Gonch pretended not to see the implied threat as he answered, “Do not worry. He will come,” and there the conversation ended, for although Totan fretted and fumed, he saw that he could do nothing but wait and give Gonch the time needed to make good his promise.
XVIII
On the way down the mountain side, Kutnar had an excellent opportunity to gain a better knowledge of his new acquaintances. His first impressions were far from flattering. A more squalid, beast-like lot of men he had never seen. He mistrusted them at sight. On his long journey to the southland he had anticipated much pleasure in meeting them and learning about their superior flint industry. The latter was as disappointing as the men themselves. Fine weapons? Never had he gazed upon worse. He saw not a single flint ax-head or poniard; in fact, no stone implements with the exception of a few badly-hewn quartzite flakes. Apparently the Castillans relied almost entirely upon wood. Their clubs, javelins and fling-sticks were all made of this material. Even it was badly chosen and shaped. Kutnar made a wry face as he looked at his companions and their miserable equipment. “These cannot be Gonch’s people,” he finally consoled himself. “Soon we will pass on to the country of the southrons and the sooner, the better.”
Deep down in his heart, Kutnar knew that it was not a sight of the southrons nor their flint workmanship that he really craved. A quick turnabout and a trip homeward would have pleased him more than anything on earth. He was terribly homesick. It seemed ages since he had run away from father and friends. The knowledge that he had so recently slain a fellow-being, added to his depression. He thought of Totan and that reminded him of Pic. Both were strong men but there the resemblance ended. His father had a heart; the Castillan hetman appeared to possess none. “I have at least one good friend near me,” the boy remembered. Gonch was there and that gave him great comfort. “I am no longer a baby,” he thought, so he determined to bear up patiently until the time came for the long journey homeward.
Meanwhile the party had reached the end of their descent and were making their way across the lowland to the River Pas. Suddenly one of the men grunted and all stopped short. He who had signalled said to Kutnar in a low voice, “A hare! Quick boy; now is your chance to show what you can do.” The sling was loaded and ready before the man had ceased speaking. Kutnar moved noiselessly ahead of his companions to within throwing range. Whizz, sped the stone and a big snow-white hare leaped from a clump of bushes and bounded away. “A miss,” one of the hunters sneered as the boy glided forward like a cat. They saw him reach down among the bushes and then stand erect holding some animal by its long ears—a hare. There had been two. The one first seen had escaped but Kutnar had bagged the second.
Kutnar Bags a Hare