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The Story of Ab

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The winter following the establishment of Ab's real companionship with
Old Mok, as it chanced, was not a hard one. There fell snow enough for
tracking, but not so deeply as to incommode the hunter. There had been a
wonderful nut-fall in the autumn and the cave was stored with such
quantity of this food that there was no chance of real privation. The ice
was clean upon the river and through the holes hacked with stone axes
fish were dragged forth in abundance upon the rude bone and stone hooks,
which served their purpose far better than when, in summer time, the line
was longer and the fish escaped so often from the barbless implements. It
was a great season in all that made a cave family's life something easy
and complacent and vastly promotive of the social amenities and the
advancement of art and literature--that is, they were not compelled to
make any sudden raid on others to assure the means of subsistence, and
there was time for the carving of bones and the telling of strange
stories of the past. The elders declared it one of the finest winters
they had ever known.

And so Old Mok and Ab worked well that winter and the youth acquired such
wisdom that his casual advice to Oak when the two were out together was
something worth listening to because of its confidence and ponderosity.
Concerning flint scraper, drill, spearhead, ax or bone or wooden haft,
there was, his talk would indicate, practically nothing for the boy to
learn. That was his own opinion, though, as he grew older, he learned to
modify it greatly. With his adviser he had made good weapons and some
improvements; yet all this was nothing. It was destined that an
accidental discovery should be his, the effect of which would be to
change the cave man's rank among living things. But the youth, just now,
was greatly content with himself. He was older and more modest when he
made his great discovery.

It was when the fire blazed out at night, when all had fed, when the
tired people lay about resting, but not ready yet for sleep, and the
story of the day's events was given, that Old Mok's ordinarily still
tongue would sometimes loosen and he would tell of what happened when he
was a boy, or of the strange tales which had been told him of the time
long past, the times when the Shell and Cave people were one, times when
there were monstrous things abroad and life was hard to keep. To all
these legends the hearers listened wonderingly, and upon them afterward
Ab and Oak would sometimes speculate together and question as to their
truth.




CHAPTER XII.


OLD MOK'S TALES.

It was worth while listening to Old Mok when he forgot himself and talked
and became earnestly reminiscent in telling of what he had seen or had
heard when he was young. One day there had been trouble in the cave, for
Bark, left in charge, had neglected the fire and it had "gone out," and
upon the return of his parents there had been blows and harsh language,
and then much pivotal grinding together of dry sticks before a new flame
was gained, and it was only after the odor of cooked flesh filled the
place and strong jaws were busy that the anger of One-Ear had abated and
the group became a comfortable one. Ab had come in hungry and the value of
fire, after what had happened, was brought to his mind forcibly. He laid
himself down upon the cave's floor near Old Mok, who was fashioning a
shaft of some sort, and, as he lay, poked his toes at Beechleaf, who
chuckled and gurgled as she rolled about, never for a moment relinquishing
a portion of the slender shin bone of a deer, upon the flesh of which the
family had fed. It was a short piece but full of marrow, and the child
sucked and mumbled away at it in utmost bliss. Ab thought, somehow, of how
poor would have been the eating with the meat uncooked, and looked at his
hands, still reddened--for it was he who had twisted the stick which made
the fire again. "Fire is good!" he said to Mok.

The old man kept his flint scraper going for a moment or two before he
answered; then he grunted:

"Yes, it's good if you don't get burned. I've been burned," and he thrust
out an arm upon which appeared a cicatrice.

Ab was interested. "Where did you get that?" he queried.

"Far from here, far beyond the black swamp and the red hills that are
farther still. It was when I was strong."

"Tell me about it," said the youth.

"There is a fire country," answered Old Mok, "away beyond the swamp and
woods and the place of the big rocks. It is a wonderful place. The fire
comes out of the ground in long sheets and it is always the same. The rain
and the snow do not stop it. Do I not know? Have I not seen it? Did I not
get this scar going too near the flame and stumbling and falling against a
hot rock almost within it? There is too much fire sometimes!"

The old man continued: "There are many places of fire. They are to the
east and south. Some of the Shell People who have gone far down the river
have seen them. But the one where I was burned is not so far away as they;
it is up the river to the northwest."

