The wonder stick

by Stanton A. Coblentz

It was most necessary that they find out—and find out without delay. The people required water from the river, since that trickling from the cavern walls was not ample; they needed fagots for burning, roots and berries for food, and meat to replenish their dwindling supplies. How procure any of these essentials unless they ventured down into the cañon, where possibly the beast-men were lurking? For the first time, some dim inkling of the danger ahead began to filter into the minds of the tribesfolk; but, as yet, it was merely an inkling, and the men had no thought of possible defeat as they boasted of the exploits of the night and swore to spill their enemies' blood to the last drop.

It was sometime in the afternoon when three of the tribesmen, wearied by the hours of waiting, decided that they might safely descend the cliff and quench their thirst in the river. Cautiously they began to slide down the rocky walls, while their people thronged the terrace above to watch; slowly, with eyes alert and clubs gripped in readiness, they released themselves from boulder to boulder, taking their way in single file down the steep, narrow ledge. As they advanced, they gained in confidence, for the stillness of the woods remained unruffled, and no suspicious murmur or movement startled their eager senses. From above, their tribesfolk cheered and shouted encouragingly, and the farther they descended the more uproarious grew that chorus from the cliff; and they themselves, reassured not less by the clamor of their comrades than by the serenity of the rest of the world, had little fear for the outcome.

At length they stood unharmed at the base of the cliff! At length, picking their way warily over a flat rocky space, they were pressing toward the brink of the river! Now they were actually at the river bank; now the foremost was bending down and sucking in huge gulps of water. And from his tribesmen there sounded an applauding chorus that was like a peal of triumph.

But with disconcerting suddenness that chorus snapped short. Shrieks of alarm and cries of warning shrilled from the watching throng, mingled with sharp exclamations of horror. Then, almost before the three daring ones could wheel about to face the peril, the woods behind them rang with savage whoops and ululations, and a multitude of club-wielding hairy forms swarmed forth.

Caught by surprise, with the woods and the cliff on one side and the river on the other, the three assaulted ones had no chance to flee. Except for a few random strokes as futile as a hare's resistance to an eagle, they had almost no chance even to fight—their foes bore down upon them in a throng that was overwhelming. In an instant one of the men, not finding time even to lift his club, was clutched in the grip of half a dozen iron arms, in which he struggled helplessly as a manacled child; the next moment, swinging their cudgels despairingly, the other two went down moaning before the blows of the beast-men, who pounded and pounded their prostrate forms with the fury of exultant fiends.

And now, while the angered throng on the cliff screamed out their hatred and flung rocks in unavailing showers, the beast-men proceeded to display their true nature. Bearing the two corpses and their one living prisoner as the spoils of battle, they retreated to an open spot at the verge of the woods, within clear view of their foemen, although just out of range of the missiles. Then, building a fire while the howls of the Umbaddu still pursued them, they prepared for a pastime that made their enemies gape in amazement and horror.

At first the Umbaddu did not understand what the beast-men were about when, by means of huge flint knives and axes, they dismembered the bodies of the slain; and even when the severed limbs were placed above the fire to roast and sizzle, the ghastly meaning was not at first clear to the watchers from above. But, from the very beginning, the Umbaddu had little doubt regarding the beast-men's plans for their living captive. Bruised and bleeding, the unfortunate man was dragged to a resting-place near the fire, where he was held full-length upon the ground, each of his hands pinioned to earth by a grimacing foe, his legs helpless beneath the weight of a particularly bulky adversary. And while he lay there like a soon-to-be-slaughtered beast, at times pleading with a fury that awakened only screeches of derision and at times moaning so pitifully as to arouse a low hissing laughter, his captors proceeded to entertain themselves at his expense. All about him, in a jabbering crush, crowded the stooping, hairy rabble; men and women pushed one another fiercely aside for a glimpse of their victim; children were brushed to earth like dirt while their elders stared at the stranger with inquisitive apish eyes, pulling at his hair to discover whether it would come out, lifting up his deerskin mantle to find out what was beneath, poking him in the nose or face or jabbing him with sharp sticks for the pleasure of hearing him scream.

But evidently he was held for some graver purpose. After the people had amused themselves for some time and the captive had been prodded almost into unconsciousness, the sport was stopped abruptly by one of the tallest of the beast-men—a particularly unsightly individual, with face painted red, and body covered so thickly with feathers that he looked almost like a walking bird. Certainly, he was a bird of ill omen—for, after a single scream from his powerful lungs, the mob began edging away from the captive as if from something pestilential, until there remained only the three who pinned the man to earth. Thereupon the feathered one began to speak in a loud and ceremonious drawl, while the others flung themselves to the ground before him; then, rising, they retreated still farther, and, as though at a given signal, burst into a tumult of horrible hoots and howls, leaping up and down with wild gesticulations, and dancing a swift vehement dance of triumph.

At the same time the leader, picking up a long, sharp piece of flint, held it poised and pointed toward the captive, whom he slowly approached with diabolical intent. The man gave a gasp of terror; his eyes rolled and bulged; he strained and struggled as never before, and for an instant had almost wrenched his right arm free. But all his efforts were unavailing—slowly, remorselessly, that pointed bit of flint drew near. When it was within a foot of the intended victim, the feathered one suddenly paused and flung both hands skyward as if in supplication to some unseen divinity; then, almost as suddenly, he emitted a scream that made his hearers' blood run chill, turned about, bent down, and plunged the flint—into the captive's heart!

Furious yells and shouts of rejoicing burst from hundreds of lips.... But from the watchers on the cliff there came growls of rage and defiance blent with a low wailing of dismay.