THE PAGAN’S PROGRESS

FLED HOWLING INTO THE NORTH

[Page 159]

THE
PAGAN’S PROGRESS

By
GOUVERNEUR MORRIS
Author of
“Tom Beauling” and “Aladdin O’Brien”

Illustrated by JOHN RAE

New York
A. S. BARNES & COMPANY
1904

COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
A. S. BARNES & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SEPTEMBER

DEDICATION

To M. B. H. and F. B. H.

Under a wide roof, in the midst of flowers, trees, sunshine, horses, dogs, meat, wine, wit, friendly faces and all good things, whither my affection had brought me at the invitation of yours, this violent story of the Pagan born to darkness, and progressing to the first glimmer of light, was written. But you must do me the further kindness to believe that it is with no thought of squaring accounts that I dedicate it to you. Except in the valvy heart, there is no squaring of accounts among friends; except in that lively organ, there is no bringing of the credits and debits of intercourse to an honest balance and a delicate.

It is my pleasure to owe you far more than I can pay ever. In dedicating this story, it may be that I am adding grossly to that debt. If so, I ask your most lenient consideration. If not, I still ask your consideration—not for the dedication of my Pagan, but for the affection with which he is dedicated. For I believe this: that without affection, the world, Pagan and Christian, would become like unto the tottering moon, “staple in desolation.”

G. M.

PREFACE

Those to whom he had been charitable brought the body of the great hunter to his cave, and laid it within. But first they carried out the clubs and the nets and the fish spears and the war spears, and all that was of use, to be divided among them, for the great hunter would not need such things any more.

Dissolution—decay—dust—nothing. It was thus that they conceived the end of man.

No brutish face in that hairy circle looked upward; no eagle eye saw aught but the cadavre, the cave, the weapons and the surrounding forest. The great hunter was dead; the keen eyes closed, the sensitive ears deaf, the nostrils still.

Bring down the roof of the cave and cover him, close up the mouth of the cave and forget him. He is dead and done for. Give his weapons to those that can use them. The great hands are inert; the mighty thighs have lost their springs. He will run no more on any trail. His hunting is over. He has made his last journey to a dark place and a long sleep.

For you, tribesman, a short span wherein to shout the war cry and swing the club, a little sunlight to see by, a few springs of desire, a few rains, a few snows. The longer the better, for after,—all will be at an end. Like the great hunter, insensate and unaware, you will lie in the dark for the ages of ages.

Wail, tribeswomen and beat your breasts! You shall bring life into the world, but you shall not take life away.

The sleep of life is a good sleep, for man awakens therefrom happy and refreshed. But from the sleep of death there is no awakening. Man born to light, dies into darkness.

Thus it was in the forest ten million years ago.

II

There lies to-day, in the midst of a great house, the body of a man awaiting the last honors which can be rendered to it.

A week ago the doings of that man stirred two countries; two countries, to-day, are shaken by the news of his death. The hundreds to whom he was good and generous, mourn it; those who bore him ill-will are shocked by it; the world regrets it. For all join in remembering that the man, human and frail as other men, was still broad, brilliant and fabulous, a choice and master spirit of his age.

There he lies, the great man, in the midst of his earthly treasures. Presently he will be laid in the narrow house, and they will remain behind. Nothing of the man shall go with him out of the world but that which he brought into the world with him. And tho’ it may be that there is none so presumptuous as to proclaim where and how the man shall arise, yet there are few indeed so obstinate as to believe that he has perished utterly.

For we know that all things move onward and upward. The cell became the ape, the ape became the man, and the man shall become—what? That we must not know clearly. But we must know that it will be something above man, and beyond.

Who is so beholden to life as not to look upon the idea of death with comfort? Not to-morrow, but in the course of years, services and honors? By all means, when the trumpet calls, let us pass comfortably upward into death. For this death is no descent into darkness, but rather a progress of time and soul; and the body of the barren woman shall be fertile in death, and the soul of the wicked man shall be cleansed. And we that were born to darkness shall die into the light.

Thus it is to-day after the schooling of the ages.

III

Read then, how Sunrise, the pagan, was born in the dark, and having suffered at the hands of death, came to see the light glimmering beyond, and the life.

