Broken-Tooth was another youngster
who lived by himself. His mother
lived in the caves, but two more
children had come after him and
he had been thrust out to shift
for himself. We had witnessed
the performance during the several
preceding days, and it had given
us no little glee. Broken-Tooth
did not want to go, and every
time his mother left the cave
he sneaked back into it. When
she returned and found him there
her rages were delightful. Half
the horde made a practice of
watching for these moments. First,
from within the cave, would come
her scolding and shrieking. Then
we could hear sounds of the thrashing
and the yelling of Broken-Tooth.
About this time the two younger
children joined in. And finally,
like the eruption of a miniature
volcano, Broken-Tooth would come
flying out.
At the end of several days
his leaving home was accomplished.
He wailed his grief, unheeded,
from the centre of the open space,
for at least half an hour, and
then came to live with Lop-Ear
and me. Our cave was small, but
with squeezing there was room
for three. I have no recollection
of Broken-Tooth spending more
than one night with us, so the
accident must have happened right
away.
It came in the middle of the
day. In the morning we had eaten
our fill of the carrots, and
then, made heedless by play,
we had ventured on to the big
trees just beyond. I cannot understand
how Lop-Ear got over his habitual
caution, but it must have been
the play. We were having a great
time playing tree tag. And such
tag! We leaped ten or fifteen-foot
gaps as a matter of course. And
a twenty or twenty-five foot
deliberate drop clear down to
the ground was nothing to us.
In fact, I am almost afraid to
say the great distances we dropped.
As we grew older and heavier
we found we had to be more cautious
in dropping, but at that age
our bodies were all strings and
springs and we could do anything.
Broken-Tooth
displayed remarkable agility
in the game. He was "It" less
frequently than any of us, and
in the course of the game he
discovered one difficult "slip" that
neither Lop-Ear nor I was able
to accomplish. To be truthful,
we were afraid to attempt it.
When we were "It," Broken-Tooth
always ran out to the end of
a lofty branch in a certain tree.
From the end of the branch to
the ground it must have been
seventy feet, and nothing intervened
to break a fall. But about twenty
feet lower down, and fully fifteen
feet out from the perpendicular,
was the thick branch of another
tree.
As we ran out the limb, Broken-Tooth,
facing us, would begin teetering.
This naturally impeded our progress;
but there was more in the teetering
than that. He teetered with his
back to the jump he was to make.
Just as we nearly reached him
he would let go. The teetering
branch was like a spring-board.
It threw him far out, backward,
as he fell. And as he fell he
turned around sidewise in the
air so as to face the other branch
into which he was falling. This
branch bent far down under the
impact, and sometimes there was
an ominous crackling; but it
never broke, and out of the leaves
was always to be seen the face
of Broken-Tooth grinning triumphantly
up at us.
I was "It" the
last time Broken-Tooth tried
this. He had gained the
end of the branch and begun his
teetering, and I was creeping
out after him, when suddenly
there came a low warning cry
from Lop-Ear. I looked down and
saw him in the main fork of the
tree crouching close against
the trunk. Instinctively I crouched
down upon the thick limb. Broken-Tooth
stopped teetering, but the branch
would not stop, and his body
continued bobbing up and down
with the rustling leaves.
I heard the crackle of a dry
twig, and looking down saw my
first Fire-Man. He was creeping
stealthily along on the ground
and peering up into the tree.
At first I thought he was a wild
animal, because he wore around
his waist and over his shoulders
a ragged piece of bearskin. And
then I saw his hands and feet,
and more clearly his features.
He was very much like my kind,
except that he was less hairy
and that his feet were less like
hands than ours. In fact, he
and his people, as I was later
to know, were far less hairy
than we, though we, in turn,
were equally less hairy than
the Tree People.
It came to me instantly, as
I looked at him. This was the
terror of the northeast, of which
the mystery of smoke was a token.
Yet I was puzzled. Certainly
he was nothing; of which to be
afraid. Red-Eye or any of our
strong men would have been more
than a match for him. He was
old, too, wizened with age, and
the hair on his face was gray.
Also, he limped badly with one
leg. There was no doubt at all
that we could out-run him and
out-climb him. He could never
catch us, that was certain.
But he carried something in
his hand that I had never seen
before. It was a bow and arrow.
But at that time a bow and arrow
had no meaning for me. How was
I to know that death lurked in
that bent piece of wood? But
Lop-Ear knew. He had evidently
seen the Fire People before and
knew something of their ways.
The Fire-Man peered up at him
and circled around the tree.
And around the main trunk above
the fork Lop-Ear circled too,
keeping always the trunk between
himself and the Fire-Man.
