The Hunter Returns (15 page)

GRASS SERPENT

The dog trod warily, the hackles on the back of his neck raised. He knew that when they wished to lay an ambush, the deadly grass serpents were able to conceal their odor, but the scent was very plain now. It was a musty smell, and strong, faintly reminiscent of crushed, pungent leaves. The dog started a wide circle that would bring him to a little rise from which he could see the snake but at the same time would keep him from going too near.

Hawk stooped to pick up a rock. It was a woman’s weapon, but very effective for fighting snakes. He had met such serpents before, but luckily there was not a great abundance of them. When they wanted to feed, the few that existed haunted grassy trails along which hares and other small game were apt to run. The serpents were vicious creatures, so sure of themselves and their own power that they refused to move aside for anything. Angered, they would freely attack whatever provoked them. Once they had fed, they sought sunny ledges and lay on them almost unmoving, until they were ready to feed again.

Hawk kept his eyes on the place where he had seen the serpent. He knew how they fed. After they had killed their victim, which invariably died on the spot, they opened their jaws and literally crawled around it until the meal was in their belly. But this snake seemed to have sensed the presence of an intruder, and was apparently waiting to see whether or not the trespasser would have to be routed before it fed.

The dog, having sighted the serpent, was stretching his nose forward while at the same time he remained tense, ready to leap aside should the snake slither toward him. Again, like a violently snapping limb of a tree, the serpent rose and struck. The dog jumped, but the strike would have fallen short anyway. Never lacking in good judgment, the dog knew which creatures he could approach closely and which he could not. A grass serpent was one of the latter. The dog began an excited barking.

Hawk walked forward calmly, unafraid because he now knew exactly where the serpent was. It was only when one blundered upon them unaware, as the hare had, that the serpents were dangerous. They could strike with lightning-swift speed, but when they had to move from one place to another they were almost sluggish. A man could easily avoid them if he knew where they were.

From a little rise, Hawk looked down at the serpent and the dead hare. He was mystified. The hare was a small thing, but it was hardy and not too easily killed. There were no marks on it and no blood on the grass, yet the hare had died almost in its tracks. It had given only a few convulsive leaps after the snake had struck it.

Therefore the snake had some mysterious power. Hawk did not know what it was, but it must be as strong a magic as fire, which he could now control, and the flight of birds, which his darts now possessed. His curiosity grew, and he went to step nearer.

The serpent raised its squat, ugly head, its neck bent in a graceful curve, and pounded the earth with a warning tail. When it slithered a few feet forward, Hawk stepped back.

He remembered that he had once seen a bison calf step on such a serpent, and been bitten by it. The calf had been able to take only a few stumbling steps before it, too, had died. At the time he had given the incident only a passing thought because he had been still a member of the tribe and the tribe was strong. Since he had been banished from the tribe, and entirely dependent on his own resources, he had learned that he must neglect nothing which might add to his own strength. Now he wanted to understand the snake’s secret.

He threw his stone, deliberately making a false cast so that the stone rolled beside the serpent instead of hitting it. Instantly the snake struck, and a thin liquid streaked the stone.

Hawk shook his head, having learned nothing. He did not know how snakes killed their prey because he had never thought them worth studying; they were merely bad things to be avoided. But obviously they possessed few brains, or this one never would have been teased to strike at a stone. Hawk circled the snake, to examine it more closely.

It was longer than a man, pale green in color, with rough, overlapping scales. But there was little to be learned from examining its body. Plainly the serpent’s lethal qualities lay in its head, for it always struck with its head. Just as plainly, it inflicted death by some method other than a serious bite, for the hare had no visible wound.

He sought and found another rock, and when he threw it he did so accurately. It struck and broke the snake’s back, and the serpent thrashed its mighty body about. In its struggles it crushed grass and knocked bushes down, then turned over and over. Overhead, a vulture was already soaring.

The dog at his side, Hawk turned away. Snakes could be eaten, but belonged in that category of foods which were to be eaten only if nothing else offered. Hawk did not like the taste of the flesh, and anyway he had all the meat they could possibly use. Replenishing his supply of weapons was the important thing now.

