The Story of Ab by Stanley Waterloo

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Not in a day nor in a week were the plans of these youthful warriors and
statesmen matured. The wild horse had long since learned that the
creature man was as dangerous to it as were any of the fierce four-footed
animals which hunted it, and its scent was good and its pace was swift
and it went in herds and avoided doubtful places. Not so easy a task as
it might seem was that which Ab and Oak had resolved upon. There must be
some elaborate device to attain their end, but they were confident. They
had noted often what older hunters did, and they felt themselves as good
as anybody. They plotted long and earnestly and even made a mental
distribution of their quarry, deciding what should be done with its skin
and with its meat, far in advance of any determination upon a plan for
its capture and destruction. They were boys.

There was no objection from the parents. They knew that the boys must
learn to become hunters, and if the two were not now capable of taking
care of themselves in the wood, then they were but disappointing
offspring. Consent secured, the boys acted entirely upon their own
responsibility, and, to make their subsequent plans clearer, it may be
well to explain a little more of the geography of the region. The cave of
Ab was on the north side of the stream, where the rocky banks came close
together with a little beach at either side, and the cave of Oak was
perhaps a mile to the westward, on the same side of the stream and with
very similar surroundings. On the south side of the river, opposite the
high banks between the two caves, the land was a prairie valley reaching
far away. On the north side as well there was at one place a little
valley, but it reached back only a few hundred yards from the river and
was surrounded by the forest-crowned hills. The close standing oaks and
beeches afforded, in emergency, a highway among their ranches, and along
this pathway the boys were comparatively safe. Either could climb a tree
at any time, and of the animals that were dangerous in the treetops there
were but few; in fact, there was only one of note, a tawny, cat-like
creature, not numerous, and resembling the lynx of the present day.
Almost in the midst of the little plain or valley, on the north side of
the river, rose a clump of trees, and in this the two boys saw means
afforded them for a realization of their hopes. The wild horses fed
daily in the valley to the north, as in the greater one to the south of
the river. But there also, in the high grass, as upon the south,
sometimes lurked the great beasts of prey, and to be far away from a tree
upon the plain was an unsafe thing for a cave man. From the forest edge
to the clump of trees was not more than two minutes' rush for a vigorous
boy and it was this fact which suggested to the youths their plan of
capture of the horse.

The homes of the cave men were located, when possible, where the refuge
of safety overhung closely the river's bank, and where the non-climbing
animals must pass along beneath them, but, even at that period of few men
and abundant animal life, there had developed an acuteness among the
weaker beasts, and they had learned to avoid certain paths that had
proved fatal to their brethren. They were numerous in the plains and
comparatively careless there, relying upon their speed to escape more
dangerous wild beasts, but they passed rarely beneath the ledges, where a
weighty rock dropped suddenly meant certain death. It was not a task
entirely easy for the cave men to have meat with regularity, flush as was
the life about them. New devices must be resorted to, and Ab and Oak were
about to employ one not infrequently successful.

The clam of the period, particularly the clam along this reach of the
upper Thames, was a marvel in his make-up. He was as large as he was
luscious, as abundant as he was both and was a great feature in the food
supply of the time. Not merely was he a feature in the food supply, but
in a mechanical way, and the first object sought by the boys, after their
plan had been agreed upon, was the shell of the great clam. They had no
difficulty in securing what they wanted, for strewn all about each cave
were the big shells in abundance. Sharp-edged, firm-backed, one of these
shells made an admirable little shovel, something with which to cut the
turf and throw up the soil, a most useful implement in the hands of the
river haunting people. The idea of the youngsters was simply this: Their
rendezvous should be at that point in the forest nearest the clump of
trees standing solitary in the valley below. They would select the safest
hours and then from the high ground make a sudden dash to the tree clump.
They would be watchful, of course, and seek to avoid the class of animals
for whom boys made admirable luncheon. Once at the clump of trees and
safely ensconced among the branches, they could determine wisely upon the
next step in their adventure. They were very knowing, these young men,
for they had observed their elders. What they wanted to do, what was the
end and aim of all this recklessness, was to dig a pit in this rich
valley land close to the clump of trees, a pit say some ten feet in
length by six feet in breadth and seven or eight feet in depth. That
meant a gigantic labor. Gillian, of "The Toilers of the Sea," assigned to
himself hardly a greater task. These were boys of the cave kind and must,
perforce, conduct themselves originally. As to the details of the plan,
well, they were only vague, as yet, but rapidly assuming a form more
definite.

