Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1953 (13 page)

           
The stones were not so easily
hoisted up. Sam had to look for stouter lengths of vine, and from these he and
Otter wove a sort of openwork pouch. These served to lift the stones, one by
one, from Otter below to Sam in the tree. Receiving each at his perch above,
Sam slid it carefully into one or another of the crude bags that hung to the
spear handle. When the last stone had been shoved into place, all three crude
receptacles bulged fatly and the branch had been pulled noticeably lower. Sam
swung down through the boughs and, standing at the tree roots, gazed on his
work with pride.

           
The point of the spear extended
straight downward, at a height of about fifteen feet. It seemed to strain at
its stout rawhide bonds, as though it wanted to strike heavily toward the
earth.

           
“You do not have to say what will
happen,” said Otter. “You will sit up there with your knife ready. I will find
Giluhda and make him angry, so that his heart is bad against me. Then I will
run between the trees. When he comes behind me and is caught there, you will
cut the spear loose so that it stabs him.” “That is not the way we will do,”
protested Sam quickly. “You will wait in the tree. I will run ahead of Giluhda.
When he comes to the place between the trees, you will drop the spear on him.”

           
“No,” said Otter. “You made the
plan. You know how to make the spear do what you put it in the tree to do.”

           
“I made the plan,” agreed Sam. “I
know how to bring Giluhda to the right place for the spear to come down upon
him.”

           
Otter shook his head. “I will not
let you do that, my brother. It is too great a danger.”

           
“That is why I must do it,” Sam
argued, equally stubborn. “Anyway, I can run faster than you can.” “That is not
true,” denied Otter heatedly. “I am the third fastest runner of all the
Twilight People.”

           
“We must run together, and see whose
feet are the fastest,” said Sam.

           
“Come, then. It will be a long time
before Giluhda comes back to the drinking place.”

           
Together they left the oaks, with
the spear ready in the branches. Otter led the way up river from the game trail
and the drinking place. Sam followed, his jaw set and his heart determined on
victory in the contest.

           
Otter brought them to a stretch of
open, level ground beside the river. It extended for perhaps a hundred and
fifty yards, with grass growing in tufts upon it. “Is this a good place?” he
asked.

           
“Yes,” said Sam. “I can run to the
tree there at the far end before you can.”

           
He looked up and down at Otter’s
active brown body. Otter’s chest was deep and his legs were cleanly muscled for
running. He wore only a breech clout and moccasins. Sam took off his coonskin
cap and hung it upon a bush. Pulling his shirt over his head, he threw it
across the cap. He hung his bow and quiver beside it.

           
“Are you ready?” he demanded.

           
“Yes. Stand with me, so that we are
side by side. Which of us will give the word?”

           
“You give it,” said Sam.

           
“I will.” Otter paused and drew a
breath. Then: “Run!”

           
That advantage of crying out his own
starting signal gave Otter the advantage of perhaps a quarter second of time. In
that quarter second he got away a full leap ahead of Sam, and the white runner
found himself flying along with Otter’s bronze back in front of him.

           
Grim and furious, Sam taxed his
reserves of strength and speed to the utmost. Still Otter stayed in front, but
his lead decreased by an inch, by two inches, by a foot. From behind Otter, Sam
worried his way to a position beside him. Up ahead he saw the tree that was the
race’s finish point. It grew in size, it hurried toward him. He shot out his
hand—so did Otter. Next moment they were both leaning against opposite sides of
the tree, gasping for breath.

           
“Who touched it first?” asked Sam
when he was able to speak again.

           
“I think that both our hands touched
the tree at the same time,” said Otter. “Our feet are alike, as our hearts are
alike. Neither of us can run faster than his brother.”

           
“You started before I did,” argued
Sam.

           
“Then I will start faster when
Giluhda runs after me,” said Otter.

           
“No,” said Sam stubbornly.

