Читать книгу Kutnar, Son of Pic - George Langford - Страница 4

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Gonch toiled until dusk making ready for the beginning of his undertaking on the morrow. His was no small task and he overlooked nothing in the way of preparation. Those were days when even a short journey invited many dangers and privations, particularly for one travelling alone. Men went about in small bands as a rule and rarely ventured far from their caves. And yet knowing all this, the Muskman was determined to carry out the bold project he had planned.

His equipment consisted of a hide, a wooden javelin with fire-hardened point and a flint-ax. The latter, his main reliance, was his recently acquired blade bound to a long wooden haft. He had spent much time upon this his masterpiece. “No man with such a weapon need starve,” he calculated. Had Gonch thought otherwise, he would never have considered making the journey. The hide he carried was intended as a body covering when he stopped at night to rest. Provisions he had none because the Castillan larder was as bare as a bone. He must depend upon his own hunting from the very start.

At sunrise the next day, he stood at the cave-mouth fully equipped for his perilous undertaking. He warmed himself by the fire which burned at the threshold. This was to be the last time he did so for many a long day. Fire meant health and comfort; more than that, frequently it was all that stood between the cave-men and death. Men treasured it even more than they did their lives. Gonch was now leaving his one and only true friend: the fire that blazed upon the cave-hearth.

Every Castillan was on hand to bid the Muskman farewell. The children, those which famine and disease had spared, looked upon him wonderingly. The women admired. The men had caught the spirit of this adventure. Any or all of them would have been glad to accompany him, had he but said the word. But the word was not said. This was a one-man project requiring much thought and care for its successful execution and Gonch would trust nobody but himself. His was a bold undertaking which promised rich returns if successful. He was to see the Mammoth Man in person and persuade or force that wonderful being to return to Castillo with him. Once there, he would make flint weapons for his new masters and the whole tribe would prosper accordingly. It was an admirable conception. All that remained was for the Muskman to carry it out.

As he left the fire, the cave-men pressed about him to wish him good luck. Totan alone stood aloof scowling ferociously. He was chief of the Castillans and Gonch only second man but in the latter he saw possibilities of a dangerous rival; not one whom he need fear in single combat but who might accomplish by chicanery what he could not do by force. The hetman was saying to himself: “You have undertaken too much, vain boaster. If you are lucky enough to escape death in the far-off country, you will find it here when you return to disappoint us”; and Gonch was thinking at the same time as he observed the hetman glaring at him: “I am not risking my life for you, stupid pig. Some day you and all the rest of these savages will be my slaves.” Then he turned away and clambered down the mountain side while the men of Castillo yelled themselves hoarse and finally returned to the fire to warm themselves, leaving the Muskman to go the rest of his way alone.

His path led directly eastward along the northern slopes of the Cantabrian Mountains. It was a strange country to him, once he had travelled several days journey beyond the province of Castillo. Its inhabitants—men and beasts—were strange too and looked askance at the intruder—a lone man armed with a flint-ax and wooden spear. However, Gonch led a charmed life. He met occasional bands of roving hunters, some of which he fled from and others avoided by concealing himself.

Animals were far more numerous than human beings. Gonch encountered them everywhere and at all times, singly and in groups, packs and herds: horse, bison and long-horned ox of the meadow lands; moose, boar and stag of the forests; and various other lesser creatures of field, hill and glade. As a rule, all grazing and browsing animals made a practice of avoiding the rough country where rocks, hills and thickets abounded, for in such regions all manner of flesh-eaters made their homes. It was not a fellow feeling that attracted the cannibal man to the rough country. He felt more at home there because it suited his physical being best. This refers mainly to his foot structure. Short heels and flexible toes were best fitted for clambering over cliffs and through the timber; not for travelling hard level roads. And so Gonch sought the broken region which, although his favorite element, had its drawbacks, for now he came in close contact with the prowling flesh-eaters.

Hyenas were too cowardly to attack him and lynxes, which usually hunted singly, he looked upon as a fair match because of his flint-ax; a formidable weapon in the hands of a strong and courageous man. Gonch was a strong and courageous man who feared no beast nor human being, Totan alone excepted. His knowledge of woodcraft, powers of scent, sight and hearing were a match for any animal. These gifts in addition to his human wit and cunning carried him through many apparently hopeless situations.

A fortnight of incessant plodding brought him to a broad pass running through the Cantabrians from north to south. A river flowed through it to the Gascon Gulf. As he stood upon the bank of this river, his sharp ears caught the sound of distant howls coming from behind him. Far away he saw a group of animals, mere specks racing over the hills and after him full cry. Fastening his hide and weapons about his shoulders in a pack so as to leave his arms free, Gonch waded into the river and swam across. On nearing the eastern shore, he made no effort to continue his flight, not even attempting a landing but remaining in the water which reached to above his knees. Here he rid himself of his spear and hide, tossing them to the bank above his head. Thus free of all encumbrance except his ax, he rested and made ready to defend himself.