The first thing essential for the boys was to reach the clump of trees.
It was just before noon one day when they swung together on a tree branch
sweeping nearly to the ground, and at a point upon the hill directly
opposite the clump. This was the time selected for their first dash. They
studied every square yard of the long grass of the little valley with
anxious eyes. In the distance was feeding a small drove of wild horses
and, farther away, close by the river side, upreared occasionally what
might be the antlers of the great elk of the period. Between the boys and
the clump of trees there was no movement of the grass, nor any sign of
life. They could discern no trace of any lurking beast.

"Are you afraid?" asked Ab.

"Not if we run together."

"All right," said Ab; "let's go it with a rush."

The slim brown bodies dropped lightly to the ground together, each of the
boys clasping one of the clamshells. Side by side they darted down the
slope and across through the deep grass until the clump of trees was
reached, when, like two young apes, they scrambled into the safety of the
branches.

The tree up which they had clambered was the largest of the group and of
dense foliage. It was one of the huge conifers of the age, but its
branches extended to within perhaps thirty feet of the ground, and from
the greatest of these side branches reached out, growing so close
together as to make almost a platform. It was but the work of a half hour
for these boys, with their arboreal gifts, to twine additional limbs
together and to construct for themselves a solid nest and lookout where
they might rest at ease, at a distance above the greatest leap of any
beast existing. In this nest they curled themselves down and, after much
clucking debate, formulated their plan of operation. Only one boy should
dig at a time, the other must remain in the nest as a lookout.

Swift to act in those days were men, because necessity had made it a
habit to them, and swifter still, as a matter of course, were impulsive
boys. Their tree nest fairly made, work, they decided, must begin at
once. The only point to be determined upon was regarding the location of
the pit. There was a tempting spread of green herbage some hundred feet
to the north and east of the tree, a place where the grass was high but
not so high as it was elsewhere. It had been grazed already by the
wandering horses and it was likely that they would visit the tempting
area again. There, it was finally settled, should the pit be dug. It was
quite a distance from the tree, but the increased chances of securing a
wild horse by making the pit in that particular place more than offset,
in the estimation of the boys, the added danger of a longer run for
safety in an emergency. The only question remaining was as to who should
do the first digging and who be the first lookout? There was a violent
debate upon this subject.

"I will go and dig and you shall keep watch," said Oak.

"No, I'll dig and you shall watch," was Ab's response. "I can run faster
than you."

Oak hesitated and was reluctant. He was sturdy, this young gentleman, but
Ab possessed, somehow, the mastering spirit. It was settled finally that
Ab should dig and Oak should watch. And so Ab slid down the tree,
clamshell in hand, and began laboring vigorously at the spot agreed upon.

It was not a difficult task for a strong boy to cut through tough grass
roots with the keen edge of the clamshell. He outlined roughly and
rapidly the boundaries of the pit to be dug and then began chopping out
sods just as the workman preparing to garnish some park or lawn begins
his work to-day. Meanwhile, Oak, all eyes, was peering in every
direction. His place was one of great responsibility, and he recognized
the fact. It was a tremendous moment for the youngsters.

CHAPTER VI.

A DANGEROUS VISITOR.

It was not alone necessary for the plans of Ab and Oak that there should
be made a deep hole in the ground. It was quite as essential for their
purposes that the earth removed should not be visible upon the adjacent
surface. The location of the pit, as has been explained, was some yards
to the northeast of the tree in which the lookout had been made. A few
yards southwest of the tree was a slight declivity and damp hollow, for
from that point the land sloped, in a reed-grown marsh toward the river.
It was decided to throw into this marsh all the excavated soil, and so,
when Ab had outlined the pit and cut up its surface into sods, he carried
them one by one to the bank and cast them down among the reeds where the
water still made little puddles. In time of flood the river spread out
into a lake, reaching even as far as here. The sod removed, there was
exposed a rectangle of black soil, for the earth was of alluvial deposit
and easy of digging. Shellful after shellful of the dirt did Ab carry
from where the pit was to be, trotting patiently back and forth, but the
work was wearisome and there was a great waste of energy. It was Oak who
gave an inspiration.