And Ab was interested and questioned Old Mok further about the strange
region where flames came from the ground as bushes grow, and where snow or
water did not make them disappear. He was destined, at a later day, to be
very glad that he had learned the little that was told him. But to-night
he was intent only on getting all the tales he could from the veteran
while he was in the mood. "Tell about the Shell People," he cried, "and
who they are and where they came from. They are different from us."

"Yes, they are different from us," said Old Mok, "but there was a time, I
have heard it told, when we were like them. The very old men say that
their grandfathers told them that once there were only Shell People
anywhere in this country, the people who lived along the shores and who
never hunted nor went far away from the little islands, because they were
afraid of the beasts in the forests. Sometimes they would venture into the
wood to gather nuts and roots, but they lived mostly on the fish and
clams. But there came a time when brave men were born among them who said
they would have more of the forest things, and that they would no longer
stay fearfully upon the little islands. So they came into the forest and
the Cave Men began. And I think this story true."

"I think it is true," Old Mok continued, "because the Shell People, you
can see, must have lived very long where they are now. Up and down the
creek where they live and along other creeks there lie banks of earth
which are very long and reach far back. And this is not really earth, but
is all made up of shells and bones and stone spearheads and the things
which lie about a Shell Man's place. I know, for I have dug into these
long banks myself and have seen that of which I tell. Long, very long,
must the Shell People have lived along the creeks and shores to have made
the banks of bones and shells so high."

And Old Mok was right. They talk of us as the descendants of an Aryan
race. Never from Aryan alone came the drifting, changing Western being of
to-day. But a part of him was born where bald plains were or where were
olive trees and roses. All modern science, and modern thoughtfulness, and
all later broadened intelligence are yielding to an admission of the fact
that he, though of course commingling with his visitors of the ages, was
born and changed where he now exists. The kitchen-midden--the name given
by scientists to refuse from his dwelling places--the kitchen-middens of
Denmark, as Denmark is to-day, alone, regardless of other fields, suffice
to tell a wondrous story. Imagine a kitchen-midden, that is to say the
detritus of ordinary living in different ages, accumulated along the side
of some ancient water course, having for its dimensions miles in length,
extending hundreds of yards back from the margin of this creek, of tens
and tens of thousands of years ago, and having a depth of often many feet
along this water course. Imagine this vast deposit telling the history of
a thousand centuries or more, beginning first with the deposit of clams
and mussel shells and of the shells of such other creatures as might
inhabit this river seeking its way to the North Sea. Imagine this deposit
increasing year after year and century by century, but changing its
character and quality as it rose, and the base is laid for reasoning.

At first these creatures who ranged up and down the ancient Danish creek
and devoured the clams and periwinkles must have been, as one might say,
but little more than surely anthropoid. Could such as these have migrated
from the Asiatic plateaus?

The kitchen-middens tell the early story with greater accuracy than could
any writer who ever lifted pen. Here the creek-loving, ape-like creatures
ranged up and down and quelled their appetites. They died after they had
begotten sons and daughters; and to these sons and daughters came an added
intelligence, brought from experience and shifting surroundings. The
kitchen-middens give graphic details. The bottom layer, as has been said,
is but of shells. Above it, in another layer, counting thousands of years
in growth, appear the cracked bones of then existing animals and appear
also traces of charred wood, showing that primitive man had learned what
fire was. And later come the rudely carved bones of the mammoth and woolly
rhinoceros and the Irish elk; then come rude flint instruments, and later
the age of smoothed stone, with all its accompanying fossils, bones and
indications; and so on upward, with a steady sweep, until close to the
surface of this kitchen-midden appear the bronze spear, the axhead and the
rude dagger of the being who became the Druid and who is an ancestor whom
we recognize. From the kitchen-midden to the pinnacle of all that is great
to-day extends a chain not a link of which is weak.

