“He’s hurt. His leg is broken!” said Grôm. And straightway, a novel purpose flashing into his far-seeing brain, he ran leaping down the slope to the rescue, waving his fire-stick to a blaze as he went.
The Chief looked puzzled for a moment, wondering why the deliberate Grôm should trouble to do what it was plain the leopards would do for him most effectually. But he dreaded the chance of an ambuscade. Shouting to the men behind to come on, he waved his own fire-stick to a blaze, and followed Grôm.
One of the leopards had already succeeded in closing in upon the wounded Bow-leg; but at the sight of Grôm and the Chief leaping down upon them they sprang back snarling and scurried off among the thickets like frightened cats. The Bow-leg lifted wild eyes to learn the meaning of his deliverance. But when he saw those two tall forms rushing at him with flame and smoke circling about their heads, he gave a groan and fell forward upon his face.
Grôm stood over him, staring down upon the misshapen and bleeding form with thoughtful eyes; while the Chief looked on, striving to fathom his purpose. The warriors came up, shouting savage delight at having at last got one of their dreaded enemies into their hands alive. They would have fallen upon him at once and torn him to pieces. But Grôm waved them back sternly. They growled with indignation, and one, sufficiently prominent in the tribal counsels to dare Grôm’s displeasure, protested hotly against this favor to so venomous a foe. 132
“I demand this fellow, Bawr, as my captive!” said Grôm.
“It was you who took him,” answered the Chief. “He is yours.” He was about to add, “though I can’t see what you want of him”; but it was a part of his policy never to seem in doubt or ignorance about anything that another might perhaps know. So, instead, he sternly told his followers to obey the law of the tribe and respect Grôm’s capture. Then Grôm stepped close beside him and said at his ear: “Many things which we need to know will Bawr learn from this fellow presently, as to the dangers which are like to come upon us.”
At this the Chief, being ready of wit, comprehended Grôm’s purpose; and, to the amazement of his followers, he looked down upon the hideous prisoner with a smile of satisfaction.
“Well have I called you the Chief’s Right Hand,” he answered. “I shall also have to call you the Chief’s Wisdom, for in saving this fellow’s life you have shown more forethought than I.”
The captive’s wounds having been dressed with astringent herbs, and his broken leg put into splints in accordance with the rude but not ineffective surgery of the time, he was placed on a rough litter of interlaced branches and carried back by the reluctant warriors to the Caves.
None of the warriors were advanced enough to have understood the policy of their leaders, so no effort was made by either the Chief or Grôm to explain 133 it. The Chief, doubly secure in his dominance by reason of Grôm’s loyal support, cared little whether his followers were content or not, and he took no heed of their ill-humor so long as they did not allow it to become articulate.