G. M.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I
ONE EYE

Old One Eye sat in the mouth of his cave and blinked. Though he blinked both eyes, he could see only out of one of them. Years ago, when One Eye was called Swift Foot, and could run down a deer in the open, the other had been pierced by a thorn and destroyed.

It was wonderful when you came to look at him, to think that old One Eye ever could have been a swift runner, for his legs were no longer nor bigger than his arms. His body was long, heavily paunched and massive; his head hung forward on his hairy chest and he sat hunched over like an ape.

In truth, One Eye looked very much like an ape. His forehead was flat and retreating, his jaw undershot and powerful, and he was covered with matted hair pretty much all over.

His one eye at times was beady black with intelligence, and the next minute it would waver and become plaintive and unreasoning like the eye of a frightened little child. His manner of life was like his eye.

At times he would behave after a cunningly-thought-out schedule, and the next minute he would be doing something that was purely instinctive.

As he sat in the mouth of his cave blinking, and scratching his stomach with a blunt flint, he was revolving a mighty question. One Eye had a daughter.

According to our notions she was very ugly, but the men of the tribe to which One Eye belonged were after her. It was the mating season and she was of suitable age to pair. She looked like her father, but was not so hairy. Her mother had been eaten by wolves when Maku (for that was the girl’s name) was only a few years old. And so she had been brought up by her father, who was very fond of her. And now that it was time for them to part, he naturally wanted a considerable compensation for the loss of his daughter. She made him very comfortable.

Strong Hand had offered three very finely balanced clubs. You had only to swing one to be confident of getting your man. And One Eye wanted the clubs very dearly. He loved to fight—and get the best of it. But then, Fish Catch, the renowned maker of nets, had offered him one of his best for the girl. And One Eye, who could not make nets himself, knew that his own private net was so rotted as to be useless, and that in order to live comfortably it was necessary to have a net—for a good net meant good food. So he was sadly torn in his mind.

There had been other offers for the girl, but none so glittering. And One Eye had promised on this very afternoon to decide between Strong Hand and Fish Catch.

When they came up, stooping, hairy, bent of knee, and stealthy, the one bearing the net, the other the clubs, One Eye had not come to any decision.

They sat down before him, without salutation, and for some moments blinked and dug at the earth with their toes. Strong Hand was the first to speak.

“With any of these clubs—” he began.

But Fish Catch broke in.

“Clubs!” and grunted. “What are the use of weapons to one that is without means of procuring food. It is well known that One Eye is too old to hunt with success. If he would live he must fish. Now this net—see it is of the best fibre, and knotted as I alone can knot. It will last you twenty years—maybe twenty-five—”

“One Eye,” said Strong Hand, “is first of all a fighter. If he gives me the girl I will see to it that he never wants for food.”

“That is the best talk yet,” said One Eye.

“Then you give her to me?” said Strong Hand.

“Slowly—slowly,” said One Eye. “I must have time to consider. But whom have we here?”

CHAPTER II
NO MAN

The three paused to listen. The intelligent look went out of their eyes, and gave place to the plaintive child look—the animal look.

“That will be No Man,” said Fish Catch presently.

Now if you or I had been in the glade in front of One Eye’s cave, we would not have known that there was anybody but One Eye, Strong Hand and Fish Catch within a hundred miles. But these three men having the acuteness of dogs, had heard footsteps that were half a mile away, and not only that, but they had almost instantly known to whom the footsteps belonged. If the wind had been right, they could have told also by sense of smell.

“He is coming in this direction,” said One Eye.

“He steps stronger with one foot than the other,” said Strong Hand. “He is carrying something heavy.”

“Perhaps No Man wants One Eye’s daughter,” said Fish Catch with an ugly laugh.

“I wonder what he is carrying?” said One Eye.

HE SCRATCHED PICTURES ON BONE

This No Man was so called, because he would neither hunt, fish, make weapons, nets, or marry. Therefore he was No Man. He lived on charity, and scratched pictures on bone. That was the only thing that interested him. He was suffered to live only because he was mysterious and because the tribe liked to go to his cave and look at the pictures when there was nothing better to do.

Presently he came out of the woods, slope-shouldered and long-armed like the others, but not so heavily built, nor so apishly skulled. He seemed, besides, less stealthy, but more timid.

He had tucked under his right arm a huge flat bone. This he laid before One Eye. It was covered with little etched scenes of the chase and of the fight—throughout which a man, palpably having but one eye, deported himself with the utmost heroism—now strangling a bear, and now beating the life out of an enemy.