The latter abruptly reversed
his circling. Lop-Ear, caught
unawares, also hastily reversed,
but did not win the protection
of the trunk until after the
Fire-Man had twanged the bow.
I saw the arrow leap up, miss
Lop-Ear, glance against a limb,
and fall back to the ground.
I danced up and down on my lofty
perch with delight. It was a
game! The Fire-Man was throwing
things at Lop-Ear as we sometimes
threw things at one another.
The game continued a little
longer, but Lop-Ear did not expose
himself a second time. Then the
Fire-Man gave it up. I leaned
far out over my horizontal limb
and chattered down at him. I
wanted to play. I wanted to have
him try to hit me with the thing.
He saw me, but ignored me, turning
his attention to Broken-Tooth,
who was still teetering slightly
and involuntarily on the end
of the branch.
The first arrow leaped upward.
Broken-Tooth yelled with fright
and pain. It had reached its
mark. This put a new complexion
on the matter. I no longer cared
to play, but crouched trembling
close to my limb. A second arrow
and a third soared up, missing
Broken-Tooth, rustling the leaves
as they passed through, arching
in their flight and returning
to earth.
The Fire-Man stretched his
bow again. He shifted his position,
walking away several steps, then
shifted it a second time. The
bow-string twanged, the arrow
leaped upward, and Broken-Tooth,
uttering a terrible scream, fell
off the branch. I saw him as
he went down, turning over and
over, all arms and legs it seemed,
the shaft of the arrow projecting
from his chest and appearing
and disappearing with each revolution
of his body.
Sheer down, screaming, seventy
feet he fell, smashing to the
earth with an audible thud and
crunch, his body rebounding slightly
and settling down again. Still
he lived, for he moved and squirmed,
clawing with his hands and feet.
I remember the Fire-Man running
forward with a stone and hammering
him on the head...and then I
remember no more.
Always, during my childhood,
at this stage of the dream, did
I wake up screaming with fright--to
find, often, my mother or nurse,
anxious and startled, by my bedside,
passing soothing hands through
my hair and telling me that they
were there and that there was
nothing to fear.
My next dream, in the order
of succession, begins always
with the flight of Lop-Ear and
myself through the forest. The
Fire-Man and Broken-Tooth and
the tree of the tragedy are gone.
Lop-Ear and I, in a cautious
panic, are fleeing through the
trees. In my right leg is a burning
pain; and from the flesh, protruding
head and shaft from either side,
is an arrow of the Fire-Man.
Not only did the pull and strain
of it pain me severely, but it
bothered my movements and made
it impossible for me to keep
up with Lop-Ear.
At last I gave up, crouching
in the secure fork of a tree.
Lop-Ear went right on. I called
to him--most plaintively, I remember;
and he stopped and looked back.
Then he returned to me, climbing
into the fork and examining the
arrow. He tried to pull it out,
but one way the flesh resisted
the barbed lead, and the other
way it resisted the feathered
shaft. Also, it hurt grievously,
and I stopped him.
For some time we crouched there,
Lop-Ear nervous and anxious to
be gone, perpetually and apprehensively
peering this way and that, and
myself whimpering softly and
sobbing. Lop-Ear was plainly
in a funk, and yet his conduct
in remaining by me, in spite
of his fear, I take as a foreshadowing
of the altruism and comradeship
that have helped make man the
mightiest of the animals.
Once again Lop-Ear tried to
drag the arrow through the flesh,
and I angrily stopped him. Then
he bent down and began gnawing
the shaft of the arrow with his
teeth. As he did so he held the
arrow firmly in both hands so
that it would not play about
in the wound, and at the same
time I held on to him. I often
meditate upon this scene--the
two of us, half-grown cubs, in
the childhood of the race, and
the one mastering his fear, beating
down his selfish impulse of flight,
in order to stand by and succor
the other. And there rises up
before me all that was there
foreshadowed, and I see visions
of Damon and Pythias, of life-saving
crews and Red Cross nurses, of
martyrs and leaders of forlorn
hopes, of Father Damien, and
of the Christ himself, and of
all the men of earth, mighty
of stature, whose strength may
trace back to the elemental loins
of Lop-Ear and Big-Tooth and
other dim denizens of the Younger
World.
When Lop-Ear had chewed off
the head of the arrow, the shaft
was withdrawn easily enough.
I started to go on, but this
time it was he that stopped me.
My leg was bleeding profusely.
Some of the smaller veins had
doubtless been ruptured. Running
out to the end of a branch, Lop-Ear
gathered a handful of green leaves.
These he stuffed into the wound.
They accomplished the purpose,
for the bleeding soon stopped.
Then we went on together, back
to the safety of the caves.
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