"They tell strange stories, too, the Shell People," Old Mok continued,
"for they are greater story-tellers than the Cave Men are, more of them
being together in one place, and the old men always tell the tales to the
children so that they are never forgotten by any of the people. They say
that once huge things came out of the great waters and up the creeks, such
as even the big cave tiger dare not face. And the old men say that their
grandfathers once saw with their own eyes a monster serpent many times as
large as the one you two saw, which came swimming up the creek and seized
upon the river horses there and devoured them as easily as the cave bear
would a little deer. And the serpent seized upon some of the Cave People
who were upon the water and devoured them as well, though such as they
were but a mouthful to him. And this tale, too, I believe, for the old
Shell Men who told me what their grandfathers had seen were not of the
foolish sort."

"But of another sort of story they have told me," Mok continued, "I think
little. The old men tell of a time when those who went down the river to
the greater river and followed it down to the sea, which seems to have no
end, saw what no man can see to-day. But they do not say that their
grandfathers saw these things. They only say that their grandfathers told
of what had been told them by their grandfathers farther back, of a story
which had come down to them, so old that it was older than the great trees
were, of monstrous things which swam along the shores and which were not
serpents, though they had long necks and serpent heads, because they had
great bodies which were driven by flippers through the water as the beaver
goes with his broad feet. And at the same time, the old story goes, were
great birds, far taller than a man, who fed where now the bustards and the
capercailzie are. And these tales I do not believe, though I have seen
bones washed from the riversides and hillsides by the rains which must
have come from creatures different from those we meet now in the forests
or the waters. They are wonderful story-tellers, the old men of the Shell
People."

"And they tell other strange stories," continued the old man. "They say
that very long ago the cold and ice came down, and all the people and
animals fled before it, and that the summer was cold as now the winter is,
and that the men and beasts fled together to the south, and were there for
a long time, but came back again as the cold and ice went back. They say,
too, that in still later times, the fireplaces where the flames came out
of great cracks in the earth were in tens of places where they are in one
now, and that, even in the ice time, the flames came up, and that the ice
was melted and then ran in rivers to the sea. And these things I do not
believe, for how can men tell of what there was so long ago? They are but
the gabblings of the old, who talk so much."

Many other stories the veteran told, but what most affected Ab was his
account of the vale of fire. He hoped to see it sometime.




CHAPTER XIII.


AB'S GREAT DISCOVERY.

It may be that never in what was destined to be a life of many changes was
Ab happier than in this period of his lusty boyhood and early manhood,
when there was so much that was new, when he was full of hope and
confidence and of ambition regarding what a mighty hunter and great man he
would become in time. As the years passed he was not less indefatigable in
his experiments, and the day came when a marvelous success followed one of
them, although, like most inventions, it was suggested in the most trivial
and accidental manner.

It chanced one afternoon that Ab, a young man of twenty now, had returned
early from the wood and was lying lazily upon the sward near the cave's
entrance, while, not far away, Bark and the still chubby Beechleaf were
rolling about. The boy was teasing the girl at times and then doing
something to amuse or awe her. He had found a stiff length of twig and was
engaged in idly bending the ends together and then letting them fly apart
with a snap, meanwhile advancing toward and threatening with the impact
the half-alarmed but wholly delighted Beechleaf. Tired of this, at last,
Bark, with no particular intent, drew forth from the pouch in his skin
cloak a string of sinew, and drawing the ends of the strong twig somewhat
nearly together, attached the cord to each, thus producing accidentally a
petty bow of most rotund proportions. He found that the string twanged
joyously, and, to the delight of Beechleaf, kept twanging it for such time
as his boyish temperament would allow a single occupation. Then he picked
from the ground a long, slender pencil of white wood, a sliver, perhaps,
from the making of a spear shaft, and began strumming with it upon the
taut sinew string. This made a twang of a new sort, and again the boy and
girl were interested temporarily. But, at last, even this variation of
amusement with the new toy became monotonous, and Bark ceased strumming
and began a series of boyish experiments with his plaything. He put one
end of the stick against the string and pushed it back until the other end
would press against the inside of the twig, and the result would be a
taut, new figure in wood and string which would keep its form even when
laid upon the ground. Bark made and unmade the thing a time or two, and
then came great disaster. He had drawn the little stick, so held in the
way we now call arrowwise, back nearly to the point where its head would
come inside the bent twig and there fix itself, when the slight thing
escaped his hands and flew away.