“This,” said No Man, “is the whole story of One Eye from the beginning. It is the most beautiful picture bone that has ever been made in the world. Sitting alone in my cave, it befell on a time that a great loneliness came upon me. And the woman whose image rose most often before me, was the daughter of One Eye. Therefore I have wrought the bone, sparing no labor, and now I offer it to One Eye for the loss of his daughter. It is a thing which will keep him company in his old age. For to look upon it is to be reminded of his glorious deeds.”

As One Eye examined the picture bone, the intelligence went out of his one eye. It wavered and became plaintive. Reason told him that nets were more valuable than clubs and clubs more valuable than pictures. But desire, which is a thing apart from reason, clamored for the bone.

“I wish this picture bone,” he said presently. “It is of no use, neither is it of any value. Yet I wish it.”

Strong Hand and Fish Catch looked at one another stealthily and then at No Man. It would be impossible to say which sprang upon him first, nor at whose hands he suffered the most. They so choked, beat and clubbed him that he screamed for mercy. One Eye blinked in the mouth of his cave and chuckled.

“Is it enough?” cried Strong Hand presently, “Filthy-do-nothing—Marrowless-bone.”

“It is enough,” said No Man, and they let him go.

Directly he had gained his feet, he ran from that place with incredible swiftness, and howled as he ran.

“The picture bone,” said Fish Catch to One Eye, “is now ours, but knowing that you desire it, we give it to you to be a solace in your old age. And now it remains for you to choose between those admirably balanced but somewhat antiquated clubs which Strong Hand offers and this invaluable net knotted by myself.”

“Fish Catch—Strong Hand,” said One Eye, “I have thought of a way by which we may all be satisfied. The thought came to me when you fell upon No Man. Let each one of you take a club, and at the word fight, the one who wins shall give me his present and take the girl.”

Fish Catch measured Strong Hand with his eye; Strong Hand measured Fish Catch. They nodded, which meant that what the old man said was good talk.

The latter called over his shoulder into the cave.

“Maku, come out! There will be a fight!”

Maku came at once, eagerly. She was, as we have said, the image of her father, only less hairy. She was considered very alluring by the young men of the tribe.

Meanwhile Strong Hand and Fish Catch had each taken a club and backed away from each other.

“Is it about me?” asked Maku.

“It is.”

She laughed happily.

“Fight!” commanded One Eye.

At the word Strong Hand and Fish Catch sprang forward and fell upon each other with roars and blows. There was no question of fence involved, only the ability to hit hardest and take the most punishment. As they fought they became beasts, yelping, snarling, snapping and foaming—totally unlike articulate men. Blows that would have splintered a modern skull to atoms were given and taken. Now the clubs cracked upon bone and now thudded upon muscle. One Eye and Maku roared with laughter and screamed with pleasure. The fight ended with a blow that broke Fish Catch’s forehead into two halves. But, although he fell as if struck by lightning, he did not die at once; he moaned and his lips twitched. His eyes were plaintive and uncomprehending like those of a frightened child. He blinked, too, as he died.

Strong Hand tossed his club down at One Eye’s feet.

“The girl is yours,” said One Eye.

Strong Hand’s eyes glittered and he looked the girl over. He reached forward a vast hairy hand and took her by the shoulders. But she wrenched loose, half laughing, half screaming, and fled into the cave. Strong Hand followed. One Eye chuckled and thought upon the days of his youth.

In the darkness of the cave there was a sudden fierce struggle, a cry of pain from Strong Hand, and Maku, bounding from the entrance, made swiftly down the slope toward the forest. But Strong Hand, bleeding on the shoulder where her teeth had met, was close behind. Swift as she was, he caught up with her in a few bounds and felled her with a blow on the head. Stunned and motionless she lay at his feet.

Strong Hand twined his left hand in her long black hair and dragged her after him until the trees had closed behind them both.

When One Eye had done laughing, for the whole scene had seemed very humorous to him, he gathered together his treasures and hid them in the cave.

“I now have,” he said, “the clubs, the net, the strongest among three for a son-in-law, and also the picture bone. I am, therefore, the richest man in the tribe, save only Moon Face, and than him there is none richer in all the forest.”