At a frightened, throttled squawk from the vulture, he whirled about. The big scavenging bird was in the air, its ten-foot wings spread wide, the snake clutched in its talons. Even as Hawk watched, the vulture’s wings fluttered and it dropped limply to the ground. Hawk turned and trotted back.

Though the serpent was dead, its reflexes remained vital. When the vulture alighted upon it, the snake’s head had snapped back and its fangs had penetrated the bird’s breast. They were still there, entangled in the feathers. Hawk squatted and looked very closely.

The snake’s curved fangs, about an inch and a half long, protruded from its mouth and into the vulture. Hawk looked at them in bewilderment. The fangs were tiny things, no bigger than needles, and within themselves they were surely incapable of inflicting a mortal wound. There was something else here, some secret power which he had not fathomed.

When he touched the snake, its body twitched but the fangs did not loosen themselves. Venom had spilled onto the feathers, and Hawk poked at it with a dart, remembering that the stone the snake had struck had been streaked with the same fluid. It was colorless, and looked harmless, but surely it had some direct connection with the serpent’s magic power to kill. There just was no other answer.

Replacing the dart in his throwing-stick, he left the serpent and vulture still entangled and walked thoughtfully away. There were many things in this world of his that would bear the closest possible inspection. He was increasingly aware of forces and powers which were all about, but which he did not understand. He must learn their secrets, for he and Willow could continue to live only if they remained stronger and shrewder than the many things that would kill them. His thoughts remained with the serpent. It had a marvelous power, a magic ability to strike things dead almost instantly, but just what was the source of such magic and how was it used?

Hawk neared the ledge of rock he wanted, and turned to climb to it. The dog fell in behind him, and while the man selected the stones he desired, the dog rested in the sun. Hawk filled his pouch with choice pieces of flint and they started back.

A herd of deer had drifted across their trail and were feeding in one of the many open meadows. When Hawk approached, the deer stared curiously at him, and when he was as near as they thought he should get they skipped away. He glanced disinterestedly at them; there was plenty of meat in the cave and they could not possibly use any more now. But the dog gave enthusiastic chase.

As the deer raced into the forest the dog came to a sudden stop and an angry snarl rippled from him. He gave voice to his battle roar.

A puma-like beast, a short-fanged cat whose size was midway between the saber-tooth and the wild cat, had been lying on a limb of a tree. When the deer herd passed beneath, the puma dropped on one and for a few seconds had a wild, plunging ride. Then the cat’s probing teeth met through the deer’s spine, and brought the quarry down.

It crouched on its victim, fangs bared and tail jerking angrily. The dog made a furious attack which he halted just short of the crouching cat. When the puma made a short rush at him, the dog dodged warily. He was no match for the puma, but the big cat was unwilling to leave its game and give chase. Meat abandoned, even for a moment, was frequently meat lost.

Hawk sprang into action. Game was none too plentiful as it was, and every meat-eater raiding the stock of game meant less for Hawk and Willow. A puma such as this one might well make a kill every other day, and such a toll mounted terrifically. In many areas there was little or no game solely because a preponderance of meat-eaters had cleaned it out.

The dart in his throwing-stick, Hawk stalked the crouching puma. It was a dangerous antagonist, well able to put up a good fight, but Hawk had fought bigger and more savage creatures. He had killed a saber-tooth and a great cave bear, and he felt sure of his ability to kill the puma. If he did not, he would have to share the game with it.

He came nearer and nearer. The puma, eyes fixed on Hawk, tensed its muscles for the spring that would carry it upon the man. The dog, awaiting this moment, attacked furiously and the puma wheeled to spar with him. Hawk cast his dart.

