I argued if my crude, weak bow could drive this stone-headed shaft completely through a half-frozen hare, that with a stronger bow I might even kill a deer or the lynx, and I at once went to work on more arrow-heads, wisely deciding that I had best complete this work while I was in practice and leaving the making of a new bow until later.
A PRIMITIVE ARROW
By nightfall a half-dozen arrow-points were finished, for, once I had discovered the “knack” of making them—by touching the red-hot flakes of stone with a wet stick where I wished to chip off the edges—I found I could produce excellent results rapidly and easily. I had thought the tip which I tested on the hare was perfect, but by comparison with the last one I made it seemed crude and rough, and I retired that night well pleased with my success and skill, and I fell asleep planning the bow which I promised myself I would make the following day.
That night I was again aroused by the piercing scream of the lynx, and although I knew well what it was, yet I could not avoid shivering as the weird cadence rose and fell, echoing from the forest and ending in its unearthly moan, like a soul in mortal torment. I had always thought of lynxes with a feeling of contempt, and had looked upon them as cowardly, overgrown cats—sneaking thieves and destroyers of small game—and I tried to laugh away my unreasonable fear. I told myself that I was perfectly safe here in the cabin and that even outside the creature would turn tail and bound off at sight of a human being, but despite every effort, when the cries again rang out from close at hand I felt my knees shake, while strange, crawling sensations ran up and down the back of my neck.
Listening intently, I could plainly hear the light creak of snow beneath the beast’s feet as he moved about outside, and, finding inaction utterly unbearable, I slipped out of my bunk, tiptoed to the door, and peered out through a crevice.
Outside it was as bright as day, with the full moon shining upon the snow, and there, within a dozen feet, was the lynx; a huge, tawny creature whose strength showed in every movement.
He was nosing about near the deadfall, and his attitudes as he peered at the trap, cocked his tufted ears forward, and turned his head first to one side and then another—as if reasoning out a method of securing the coveted bait without injuring himself—made him appear unnaturally human.
At sight of the creature my unreasonable fears disappeared, for here was something tangible and he was so close, so plainly visible, and presented such a splendid mark, that I determined to try a shot at him with my stone-tipped arrow.
The crevice between the door and wall was very narrow, scarce an inch in width, and, had I stopped to think, I would have known that to attempt to fire an arrow through this and strike the mark was utterly foolish. Placing the arrow on the bowstring, I slipped the head through the opening and started to draw the bow. As I did so the arrow touched the side of the crevice and dislodged a tiny bit of old bark, which dropped to the floor. Slight as the noise was, the keen ears of the lynx heard it, and with a startled growl he faced toward me. Never shall I forget the fierce, malevolent gleam in those great, green eyes, the snarling lips and gleaming teeth, and the bristling fringe of white beard. No longer did I see only a hulking lynx out there upon the snow; instead I seemed to gaze upon some supernatural, awful monster whose baleful eyes stared into mine and made me feel defenseless in spite of my shield of stout logs. His gaze filled me with a strange fear, an unnamed dread, and yet fascinated me as with hypnotic power.