When One Eye thought about the clubs his eye flashed and he clinched his hands. When he thought about the net he scratched his stomach—either with hand or foot. But when he thought about the picture bone, the reason went out of his eye, and it became strange and plaintive.

And as for Maku, it was not long before she followed her husband like a dog, whimpering and laughing when he spoke to her, craving his caresses and enjoying his blows.

CHAPTER III
THE BLASTED TREE AND THE BLUE-JAY

No man was very sore because he had been beaten and robbed. Fish Catch being dead, he particularly hated Strong Hand and wanted Strong Hand’s blood. But he was afraid to go and take it, and so he dwelt in his cave and plotted mischief.

And because no artist can work when he is angry, he gave up scratching pictures on bone.

No Man was undoubtedly a coward, but he was very cunning. He had schemes in his head that nobody else had yet thought of. He had the creative spirit.

So far it had been useful only in evolving pictures and ingenious ways of scratching them on bone; but now, so No Man swore, it should evolve him a weapon against which none could stand and his vengeance would be accomplished.

He thought over the different kinds of weapons then in use; clubs with stone-heads, wooden clubs, smooth round stones for throwing, and spears.

These last were just coming into fashion, we may say. They were short, stiff shafts with heads of chipped flint lashed to them with deer sinew, which if put on wet and allowed to dry, shrank and became as tight and hard as wire. No Man thought these over, and resolved to think of something entirely new. Clubs and spears brought you to close quarters, and that was not the way No Man wanted to fight. Throwing stones required a proficiency which he did not possess, and was not often fatal—even at best. He went back to the spear. Why not throw it? This was an entirely new idea. No use. Same business as stones—uncertain.

Then he pictured in his agile mind, how, the spear having missed, Strong Hand would chase him with a club and beat his brains out.

He went so far as to dream this unpleasant scene several times at night. When this happened he howled in his sleep.

No, he must have something entirely new, something that would kill—unerringly—at a good distance. But with all his cleverness, he could not think of just the right thing.

And if his fellow-tribesmen had not been charitable, he would have starved to death while he was thinking.

One day the big nut tree in front of No Man’s cave was struck by lightning, and when he got the courage to go and look, he discovered that it had been split into fine wands, half as big as his wrist. He tried to break one but it would only bend. When he let go it sprang back nearly straight, but not quite because it was sappy and unseasoned.

No Man sat down and thought. His face was all covered with puzzle wrinkles. He knew that he had an idea, but he did not know what it was.

“Never mind,” he said, “I will take some of these sticks and play with them and, perhaps, that idea will come out.”

So with grunts and twists and heaves, he managed to break off half a dozen of the sticks. But it was hard work, for the wood was as tough as hickory—which was just the kind of wood it happened to be.

No Man played with his sticks and became very fond of them. At night he hid them in his cave, but all day he had them out in the sunshine, where he could bend them and let them snap straight, and think about the idea that wouldn’t come out. The dryer the sticks got, the tougher they got, the more bendable and the more springy. Sometimes No Man got angry with his sticks for the very bendiness that he loved in them.

“Why don’t you stay bent, when I bend you?” he said. “Perhaps you don’t think I’m the master here? I’m going to take you”—he addressed the biggest and most refractory—“and bend you and tie your ends together with deer sinew and then you’ll I stay bent.”

He was as good as his word. He lashed one end of the deer sinew to one end of the stick, bent the stick, took a hitch round the other end, and made fast. Then he took the stick by the middle with one hand, the sinew with the other, pulled and let go. The sinew twanged loudly.

“This is a good thing that I have made,” said No Man, and then like a flash the idea that had been struggling in his head came out.

First he looked about cautiously, then he listened, and as he listened his nostrils quivered and you could see that he was scenting as well. There was nobody near. He then fitted a straight stick to the string of his bow, pulled and let fly. The stick sprang into the air, and travelled what seemed a great distance to No Man—but it did not fly true and it wabbled. “That,” he said to himself, “is because the spear is not even all over, and because the twang thing is not properly made. These things require much thought.”

So he thought, and labored and experimented, and hid in his cave and glowed with the joy of creation. In time he had made a proper enough bow. But it was so powerful that no man of our time could have bent it, and No Man chuckled when he saw the power with which it hurled the little equal shafts which he had made.

