The wonder stick

by Stanton A. Coblentz

No one was surprised, therefore, when, instead of ordering the migration continued, Grumgra began the day by giving instructions for a tribal conference. There was not so much as a thought of protest—and when at length the excitement of the night had died away and all hope had been surrendered for the missing ones, the survivors gathered in a wet and bedraggled and yet eagerly chattering group on the damp grass of the meadow.

Just a trace of apprehension, however, flitted across the frowning faces when the stooping form of Zunzun the Marvel-Worker was observed beside the bearlike hulk of Grumgra. And no pleasure lighted the scores of staring black eyes when, after crushing some grass-stalks between his fingers and scrutinizing them speculatively, Zunzun turned to the chieftain and slowly announced: "O Grumgra, I can see from the green color of the grass that evil spirits are abroad. We must find out who it was that caused the rain to fall, and who it was that put the blood-fury into the claws of the wild beasts—and him we must punish!"

"Yes, him we must punish!" echoed Grumgra, with malevolent relish.

And every man turned to eye his fellows fearfully—for who could say that his closest friend might not have harbored the evil spirits? or who could say that the wise ones might not make a mistake and punish the wrong man?

"Someone has angered the fire-god and made it go out!" roared Grumgra, in the tones of an accusing judge—and all his hearers quailed and instinctively withdrew. "Someone has angered the fire-god! Who can it be?"

For a moment there was silence, while the audience gazed furtively at the trees, at the grass, at the river—at all things but the terrible eyes of Grumgra and the bewitching eyes of Zunzun.

"Then if no one will speak, we will find out!" shouted the chieftain. "Zunzun the Marvel-Worker will ask the spirits of the woods, and they will tell him!"

Whereupon Zunzun began to bob up and down, up and down, as though in prayer to some unseen divinity. First he would touch the grass with his outstretched palms, then he would rise as far as his stooping posture would permit and fling his grizzled arms heavenward; then he would bow down again and repeat the ceremony time after time, all the while mumbling and muttering, "Nunc, nunco, no, nuncu, nunco, no," in a jargon unintelligible even to his hearers.

But the spectators, although they did not understand, were immensely impressed. The scores of ferret eyes were riveted upon the Marvel-Worker; the powerful jaws gaped wide with wonder; now and then a tremor of fear crossed the furry countenances.

At length, apparently feeling that his antics had sufficed to appease the wood-gods, Zunzun sought rest from his strenuous exertions, and, turning to Grumgra, whispered a few words that none of the tribe could catch.