Stories of the Cave People

by Mary Marcy

The Bow and Arrow Folks might wander whithersoever they wished, might drive the Hairy Folk and the Tree Dwellers and the Cave People from the places that had known them, might bring death and destruction in their train, provided only that they traveled and fought in numbers and bore wide quivers filled with very many of their magical stinging darts.

Up to the appearance of the Dart or Arrow Throwers, with their marvelous weapons, the Cave People had always been able to meet their human foes on terms nearly approaching equality. The Hairy People and the Tree Dwellers, and even the man-eaters, had all to come to close quarters in their life and death contests. Then there was much to the advantage of the Cave People, who were of heavier build and who possessed greater strength and speed of limb than any of their man enemies. None of these was able to shoot a dart across the river into the breast of an enemy.

But the Arrow People were more fearful than the great saber-tooth himself. One could dig pits, covered with branches of leaves in the hope that they might stumble into these and hence be dispatched to the long sleep; it was quite as likely as not that the Arrow People would not approach near enough to fall into them.

When the Arrow People came whooping over the hills sending down their rain of arrows into the flesh of the Cave People, Strong Arm had gathered his small band about the big fire where they had crouched low. But even the protecting blaze could not prevail against the invaders. Their darts flew through the smoke and the flame and pinned more than one of the Cave People to the earth.

And when Strong Arm was wounded so that blood dripped red from a hole in his breast the Cave People flung themselves into the brush and made their way on their bellies as silent as snakes, far out beyond the old hollow. With much caution they gathered together about some grey stone boulders that banked the wild berry thicket.

Then it was that some one silently gathered twigs and leaves and dead branches for the making of a fire. And a youth struck a spark from his flint stones and by the light of the flames the Cave People saw and were astonished that it was One Ear who had come back to his own people.

No one of the older members of the tribe had forgotten One Ear nor how he had lost one of his ears when he was only a small boy not many moons from his mother’s breast. It was this way:

One Ear had wandered from the caves and beyond the space where it was safe for the children of the tribe to go alone. No one marked his ramblings and he chattered and scampered about, plucking the red blossoms of the eegari and chasing birds from their nests in happy content. But he had not gone far when he heard the grunt of the wild and hairy hog which was thrusting her short tusk into the soil for tender roots. A litter of small black pigs followed close to their mother’s side and set up a mighty squealing when they beheld in One Ear a possible enemy.

Immediately the old sow turned upon One Ear and bit at his feet and snapped at his legs and tripped him. Then she flew upon him with the wild fury of the forest mother who believes her young to be endangered. One Ear raised his own voice in yells of terror and threw up his arms and rolled into the bushes and sent his small brown feet kicking with mighty show into the face of the foe.

And the uproar increased while the blood poured from the side of the boy’s head whence the wild sow had torn his small ear in her attack. Soon the mother of One Ear and other members of the tribe of Cave People appeared with their long bone weapons in their hands and killed the hog and carried back as many of the young pigs as had not scampered away in the conflict. And there was much feasting in the Hollow that day and a great noise from the wails of One Ear, whose wounds were many times licked and plastered and caressed by his distracted mother.