           
“The only way to choose between us
is by playing the game of hand,” said Otter, as they trudged back to where they
had left their bows. Stopping, Otter bent down and picked up a small, smooth
pebble from in front of the bush where Sam’s shirt hung. “We will play it like
this.”

           
So saying, Otter put both his hands
behind his back and held them together out of Sam’s sight. He seemed to juggle
the pebble back and forth from palm to palm. Finally he brought out his two
closed fists and extended them toward Sam, side by side.

           
“If you tell me which hand holds the
little stone, you have won the game,” he said. “Then you can run before Giluhda
while I sit in the tree to drop the spear. But if you cannot find the hand that
holds it, then I have won. You will sit in the tree, and I will stay on the
ground to bring Giluhda to you. Is it fair?”

           
“It is fair,” said Sam, and studied
the two fists. After a moment, he put out his forefinger and tapped the right
one. “It is here.”

           
Otter chuckled and opened his right
hand, showing it spread and empty. “I have beaten you at the game of hand. I
run before Giluhda.”

           
But Sam stooped quickly and seized
something from among the blades of grass. It was the pebble used in the game.
He thrust it accusingly toward Otter.

           
“You played a trick,” he told his friend.
“You dropped it behind you.”

           
“You said that if you could not find
the hand that held it, I could choose what I would do,” Otter laughed.
“If the little stone was not in either of my hands, you still did
not find it.”

           
“But—” Sam began to protest, when
Otter suddenly grasped his elbow in strong fingers.

           
“Stand quietly,” said Otter in a
soft, tense voice. “Do not turn around, my brother. Act as if nothing is the
matter.” He paused, peering stealthily sidelong past Sam. “There, he is gone
away again.”

           
“Gone away?” echoed Sam. “Was it
Giluhda?” “No. Somebody watched us, with his bow drawn and his arrow ready. He
was far off, but I saw the war paint on his face, and I know the man who puts
on his war paint that way. It was Eagle Wing, the medicine man.”

his
excitement over this news. He took his
shirt from the bush and slowly pulled it on.

           
“Stand quietly, as if you did not
see him,” he told Otter softly through the buckskin fringe. “Act as if we did
not know Eagle Wing was hunting us. He will watch, from where he drew back out
of your sight.” “That is true,” agreed Otter as, with a great show of
carelessness, he slung his quiver behind his naked shoulder. “We can go
together and hunt him down. That war paint on his face shows that he came here
to fight.”

           
“No, stop and talk,” Sam said. “If
we go fast to chase him, he will turn around and send arrows at us. Two of us
can win a fight with him, but one might be killed. It is better to pretend we
do not know he is here. We will play some trick and capture him alive.”

           
“We must kill him,” insisted Otter
bleakly. “He has come here to kill you, my brother. If we send arrows into him
and let him fall dead in the forest, we can call men from
Twilight
Town
to see that he came against us with war
paint.”

           
Sam was buckling his girdle around
his waist. “Maybe men of
Twilight
Town
sent him,” he reminded. “Maybe Woodpecker
is no longer chief of the Twilight People.”

           
He put on his coonskin cap and took
his bow, still going through careless-seeming motions while he argued in soft,
earnest tones.

           
“How can we catch Eagle Wing without
hunting him?” demanded Otter.

           
“Let him think he is the hunter.
Listen to this plan. You and I will go two different ways, as if we were
hunting. You will hide yourself and watch what Eagle Wing does. I think that he
wants to kill me, and he will follow me. You follow him. I will lead him to our
cave. When he comes close after me, you will be behind him with your arrow
ready. You can take him prisoner.”

           
“It is a foolish plan,” grumbled
Otter, stringing his bow.

           
“It is the only plan we can use. Do
not be afraid about me. I will move among trees where they are close together,
and he will not be able to send an arrow at me easily. Brother, I say that this
is what we must do.”

           
“I will do it,” said Otter, without
much enthusiasm.