The howling grew louder and as the fugitive looked to the west bank from whence he had come, he saw a dozen or more wolves tearing down the slopes to where he had first entered the water. Here the trail was lost and for a time the fierce beasts were at fault running up and down near the water’s edge and occasionally stopping to look across the river; but finally all waded in and the flotilla of heads came sailing across the stream. Gonch stood motionless in the water awaiting them, holding his ax in his jaws and with a stone snatched from the river bottom, held in either hand. As the pack came within throwing range, they were greeted with a volley of stones, one following another as fast as Gonch could pluck them from the river-bed. This was more than his assailants had bargained for. Many of the missiles reached their marks and the howls changed to yelps of pain. The wolves of the mountain slopes were a poor lot compared with their giant cousins, the Cave and Timber variety, or the Muskman would probably have been obliged to finally decide the issue at close quarters with the flint-ax. However, in the present circumstances, this proved unnecessary. His enemies, although having stomach for food, had little for fighting and were only too glad to swim back the way they had come as soon as they found themselves getting the worst of it.

Gonch and the Wolves

Finding himself in no further immediate danger, Gonch climbed the bank, recovered his spear and hide and then resumed his journey. Near the eastern terminus of the Cantabrians, a region of rocks and ravines, he was obliged to pass through the lion country. This was by far the most difficult and most dangerous portion of his journey. It would appear that the good fortune he had experienced thus far was about to desert him, for just when he needed his wits and strength most, an attack of mountain influenza sapped his vitality and almost destroyed his power of scent. He strove to continue but finding the task too great while the malady was upon him, he climbed to the loftiest and most inaccessible rocks he could find, there to lie in his hide-wrappings in a torment of pain and burning fever.

For two long nights and days, he lay there while great shaggy lions glided in and out among the rocks and underbrush, snarling and growling and frequently emitting thunderous roars, for in some way it had become known to them that a puny Trog-man had dared intrude upon their domains. During the second night of his sickness, Gonch’s fever left him and he became conscious of what was going on about him. Above his head was the dark blue sky and a full moon flooding the country with its jejune light. Below him, the rocks cast deep shadows one upon another. Then appeared other shadows which moved to the accompaniment of low snuffling growls and he discerned four figures crawling at the foot of the very rocks among whose tops he lay hidden. Even one lion would have found Gonch easy prey, but here were four with many others no doubt not far distant.

Fortunately none of the animals ascended to where the Muskman had taken refuge. Perhaps his scent had grown cold or perhaps his trackers felt a certain timidity about rushing too blindly upon one whose very boldness suggested unknown power to defend himself. When the daylight came, they went away, thus enabling the Muskman to drag himself down to where a tiny stream of water spouted from the rocks. He cooled his parched lips and aching head and this gave him strength enough to kill a rabbit by the well-aimed blow of a stone pitched by his hand. The food gave him further strength and after climbing back to his nest and securing a refreshing sleep, he was enabled to proceed upon his way.

He encountered lions and panthers before he reached the level country but he managed to escape them all. He survived hunger and cold. Storm, torrent, avalanche; all swept above and around him leaving him unscathed. It now seemed as though some kind fate had chosen to watch over this evil man; evil because he had never known good and whose bold purpose would never have been undertaken had it not promised to result in his own selfish advancement. He arrived safely at the western terminus of the Pyrenees mountains and avoided the difficulties of their passage by deviating northward to the shores of the Gascon Gulf then eastward once more into the lowlands of southwestern France. This latter was a soggy region watered by many creeks and larger streams whose origin might have been traced to the northern slopes of the Pyrenees. Gonch had a hard time of it getting past all this; wading, swimming and dragging his mud-laden feet through bogs and sloughs. After crossing the Garonne River, the worst of his journey was over, for between it and the Dordogne, lay much of his favorite rugged country; broad table-lands, cliffs and ravines, frequently broken by dense brakes and groups of forest trees. When finally the Dordogne River was passed, he adopted extra precautions and took more pains to conceal himself, for now all signs pointed to the proximity of human beings.

A mile or more upstream from where he had crossed the Dordogne, the river was joined by one of its northern tributaries, the Vézère. The latter meandered through a deep rock-channel with stately cliff’s and fertile meadows alternating along its banks. The cliffs in many places extended almost to the river margin; in others, they lay far back. The valley between them was but a wide ditch cut through a limestone plateau with a river winding through it from side to side. “A river winds through a broad valley between walls of stone”; Gonch suddenly recalled the stranger’s words. He glowed with the excitement of discovery and gazed eagerly at the distant cliffs which as much as said:

“This is man’s country; probably the home of him you have come to see.” Soon he observed a faint haze ascending above the rocks and so he proceeded in that direction, following the right bank of the Vézère or rather the border of the plateau which overlooked it. Finally his nose caught whiffs of smoke and he saw white wreaths ascending above the cliffs ahead of him. Throwing himself flat on his chest and stomach, he wriggled his way to the edge of the plateau and peered over.

To his disappointment, he saw nothing, for the rock-wall leaned outward and he could only guess what might be beneath. However, there was a deep rift in the plateau. It was near at hand and led down almost to the valley, so he dropped into that and made his way to the outlet. From there, twenty feet above the ground crouching low so as to escape being seen, he had a clear view of what was transpiring in the valley below.