But they did not fly as straight as he wished. Often the back end of the shaft would somersault over the front end, or the shaft would hit the object aimed at with its side instead of with its point. One day, as he was trying to perfect this part of his weapon, a blue jay came and sat a little way off on the top of a little pine, spread its tail feathers and laughed at him.

“Now I will show you what flying is really like,” he said. And he let fly, and the shaft flew as straight as a bird, but much more swiftly. Then No Man rolled on the ground and laughed. Then he sat up and crooned, a long inarticulate croon of triumph. And he finished up by saying:

“I am the greatest man in the world. Nobody else is nearly as great. There is nobody of whom there is any record that is so great. I will soon kill Strong Hand and take his woman to my cave. It is not good to live alone when one is great. No, I will not take Strong Hand’s woman, I will get a woman that is all new, and she shall be mine. But first I must get some sharp points for these things. And there is no one so clever with flint as No Foot and to him I will go.”

CHAPTER IV
NO MAN AND NO FOOT

And so he hid away his secret invention and started off to the flinty hillside where No Foot had his work shop.

This No Foot had once been a mighty hunter, but as luck would have it a great stone had rolled upon him as he climbed a hill and smashed one of his feet so that it dragged after him. Forced to abandon the chase, he studied how best to work in flint, and became in time so clever that he made the best knives and clubs of which there was any record. He invented the spear. In return for his work, the tribe gave him fish and meat, nuts and berries, so that he lived on the fat of the land and was held in great esteem. But he was a surly old beggar, difficult to approach, avaricious and susceptible to nothing but flattery. He had an ugly old wife who kept cave for him. No Man found No Foot sitting in the midst of his chipped flints, chipping busily. A goodly row of sharp polished knives and spear heads spoke also of his industry. He did not look up as No Man approached tho’ undoubtedly he both heard and smelt him.

No Man squatted directly in front of No Foot, and blinked at him. No Foot blinked at the flint that he was chipping.

“These are the most beautiful flints that I have ever seen,” said No Man presently.

“You are not telling me anything new,” said No Foot in a surly voice. Tho’ he was very much flattered inside.

“But how large they are,” said No Man.

“They are for men,” said No Foot, “not for bone scratchers.”

“I have thought,” said No Man, without taking offence, “that you made them of this size, because you were unable to make them smaller.”

“Unable!” said No Foot, flaring up, “I can make them of any size I choose.”

No Man laughed provokingly.

“Go back to your cave, Do nothing, No Man,” said No Foot. “You are between me and the light. Furthermore your person is offensive and your face of appalling ugliness.”

No Man continued to laugh. Then he addressed the hillside.

“He is angry,” he said. “Ho-Ho—because he can’t make them small. He has three feet and two of them are hands. Ho-Ho. He has three feet but he cannot run on legs. He has two hands but he cannot make little spear heads. He is a lump of mud, a filthy bear, a litterer of the ground. Furthermore, if he were not so humorous to look at, I could not bear the neighborhood of him.”

Even to No Foot this seemed a clever sally, and he could not help laughing.

“Why do you want me to make little spear heads?” he said presently.

“I will tell you,” said No Man, “but do not repeat it. I want them to put on little spears.”

“You have a ready tongue,” said No Foot, “considering that you are a filthy ne’er-do-well.”

“I want three of them,” said No Man.

“And what will you give me in exchange for my time and my flint.”

“I will come sometimes and talk to you,” said No Man.

“You will get a clubbing between the eyes, if you do.”

“I will draw the story of your life on a nice white bone, and give it to you. It will consist entirely of hunts and fights in which you get the best of it.”

“That is something,” said No Foot, and he scratched his stomach thoughtfully.

“I will also,” said No Man, “put in a great many pictures of very beautiful women who have run away from their husbands for desire of you.”

No Foot grinned.

“You shall have the little spear heads.”

“They must be of this bigness,” said No Man, and he showed No Foot just what he wanted.

“And when do I get my bone?”

“I shall labor hard, but it will be some time. When do I get my flints?”

“On the very day that I get my bone.”

“I would like them in two days.”

“You can’t have them—not till I get my bone.”

And No Man was obliged to be content with that. So he ran all the way to his cave, got him a flat, white, clean bone and fell to scratching upon it the totally imaginative life of No Foot, his mighty deeds, and his mighty virtues. When it was finished he carried it to No Foot, and received in exchange three beautiful little spear heads of sea green flint.