           
“Go, then.”

           
Still
frowning
his protest, Otter stalked into the woods, peering into the treetops as though
looking for a bird or squirrel. Sam took another direction, bow and arrows in
hand, quickly putting a thicket between
himself
and
the place where Otter had briefly spied Eagle Wing.

           
He had insisted on his plan for
capturing Eagle Wing, and had argued for it with all the confidence he could
muster. Yet, now that he was walking along through the trees, he felt inclined
to agree with Otter that it was a scheme foolhardy in the extreme. Never in all
his life
had he
wished so strongly to look behind him,
to see if Eagle Wing pressed murderously on his trail. But he fought down the
desire, and moved by a roundabout way through the densest part of the forest as
he headed for the cave.

           
He took care to stay among tree
trunks and brush, and never stood still for more than a moment. Once he spied a
squirrel romping overhead and aimed his arrow at it, but kept it on the string
until the squirrel had climbed out of sight and range. He could not let Eagle
Wing come upon him with no arrow of his own at the ready.

           
It grew harder with every moment to
saunter carelessly, without so much as a glance behind him. Eagle Wing must
surely be at his very heels now, a more dreadful menace than even Giluhda—for
Eagle Wing could move silently, while Giluhda would betray his presence by his
ponderous crashing and rustling among the thickets. Sam knew that his trust
must be put in Otter, however much Otter disliked the plan to catch Eagle Wing.
He kept on his roundabout way toward the cave.

           
Coming near at last, he was aware of
a new difficulty and danger. There was a considerable treeless space in front
of the entrance, and in that space his body would be a fair target. He thought
swiftly, and hit upon a way to reduce the danger of an arrow between his
shoulder blades. As he strolled nearer, he quickened his pace. Then, as though
idly, he began a jogging trot. That would keep Eagle Wing from pressing too
close for a few moments. He came to the open space, emerged into it, and headed
for the cave. Nothing happened.

           
Once inside, he moved quickly out of
direct view from the entrance. He laid his bow beside him, with an arrow across
it, so that a single, quick snatch would put it in his hands. With his knife he
began to cut thin slices from a piece of venison, and with his foot pushed wood
upon the coals of the breakfast fire. He kept his muscles flexed, to dodge back
out of arrow range or to leap upon his enemy if need be.

           
Suppose Eagle Wing had not followed
him, after all? But the medicine man would not have stolen so close and then
have abandoned the hunt. And had Otter been able to keep at Eagle Wing’s heels?
That, too, must have happened—Otter was a highly skilful stalker, and would
exert himself to the utmost. Sam felt certain that they would both come to the
cave. But the waiting was a cruel strain upon his nerves.

           
Then he was aware, without seeing or
hearing, that

           
somebody
was outside. He forced himself to thrust a wooden spit through the slices of
venison. He bent low to set it above the fire, and put his hand to the cave
floor next to his bow. He peered from the corner of his eye, and gathered his
feet beneath him for a quick rise and leap. Any moment now—

           
“Eagle Wing!”
rose
Otter’s stern voice from a distance. “I am standing behind you. My arrow points
at your back. Drop your bow and stand still.”

           
A brief, dead
silence outside, then the light thud of a falling object.
Sam fairly
raced out of the cave, his own bow in his hand and the arrow set ready for
launching.

           
Almost directly in
front of him stood Eagle Wing, drawn up straight and motionless.
He was
stripped to the waist, his sharp-featured face heavily painted, with broad bars
of red and yellow on his cheeks, a circle of black around each eye, and a black
line down the bridge of his nose. He scowled ferociously, and the paint made
his face look like a grotesque, angry mask. The hands from which his bow and
arrow had fallen were closed into hard fists.

           
Behind him, just stepping into view
from among the trees, came Otter, his arrow levelled and drawn back on the
bowstring. Otter, too, scowled fiercely at the medicine man.