The quiet of the afternoon was broken by a piercing childish yell which
lacked no element of earnestness. Ab leaped to his feet and was by the
youngsters in a moment. He saw the terrified Beechleaf standing, screaming
still, with a fat arm outheld, from which dangled a little shaft of wood
which had pierced the flesh just deeply enough to give it hold. Bark stood
looking at her, astonished and alarmed. Understanding nothing of the
circumstances, and supposing the girl's hurt came from Bark's careless
flinging of sticks toward her, Ab started toward his brother to administer
one of those buffets which were so easy to give or get among cave
children. But Bark darted behind a convenient tree and there shrieked out
his innocence of dire intent, just as the boy of to-day so fluently
defends himself in any strait where castigation looms in sight. He told of
the queer plaything he had made, and offered to show how all had happened.

Ab was doubtful but laughing now, for the little shaft, which had scarcely
pierced the skin of Beechleaf's arm had fallen to the ground and that
young person's fright had given way to vengeful indignation and she was
demanding that Bark be hit with something. He allowed the sinner to give
his proof. Bark, taking his toy, essayed to show how Beechleaf had been
injured. He was the most unfortunate of youths. He succeeded but too well.
The mimic arrow flew again and the sound that rang out now was not the cry
of a child. It was the yell of a great youth, who felt a sudden and
poignant hurt, and who was not maintaining any dignity. Had Bark been as
sure of hand and certain of aim as any archer who lived in later centuries
he could not have sent an arrow more fairly to its mark than he sent that
admirable sliver into the chest of his big brother. For a second the
culprit stood with staring eyes, then dropped his toy and flew into the
forest with a howl which betokened his fear of something little less than
sudden death.

Ab's first impulse was to pursue his sinful younger brother, but, after
the first leap, he checked himself and paused to pluck away the thing
which, so light the force that had impelled it, had not gone deeply in. He
knew now that Bark was really blameless, and, picking up the abandoned
plaything, began its examination thoughtfully and curiously.

The young man's instinct toward experiment exhibited itself as usual and
he put the splinter against the string and drew it back and let it fly as
he had seen Bark do--that promising sprig, by the way, being now engaged
in peering from the wood and trying to form an estimate as to whether or
not his return was yet advisable. Ab learned that the force of the bent
twig would throw the sliver farther than he could toss it with his hand,
and he wondered what would follow were something like this plaything, the
device of which Bark had so stumbled upon, to be made and tried on a
greater scale. "I'll make one like it, only larger," he said to himself.

The venturesome but more or less diplomatic Bark had, by this time,
emerged from the wood and was apprehensively edging up toward the place
where Ab was standing. The older brother saw him and called to him to come
and try the thing again and the youngster knew that he was safe. Then the
two toyed with the plaything for an hour or two and Ab became more and
more interested in its qualities. He had no definite idea as to its
possibilities. He thought only of it as a curious thing which should be
larger.

The next day Ab hacked from a low-limbed tree a branch as thick as his
finger and about a yard in length, and, first trimming it, bent it as Bark
had bent the twig and tied a strong sinew cord across. It was a not
discreditable bow, considering the fact that it was the first ever made,
though one end was smaller than the other and it was rough of outline.
Then Ab cut a straight willow twig, as long nearly as the bow, and began
repeating the experiments of the day before. Never was man more astonished
than this youth after he had drawn the twig back nearly to its head and
let it go!

So drawn by a strong arm, the shaft when released flew faster and farther
than the maker of what he thought of chiefly as a thing of sport had
imagined could be possible. He had long to search for the headless arrow
and when he found it he went away to where were bare open stretches, that
he might see always where it fell. Once as he sent it from the string it
struck fairly against an oak and, pointless as it was, forced itself
deeply into the hard brown bark and hung there quivering. Then came to the
youth a flash of thought which had its effect upon the ages: "What if
there had been a point to the flying thing and it had struck a reindeer or
any of the hunted animals?"

He pulled the shaft from the tree and stood there pondering for a moment
or two, then suddenly started running toward the cave. He must see Old
Mok!