“I have no doubt you will become a hunter,” said No Foot politely, for he was pleased with his bone.

“These flints are even better than what I expected from so clever a maker,” said No Man.

“And as for this bone,” said No Foot, “it makes me feel as if I were young again and two-footed.” And so with mutual compliments they parted.

CHAPTER V
THE MOOSE

But No Foot carried the flints to his cave, and fitted them to his arrows, and he fitted feathers to the string ends, and having devoured, raw, a seven pound fish that had been given him (for fire and cooking had not yet been discovered) he lay down and slept till the hour before sunrise.

As he slept, his brow wrinkled and unwrinkled, his hands and feet twitched and contracted. Sometimes he made a noise in his throat that was like growling, sometimes he started as if in fear.

For when the first men dreamed, they dreamed, for the most part, about the ancient ages when they had not been men; of long, cool leaps from tree to tree; of feet that had the grip of strong hands, and of the great fear that had driven them to become men—fear of the other beasts, fear of the night.

That which turned into man, differed only from the other beasts in the acuteness of its sensations. Fear, pain, shadows, and lust. Fear worked upon its intelligence and it survived, where nobler and stronger and more courageous animals perished—the ship-size creatures of the deep, and the mastadon and the mammoth.

Man in his fear found out many inventions by which he proved his fitness to survive. And the battle did not go to the strong.

But when No Man awoke, he did not remember his dreams. He arose, shook himself, took up his bow and his arrows, and trotted into the forest. He trotted with caution, for he wished his secret to be his secret, until the sun stood over his head and he was far from the caves of his tribe. Then he began to hunt.

He had probably less notion of hunting than any member of the tribe, but if we had seen him and had not seen the others, we would have thought him the most astute hunter imaginable.

He had the instinct of the chase, dormant in all of us, but better, he had senses nearly as acute as those of a dog. Eyes that could see in the dark, ears that could hear the rose-leaf footfall of a wolf on soft ground, and a nose that could scent that same wolf half a mile away if the wind blew right.

All the time that he had been running, from sunrise to high noon, his nose and ears had been twitching with the smells and sounds of the forest. But now he ran in a great circle, with his eyes on the ground, and paid strict attention.

Presently clear, deep, black, and shining in the wet, rank ground by a stream, he saw where a moose had stepped. The track pointed into the wind, and was fresh and clear. He followed, twitching and silent.

The track followed the stream bed, and then turned a steep angle and made for the deep shades of the forest, where the moose goes to rest during the heat of the day.

No Man came upon him lying on his side among cool, green bushes. Trees, two hundred feet high and straight as masts, towered above in a twilight of their own making. And there was a mighty hush and silence, the silence of high noon in the forest where no beast stirs save only man.

Then there was a twanging jar and the sound of an arrow cleaving the air and jolting into flesh and muscle.

The great moose rose to his feet, very black, maned, bearded, extended of horn and terrible. He searched for his enemy with little, venomous, blood-shot eyes. But he swayed as he searched, for just behind his fore-shoulder, as if part of him, as if something that had mysteriously grown out of him, there projected a bunch of bright blue feathers, and dark blood throbbed forth like a spring at their root.

UNCONQUERED—BLEEDING TO DEATH

No Man, for he knew that the moose is not good at seeing, had hidden himself among the bushes, and he looked cautiously between the leaves to watch his victim die.

For an hour he did not move. And the moose, save for swaying of the head from side to side, and dartings of his dimming eyes, did not move either. He stood grandly in his tracks, arrogant, fearless, unconquered, and bleeding to death. At the end of the hour he had staggered and recovered. But he only stiffened his legs and held his head the more proudly.

A little later, dizziness overcame him and he fell like a thing struck. But instantly he sprang to his feet, alert and menacing. But he knew that the end was near.

Once he turned his head and sniffed at the thing that was killing him—not angrily, not even impatiently, but curiously, to see what it was. Then when he felt that unsupported he must fall, he walked slowly and quietly to a great tree and leaned against it.

He remained there till late in the afternoon, then his knees buckled, and he fell, and when No Man went to him, he was dead.

No Man drew the arrow from the moose and withdrawing a little distance shot it into him again, together with his two other arrows. And he kept this up till dark; for it was in his mind that it would be best not to miss when it came to shooting at Strong Hand.