           
Sam caught his own arrow across the
bow stave with the forefinger of his left hand and came up to Eagle Wing. With
his free right hand he took from Eagle Wing’s belt the knife of deer horn and
the tomahawk of sharp-edged black stone. He seized the strap of Eagle Wing’s
quiver and lifted it off. Stooping, he gathered up the fallen bow. Then he
jerked his head toward the cave.

           
“Go in there,” he commanded, and
Eagle Wing walked to the door and through it. Inside, he sat down by the fire,
drew up his feet close together and clasped his arms around his knees. Silent
fury bristled from him so strongly that Sam could almost feel it.

           
Otter and Sam entered the cave
behind their prisoner and squatted down, one on each side of him.

           
“The medicine man of the Twilight
People has come to visit us,” said Sam, as though in formal greeting. “Why does
he bring a bow and arrow? Does he hunt men like deer?”

           
Eagle Wing’s eyes moved to glare at
Otter, then at Sam, but he made no reply.

           
“Eagle Wing hunts men,” said Otter,
“but they are not deer. A deer does not hunt the hunter and make him a
prisoner.”

           
The medicine man drew a deep breath.
His chest swelled, as though it contained a great, tight volume of anger.
“Yes,” he said deeply. “You have caught me. Now what will you do?”

           
There was no appeal for mercy in the
question. There was only hostile contempt. Sam found himself admiring the
prisoner’s fierce boldness.

           
“Since you have come after us,” said
Sam, “and since we have you for our prisoner, we will ask questions. You will
answer them.”

           
“Ask your questions, white man,”
said Eagle Wing, with the air of a chief granting a favor.

           
“Tell us,” said Sam, “why do you try
to keep me from killing Giluhda, who is the enemy of the Twilight People?”

           
“You say foolish words,” replied
Eagle Wing, coldly accusing in his turn. “I have not tried to keep you from
killing Giluhda. You went out to fight him, and you failed. Your word was no
word at all. You did not keep it.”

           
Sam glanced down at the pieces of
broiling meat, and with his moccasin pushed another stick of wood into the
fire. Then he looked at Eagle Wing again.

           
“I failed in my first fight with
Giluhda, but I am looking for him again. I want to kill him. But why do you
come after me with a bow and arrow?”

           
“Before the council at
Twilight
Town
,” reminded Eagle Wing, “you said I lied. I
wanted to fight you then. But I had accused you before the chief. It was for
him to punish you or let you go free. He let you go. I said nothing more to the
chief about you. I came to find you and fight you.”

           
Sam nodded. From those words he had
learned one piece of good news—plainly Woodpecker was still
chief
at
Twilight
Town
, and Eagle Wing’s expedition in war paint
was not made with the knowledge or wish of the Twilight People as a whole. But
Sam did not betray his pleasure at this realization.

           
“You came to me behind my back,” he
charged. “You wanted to send an arrow at me when I could not see you or fight
you. That is not fighting. That is a coward’s way of war.”

           
Eagle Wing only looked more
disdainful than before. “You and Otter have weapons, and I have none,” he said.
“You sit here and call me a coward. It is a coward’s way to speak insulting
words to a prisoner who cannot fight.”

           
“Give him his weapons, brother,”
Otter begged fiercely. “Let him come outside. He and I will fight. Then we will
see which of the two
is
a coward and a weak fighter.”

           
“No,” said Sam, leaning forward to
turn the spit with the venison. “He talks like that to make us angry, and to
get time to play a trick on us.”

           
Eagle Wing had lapsed into scornful
silence again. He stared straight in front of him, as though he did not hear.

           
“Eagle Wing says he respected Chief
Woodpecker and his right to punish me or set me free,” went on Sam. “But Eagle
Wing lies. Eagle Wing wants to put Chief Woodpecker aside and be chief of the
Twilight People in his place.”

           
Still Eagle Wing gave no hint that
he heard the accusations or cared to answer them.