, led by the burly lieutenant of the chieftain, and the circle parted to let her pass, “A-ta,” said T’san-va-men, “you have said that this priest betrayed you into the hands of Gur; tell now once more, that all may hear, what happened, that all may judge of the guilt of Ta-nuko, sending to death or slavery one of the Ta-an!” But as A-ta was about to speak, Ta-na-ko, who had recovered his self-possession, broke in: “It needs not; the maiden speaks truly. I it was who sent her to the Great Rock, knowing that Gur awaited her coming. And this I did that Menzono-men, losing her whom he loved, might keep the vows made for him, following the path of the priestly clan, to the glory and honor of the Great Father of the Ta-an, The sin is mine, if sin there be; for the welfare of the tribe did I thus, sacrificing my honor to the glory of the Great Father, and mine is the punishment, if punishment there be!”

  And he looked about him proudly and bravely—defiantly, even—at the throng of threatening faces, for from the warriors there rose a fierce growl, and a murmur of : “Death to the traitor! Slay! Slay!” But the chieftain raised his hand for silence, and in the hush that followed whispered briefly with L’vu and Sar-no-m’rai, both of these nodding. Then, addressing Ta-nu-ko, he spoke: “Ta-nu-ko, chief priest of the People of the Mountain Caves, it is in my mind that you have done ill; betraying a maiden of the tribe into the hands of savages, to death or worse, false have you been to the Ta-an, nor does it seem that the Great Father approves your act, since before you stand A-ta, escaped from slavery, and Menzonomen, no priest, but a warrior, your plot a failure.

  “Yet, since to your twisted mind it seemed a worthy act, since you hoped thus to add to the glory of the Great Father, if is not in my mind to slay you forthwith, even though by the law of the tribe treachery is so punished.

  “Therefore make now your choice; either to die on the Great Altar, at the hands of the priests, in sacrifice, that the Great Father, seeing your death, may accept this in expiation; or taking bow and arrows, to seek Menzono-men in the forest, righting with him. Should you slay him against whom you have plotted, then may the Ta-an take it as a sign that O-Ma-Ken approves your act, and you shall go free, returning once more to the priestly office. Choose!”

  Now it chanced that Ta-nu-ko, unlike the most of the priests, was skilled in the use of the bow; with him it was a diversion, an amusement, and often had he practised it in hours of leisure from his duties at the altar. Therefore, when T’san-va-men offered the alternative, the priest’s eyes lit up, and not doubting that he could conquer, he answered: “I accept the trial; let bows be given, and set us to seek each other deep in the forest!” “So be it,” said the chieftain. “L’vu and Senva, let the bows be brought; give each man three arrows; conduct the priest a thousand paces into the forest thither�
�—and he pointed northwest— “and Menzono-men a thousand paces there”—and he pointed northeast. “Then let them seek each other. It is said; go!”

  L’vu and Sen-va, each with a bow and three arrows, stepped forward to lead the duelists to their places, Menzono-men casting a last look at A-ta as he followed the steps of Sen-va. Then the warriors of the Ta-an settled themselves to wait the outcome, squatting about the little glade and speaking in hushed voices.

  A-ta, knowing the chief priest’s skill with the bow, crouched, shivering with fear for her lover, behind the log where sat the chieftain, impassive as a rock. Presently was heard the long-drawn, quavering call of L’vu, announcing that his man was placed, and that of Sen-va replying, and the warriors knew the hunt was on; that one or both of the duelists would fall—the die was cast. At length Sen-va returned, to take his place in the group about the chieftain, and soon L’vu also stepped from the forest.

  All that long afternoon the great chieftain and his men sat in the little glade, and behind him crouched A-ta, clenching and unclenching her hands; and so the slow day dragged on. And now the chieftain began to cast anxious glances at the sun, which was drawing low down in the western sky; no sign of either of the two had appeared, and sunset was near. But as the sun touched the tops of the western trees and the long shadows crept across the grass a sudden sound broke the hush of afternoon; one long, shuddering scream, the scream of a man in agony, rang through the forest—and once more all was still.