When night came, No Man tore meat from the moose and ate till he was full; then he went back to the stream and drank deep; then he returned to the moose’s carcass and, lying against it, slept.

Wolves came up thro’ the forest, and looked longingly at the dead moose, and smelt him—at a safe distance; but it was the summer season and they were not hungry enough to run straight into the smell of man. And they withdrew, coughing, whining, snarling, and returned again to feast in imagination.

When the moon rose, they went to an open space in the forest and howled dismally, so that No Man twitching as to ears and nose awoke. It was some little time before he composed himself to sleep, for his mind was teeming with thoughts. But he did not think of Strong Hand and woman and revenge as had been his wont of late. He thought rather of the pictures that he made upon bone, for what little soul he had was the soul of an artist. And he planned in the dark of the night, how upon a great, clean bone, the shovel of its own antlers, he would inscribe the moose with the arrow in him, standing arrogantly among the bushes as he bled to death, and leaning unconquered against the tree. Then fear of the night descended upon No Man, and he closed his eyes and slept—twitching, coughing and snarling as the dreams of ancient days possessed him.

But when he awakened in the strong light of day, he thought of the bow and arrows which he had made, of how he was going to hunt man, and of the sweetness which is revenge. But he put off that hunt until another day.

CHAPTER VI
SHE WOLF

She Wolf was the name of a woman. She lived in a cave of her own, and supported herself by hunting and fishing. Men had wooed her, but had been so ferociously rejected, that they had been content thereafter to leave her strictly alone.

She could run, swim, climb, use the club or jab the spear nearly as well as a man, and it was said that she lived apart because she was barren and ashamed. She was long of arm and flank, deep-breasted, deep-bellied, hairy and powerful. No Man cast his eyes upon this woman, who was more man than himself, and desired her. He hung about her cave, as a bear hangs about a tree full of honey—and bees. He stuck bright feathers in his hair and smiled and nodded whenever she cast a glance in his direction. He scratched upon bone scenes in which she figured as a heroine and he left them in places where she would find them. He grew sick with lust and forgot all about Strong Hand and the vengeance which was ripe. He made attempts to enter into conversation with her, only to be cut short.

The less his suit prospered the more keenly did he wage it. But when he found that ordinary methods were of no avail, he turned to that old friend of his, cunning, and thought out a plan.

Early upon a morning before the sun had risen, he took his bow and arrows, and went in silence and sat down before the mouth of She Wolf’s cave. Then he laid his arrows on the ground and began to twang the string of his bow. At the first twang, She Wolf woke twitching; at the second, she crawled to a place where she could see what was going on outside the cave and yet not be seen.

When she saw that it was only No Man, playing the fool, with a bent stick and a stretched skin, she was disgusted.

No Man knew perfectly well that he was being watched, and so the next time he twanged the bow, he closed his eyes and rolled his head, as if pleasure unutterable possessed him. Then She Wolf’s curiosity was aroused and she came out of the cave, and in the white mist of the morning she seemed wonderfully alluring to No Man, so that little shivers ran thro’ him.

But he twanged his string and pretended that he found it more interesting than the woman.

“This is something that I do not understand,” said She Wolf to herself. And aloud, “What are you doing, No Man?” It was the first time she had ever spoken to him.

“This string,” said No Man, without looking up, “is telling me how to get all the things that I wish; the beasts of the forest, the blood of my enemies, and the woman I desire.”

“It is telling you lies, then,” said She Wolf. “For altho’ it may go on talking ’till night, it will not tell you how to get me.”

“Listen,” said No Man, and he twanged the string.

“Well?” said She Wolf.

“It has just told me how to get you,” said No Man.

“Then it is still lying,” said She Wolf. “For I do not wish to go to your cave and I am stronger than you.”

“That is as it may be,” said No Man, and he twanged his string, and closed his eyes, and rocked his head.

“Let me see it,” said She Wolf.

“You do not understand it,” said No Man, “and it would turn against you.”

“I am not afraid,” said She Wolf, but she did not speak the whole truth.

“In my hands,” said No Man, “this thing is stronger than any man or beast, but in another’s hands it is only a bent stick and a length of stretched hide.”

“I do not believe you,” said She Wolf, but she half believed.

“Let us hunt together,” said No Man, “and I will show you.”

She Wolf went into the cave and came out with her club and her spear and her flint knife.