The old man was at work and alone and the young man told him, somewhat
excitedly, why he had thus come running to him. The elder listened with
some patience but with a commiserating grin upon his face. He had heard
young men tell of great ideas before, of a new and better way of digging
pits, or of fishing, or making deadfalls for wild beasts. But he listened
and yielded finally to Ab's earnest demand that he should hobble out into
the open and see with his own eyes how the strung bow would send the
shaft. They went together to an open space, and again and again Ab showed
to his old friend what the new thing would do. With the second shot there
came a new light into the eyes of the veteran hunter and he bade Ab run to
the cave and bring back with him his favorite spear. The young man was
back as soon as strong legs could bring him, and when he burst into the
open he found Mok standing a long spear's cast from the greatest of the
trees which stood about the opening.

"Throw your spear at the tree," said Mok. "Throw strongly as you can."

Ab hurled the spear as the Zulu of later times might hurl his assagai, as
strongly and as well, but the distance was overmuch for spear throwing
with good effect, and the flint point pierced the wood so lightly that the
weight of the long shaft was too great for the holding force and it sank
slowly to the ground and pulled away the head. A wild beast struck by the
spear at such distance would have been sorely pricked, but not hurt
seriously.

"Now take the plaything," said Old Mok, "and throw the little shaft at the
tree with that."

Ab did as he was told, and, poor marksman with his new device, of course
missed the big tree repeatedly, broad as the mark was, but when, at last,
the bolt struck the hard trunk fairly there was a sound which told of the
sharpness of the blow and the headless shaft rebounded back for yards. Old
Mok looked upon it all delightedly.

"It may be there is something to your plaything," he said to the young
man. "We will make a better one. But your shaft is good for nothing. We
will make a straighter and stronger one and upon the end of it will put a
little spearhead, and then we can tell how deeply it will go into the
wood. We will work."

For days the two labored earnestly together, and when they came again into
the open they bore a stronger bow, one tapered at the end opposite the
natural tapering of the branch, so that it was far more flexible and
symmetrical than the one they had tried before. They had abundance of ash
and yew and these remained the good bow wood of all the time of archery.
And the shaft was straight and bore a miniature spearhead at its end. The
thought of notching the shaft to fit the string came naturally and
inevitably. The bow had its first arrow.

An old man is not so easily affected as a young one, nor so hopeful, but
when the second test was done the veteran Mok was the wilder and more
delighted of the two who shot at the tree in the forest glade. He saw it
all! No longer could the spear be counted as the thing with which to do
most grievous hurt at a safe distance from whatever might be dangerous.
With the better bow and straighter shaft the marksmanship improved; even
for these two callow archers it was not difficult to hit at a distance of
a double spear's cast the bole of the huge tree, two yards in width at
least. And the arrow whistled as if it were a living thing, a hawk seeking
its prey, and the flint head was buried so deeply in the wood that both
Mok and Ab knew that they had found something better than any weapon the
cave men had ever known!

There followed many days more of the eager working of the old man and the
young one in the cave, and there was much testing of the new device, and
finally, one morning, Ab issued forth armed with his ax and knife, but
without his spear. He bore, instead, a bow which was the best and
strongest the two had yet learned to fashion, and a sheaf of arrows slung
behind his back in a quiver made of a hollow section of a mammoth's leg
bone which had long been kicked about the cave. The two workers had
drilled holes in the bone and passed thongs through and made a wooden
bottom to the thing and now it had found its purpose. The bow was rude, as
were the arrows, and the archer was not yet a certain marksman, though he
had practiced diligently, but the bow was stiff, at least, and the arrows
had keen heads of flint and the arms of the hunter were strong as was the
bow.

There was a weary and fruitless search for game, but late in the afternoon
the youth came upon a slight, sheer descent, along the foot of which ran a
shallow but broad creek, beyond which was a little grass-grown valley,
where were feeding a fine herd of the little deer. They were feeding in
the direction of the creek and the wind blew from them to the hunter, so
that no rumor of their danger was carried to them on the breeze. Ab
concealed himself among the bushes on the little height and awaited what
might happen. The herd fed slowly toward him.

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