It was at the moment of returning despair that a new idea occurred to him. And here again chance played a part. He observed the leafless dead limb of a tree floating barely out of reach—about as thick as his arm and perhaps twice as long. With a little cry of delight, he flung himself into the water and seized the prize; then, returning to his log-vessel, he promptly took his second step toward a mastery of navigation.
To his great joy he found that, seated astride the log with the long stick for paddle, he could advance much more rapidly than when he used only his hands.
Even so, his progress was still plodding and laborious—the most cumbrous raft of a later day could have offered him lessons in speed. Yet, to Ru's way of thinking, his rate of movement was encouragingly swift; and his mood became self-congratulatory when he saw that the shore was approaching, actually approaching, so that he should surely reach it before dark. And from his thankful heart there issued something like an unspoken prayer, a prayer of gratitude to the spirits of the woods and the waters that had given to him—to him, the despised, the Sparrow-Hearted—an almost miraculous control over nature.
But this joyous feeling had deserted him when at last he stood on the sandy shore of the lake. Except for the pole which had been his paddle and was now his club, he was without resources or defense other than nature had offered him. He had no food; he had lost his flint implements in crossing the river; his covering of deerskin had slipped from him. And these handicaps—although assuredly serious enough—were by no means the worst. How far he might be from his people he did not know, and of their general direction he had only the vaguest idea; but that they would send no scout to look for him was certain, and that days might be consumed in the return to them was probable. Meanwhile he was alone in an unknown land, with neither landmarks nor trail to guide him. He would have to dive through forests where the sun-god could not penetrate, and dart across plains where the wind-god thundered and roared and bade the wolf and the wild bull roam like mad. What gigantic obstacles loomed before him, what ambushed perils lay in wait, was more than the gods themselves could say!
For many minutes Ru stood in a mournful reverie by the rippling lake waters, now gazing out across that imperturbable, unfeeling deep-blue expanse, now staring up into the quivering tops of the densely massed pines and the ampler towers of the oaks. He could not decide what to do or how to begin; he was thinking with anger of the brutality of his tribespeople—of how they had brought him to this pass, yet would not care, even could they know, but would only gibber and grin inanely. In imagination he saw one of them—her who was known as the Smiling-Eyed—and watched her grin and gibber with the rest; and at this fancy a great rage seized him. He was filled with longing to rush back to her, and seize her in his arms, and hold her with such passion that the insolent smile would vanish from her face and she would look up at him meekly and in wonder.
But even while such thoughts crowded through his brain, he did not forget that he was standing alone in a perilous country. Some subconscious protective sense—a sense far keener in those primitive days than in a later age—aroused him abruptly to a dread reality. Suddenly Yonyo and his people vanished from his mind; he was aware only of himself and of the little tree-encompassed patch of beach whereon he stood. A great fear went shuddering through his heart, fear swift and all-enveloping as at the stealthy approach of death. His breath came short and fast; his heart began to hammer ferociously; the hair along his back bristled, and his eyes were twin points of terror fixed upon a dark spot in the underbrush.
Yet all the while there was no visible cause for alarm. Nothing could be seen to stir among the dense verdure; there was no sound except for the distant cry of a bird calling to its mate, and the nearer sound of the wavelets lapping the shore; the breeze peacefully swayed the tall spires of the pines, and from along the lake a butterfly went zigzagging and spiraling happily.
Then suddenly, from the throat of the watching man, came a blood-curdling scream. And, as he screamed, he turned and went streaking toward the trees; while after him, with great feline leaps, darted a monstrous tawny form, with green eyes lustfully glaring, and saber-like tusks curving downward from cavernous jaws.
