And so, never actually starving and yet almost always hungry, the tribe trudged along a weary course that seemed endless. Scarcely a night went by but that the camp was disturbed by the wailings of some woman at the death or threatened death of her babe; and there was hardly a day when someone did not have a tale to tell of his close escape from the hoofs of a rhinoceros or wild bull or from the trap of quicksand, precipice, or lake. But where they were going, and to what end their sufferings and dangers led, the people had only the vaguest idea.
Now, by a curious irony, all their grumblings began to concentrate about a single object. If Ru and the river-god had not helped them across the waters, then their troubles would all have ended; they would have turned around and gone back to their abandoned cave—and they would now have been living as happily as of old. The fault was therefore Ru's for showing them how to cross the river. Thus, as the gathering days brought fresh discontent, the people began to reason; and now, when they muttered their complaints, the name of Ru was almost invariably spoken—it was he who had brought them to suffer and pine so far from home, he who had turned against them the spirits of the woods and caves and streams and those more terrible spirits in the hearts of the wild beasts!
And now Ru went about always with club in hand and with eyes alert. Wherever he walked, he was greeted with hisses and snarls, or with silent, unfriendly stares; sometimes, when he approached, his tribespeople would withdraw into little groups, whispering among themselves, with furtive glances in his direction; and the very children—they who had once been his particular friends—would echo the antagonism of their elders by shouting accusing names at him and flinging stones.
Even his prestige—that prestige which he had enjoyed as an ally of the river-spirit—was under partial eclipse. He was no longer Ru the Eagle-Hearted, as in the days of the river-passage; the contemptuous appellation "Sparrow-Hearted" had returned, despite Grumgra's promise to the contrary; and always it was by this term that his tribesmen addressed him.
It was Grumgra himself that had brought about the change. When the tribe was halting for its first night's rest after crossing the river, Ru had chanced upon Yonyo in a secluded corner of the encampment; and, finding her face bright with smiles at his approach, he had paused to speak with her. But scarcely had he uttered the first word when a tall shadow intruded. With a low cry, Yonyo flitted away and disappeared—and Ru found himself face to face with Grumgra.
"What is this? You dare to speak with my woman?" bellowed the chieftain, in tones so loud as to attract many of his tribesmen to the scene.
"She is not your woman!" denied Ru, with one eye watchfully upon Grumgra's club.
"All women are my women!" growled Grumgra the Omnipotent. "She is not yours—not yours, Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!"
By this time a dozen hairy forms had gathered near, and a dozen pairs of eyes were regarding the contestants expectantly.
"I do not know Ru the Sparrow-Hearted!" came the angry reply. "I am Ru the Eagle-Hearted!"