“The men are all gone,” she said. “They have all the spears and harpoons. Here is a strong bow, but there are only three arrows. You can not kill a bear with arrows.”
“I will try,” said Bolo eagerly.
Not many men in the Clan could shoot with a bow. They had always used spears and harpoons. They made the heads of them out of flintstones. One Eye had been the first man in the Clan to make arrows. He had learned how from a stranger who had once visited the Clan. One Eye thought the arrows much better than the spears, but most of the men liked their old weapons best.
Bolo had never shot an arrow himself, but he had seen his father do so many times. When he thought of the savage bear growling at the foot of the tree he was afraid. Then he thought how brave One Eye was, and of the terrible battle with the auroch which had cost him one of his eyes and had earned for him the name of being the boldest man in the Clan. That had happened many years ago when One Eye was a boy like Bolo.
“I will shoot the bear,” he said again, and his voice was more eager than before.
His mother gave him the stout bow and the three arrows. He ran back to the trees as fast as he could go. When he got to the nearest one he took the bow and arrows firmly between his knees and grasped the lowest limb with both hands. In a minute he had drawn himself up and was scurrying back through the branches to the place where poor Fisher was waiting.
He found the boy just where he had left him. The big bear was growling fiercely and walking around the tree. Often she would stop and reach up as far as she could with her forepaws, tearing viciously at the bark and snarling with rage.
When Fisher saw Bolo coming he shouted for joy. He did not think Bolo would come back. Cave people did not often think of helping each other. Each had to take care of himself.
“Now see me shoot the bear,” called Bolo proudly, fitting one of the precious arrows to the bow.
“Twang!” went the bowstring.