“I am ready,” she said.

CHAPTER VII
THE WOOING OF SHE WOLF

And so they trotted into the forest. But She Wolf ran ahead of No Man to show that she was not afraid of him.

Old One Eye, who was just awake, heard them as they passed up the valley below his cave. And he said, “that is No Man and he is running with She Wolf, I do not see why she has accepted the advances of such a weak good-for-nothing. He will make her do the hunting while he sits in the cave and scratches on bone.”

She Wolf and No Man trotted steadily for two hours until they had come to a good hunting ground. And as they ran their noses and ears twitched.

Presently and of one accord they stopped, and She Wolf pointed to a dense thicket of alders that stood about a pool of a stream. They could hear the occasional clink of hoofs on submerged stones, and a sound of cropping and munching.

She Wolf and No Man dropped to the ground, and crawled to the alders and into them as silently as two serpents. A buck with a fine head was wading in the midst of the pool and feeding among the lily pads.

There was no way in which She Wolf could get at him with club or spear, and she had about made up her mind to rush into the pool, on the chance of striking before he could get away. But it was a poor chance and she knew it. Still she gathered herself to spring, and just then—twang—she turned with a snarl, for she had forgotten all about No Man and his bent stick. No Man was looking innocently at his right hand, and holding the bow in his left.

“You don’t even know enough to keep still,” said She Wolf angrily, “no wonder everybody despises you.”

“Look in the pool,” said No Man imperturbably.

The open place that the buck had occupied among the lily pads, was red and oily with blood. But the buck had gone.

“He went out upon the other side,” said No Man. “Let us follow him.”

So they waded thro’ the pool and the stones clicked under their feet, but this time it was No Man who went ahead.

Here and there the leaves of the alders were splashed with blood, and some of the sharp tracks that the buck had made as he leaped were full of blood.

The track led out of the alders, across a gray marsh and into a thicket of beechnut bushes and wild raspberries.

Out of the midst of this thicket the buck suddenly sprang, clear to the hooves, and leaped away. His antlers were laid back on his shoulders and he made a noise that was between a whimper and a scream.

They came upon him further on in another thicket, but he could not get up, he could only look at them with his great brown eyes, and tremble.

There was a bunch of blue feathers that seemed to be sprouting from his side. Every now and then the buck turned his head and licked the feathers with his rough tongue.

She Wolf was now thoroughly afraid of No Man and she was sorry she had come into the forest with him. Therefore, to give herself heart she stepped forward and hit the buck a terrible blow with her club, right between the eyes.

“Take your knife and cut off some meat,” said No Man, “for it is a good time to eat.”

She Wolf did what she was told, and for the first time in her life. When they had eaten as much as they could, No Man said:

“Now, we will go and drink.”

They found a place above the alder pool, where the brook grass was sweet and soft to lie in, and the brook tinkled clear and cold among the stones.

No Man lay on his belly and drank till he swelled. Presently he rose with dripping face and mouth.

“When I have drank,” said She Wolf, “I shall sleep as is my custom. But if you come near me, I will take my club to you.”

“Drink,” said No Man.

She Wolf placed her club and her spear and her knife carefully to one side, and lay down to drink. When she had finished she started to rise, pushing against the ground with her hands. But No Man who had possessed himself secretly of the club, now brought it down on her head so that she pitched face downward into the stream.

No Man dragged her out and waited patiently for her to recover consciousness.

After a time she came to, but she was dazed and looked about uncomprehendingly.

“Which is the stronger of us?” said No Man. Then She Wolf knew that No Man had struck her, and she sprang at him furiously, her big sharp teeth flashing, and her lips curling. But her hands were empty and No Man struck her again with the club.

“They are all alike,” he repeated as she lay for the second time insensible on the grass. “Some are stronger than others, but no one of them is so strong as a man.”

As she lay insensible, her lips twitched and she groaned.

“She will not wish to fight with me any more,” said No Man.

She opened her eyes. But they were not the eyes of a woman; they were those of a frightened animal.

“Which is the stronger of us,” said No Man.

“You are the stronger,” said She Wolf.

And she crawled to his feet, whining and moaning.

“Will you come and live in my cave?” said No Man.

But She Wolf was not yet conquered, and she made a crafty snatch for the club. Failing in this she flung herself on the ground, for she made sure No Man would kill her.