Instantly he reached for another, for just as he threw the first dart, the puma moved. Instead of piercing the throat, its intended target, the dart had merely skimmed across the big cat’s neck and sliced through the skin. It was scarcely more than a scratch, enough to infuriate the cat, and Hawk backed rapidly away. He laid the dart in his throwing-stick, and awaited another opportunity. But the puma was behaving strangely. Instead of attacking the man, it crouched where it was. At last the puma rose, stiffening all four feet and arching its back. Its tail became very stiff. It reared on its hind paws, while it lashed the air with its front ones. Then it fell to the ground, retched convulsively, and was still.

For a moment Hawk remained rooted in his tracks, overcome with amazement. Slowly he walked forward. The dog, as surprised as the man, was stretching his nose as far as he could, snuffling the dead cat.

Still incredulous, Hawk looked down at the slain puma. In his whole memory nothing else like this had ever happened. Even severely wounded pumas were capable of putting up a terrific fight, and this one had been scarcely scratched.

Suddenly Hawk was overcome by a hot surge of excitement. The puma had been killed by the serpent’s magic power!

This, then, was the secret. He was master of a new and mighty power, almost unbelievable strength, for he remembered now that he had shot the puma with the same dart which he had dipped into the strange fluid that came from the snake’s deadly head. It was the fluid and not any wound that killed the snake’s victims. Hawk stood still, shaken to the core by this new thing he had learned. A dart dipped into a serpent’s venom was indeed a mighty weapon. Equipped with such a thing, he might well walk safely anywhere at all.

Awed and fearful, trembling with what he had learned, Hawk shouldered the deer and made his way back to the cave. The big grass serpents were scarce and therefore hard to find, but he must hunt some more at the earliest opportunity.

He came in sight of the cave and stopped, while a feeling of alarm rose within him. He had left Willow safe, protected by a fire at the cave’s entrance, but now the fire was only smoldering ashes. He tested the winds, which carried nothing except an odor of smoke. But he could see no smoke. Hawk dropped the deer, fixed a dart, and stalked forward.

He peered cautiously into the cave. Inside, a cheerful fire leaped high and beside it was Willow, working on another basket. Hawk followed with his eye the course of the ascending smoke, and saw it rising through the hole Willow had poked in the cave’s roof. Thus her mysterious actions with the stick were explained at last. She had been making an opening where the smoke might escape. With a grunt of admiration, Hawk went back for the deer.

When the deer had been cut up and stored in the cave, Hawk sat down to work on his dart heads. He had practiced so much and made so many that he knew almost by instinct whether or not he could make a good one from any piece of flint. He also knew exactly how the stones were going to split, and often, by striking a good-sized stone in exactly the right place, he could break it into a dozen fragments, all of which were already partly shaped. It was work to which he was so accustomed that he could do it with his hands and part of his mind; the rest of his thoughts wandered elsewhere.

The serpent’s venom was very powerful magic; a mere touch of it had killed the puma. If he could transfer the snake-magic to his own dart heads, would it not be possible to use even smaller darts? It would no longer be necessary to inflict a mortal wound, and if he could make his darts smaller he could certainly carry many more of them. The more he could carry, the better he could hunt and defend himself.

But how could he make small darts fly any distance? The heavy darts he was now using depended on their own weight, their feathers, and the power of the throwing-stick. It would be impossible, even with the throwing-stick, to hurl a small dart a long way.

Willow had finished her basket and was stretching sinew which she would later use in sewing skins. She stretched it by tying one end to a slender green stick, bowing the stick, and then tying the sinew to the other end. The stick itself, slowly straightening, kept the sinew taut. Hawk was annoyed because a strip of sinew had broken with a loud snap, and disturbed his thoughts.

“Bring me water,” he said.

Willow rose to get the two skin pouches which they used for water containers and started out of the cave with them. Hawk watched her impatiently.

Cave life had positive advantages, but it was not without its disadvantages. When they had lived in the open they had been within a few feet of a clear-flowing spring where they could quench their thirst any time they wished. But there was no water at all in the cave. The nearest spring was across the valley and up the opposite slope. All their water had to be carried from there, and there was never enough of it. Neither of the pouches held more than a thirsty man could drink and water left in them for any length of time had a bad taste. At night they dared get no water at all.