"We must carry more at a time," he called out. And then he tossed down to
Ab a wolfskin which had been given him by his father as a protection on
cold nights and which he had brought along, tied about his waist, quite
incidentally, for, ordinarily, these boys wore no clothing in warm
weather. Clothing, in the cave time, appertained only to manhood and
womanhood, save in winter. But Oak had brought the skin along because he
had noticed a vast acorn crop upon his way to and from the rendezvous and
had in mind to carry back to his own home cave some of the nuts. The pelt
was now to serve an immediately useful purpose.

Spreading the skin upon the grass beside him, Ab heaped it with the dirt
until there had accumulated as much as he could carry, when, gathering
the corners together, he struggled with the enclosed load manfully to the
bank and spilled it down into the morass. The digging went on rapidly
until Ab, out of breath and tired, threw down the skin and climbed into
the treetop and became the watchman, while Oak assumed his labor. So they
worked alternately in treetop and upon the ground until the sun's rays
shot red and slanting from the west. Wiser than to linger until dusk had
too far deepened were these youngsters of the period. The clamshells were
left in the pit. The lookout above declared nothing in sight, then slid
to the ground and joined his friend, and another dash was made to the
hill and the safety of its treetops. It was in great spirits that the
boys separated to seek their respective homes. They felt that they were
personages of consequence. They had no doubt of the success of the
enterprise in which they had embarked, and the next day found them
together again at an early hour, when the digging was enthusiastically
resumed.

Many a load of dirt was carried on the second day from the pit to the
marsh's edge, and only once did the lookout have occasion to suggest to
his working companion that he had better climb the tree. A movement in
the high grass some hundred yards away had aroused suspicion; some wild
animal had passed, but, whatever it was, it did not approach the clump of
trees and work was resumed at once. When dusk came the moist black soil
found in the pit had all been carried away and the boys had reached, to
their intense disgust, a stratum of hard packed gravel. That meant
infinitely more difficult work for them and the use of some new utensil.

There was nothing daunting in the new problem. When it came to the mere
matter of securing a tool for digging the hard gravel, both Ab and Oak
were easily at home. The cave dwellers, haunting the river side for
centuries, had learned how to deal with gravel, and when Ab returned to
the scene the next day he brought with him a sturdy oaken stave some six
feet in length, sharpened to a point and hardened in the fire until it
was almost iron-like in its quality. Plunged into the gravel as far as
the force of a blow could drive it, and pulled backward with the leverage
obtained, the gravel was loosened and pried upward either in masses which
could be lifted out entire, or so crumbled that it could be easily dished
out with the clamshell. The work went on more slowly, but not less
steadily nor hopefully than on the days preceding, and, for some time,
was uninterrupted by any striking incident. The boys were becoming
buoyant. They decided that the grassy valley was almost uninfested by
things dangerous. They became reckless sometimes, and would work in the
pit together. As a rule, though, they were cautious--this was an inherent
and necessary quality of a cave being--and it was well for them that it
was so, for when an emergency came only one of them was in the pit, while
the other was aloft in the lookout and alert.

It was about three o'clock one afternoon when Ab, whose turn it chanced
to be, was working valiantly in the pit, while Oak, all eyes, was perched
aloft. Suddenly there came from the treetop a yell which was no boyish
expression of exuberance of spirits. It was something which made Ab leap
from the excavation as he heard it and reach the side of Oak as the
latter came literally tumbling down the bole of the tree of watching.

"Run!" Oak said, and the two darted across the valley and reached the
forest and clambered into safe hiding among the clustering branches.
Then, in the intervals between his gasping breath, Oak managed to again
articulate a word:

"Look!" he said.

Ab looked and, in an instant, realized how wise had been Oak's alarming
cry and how well it was for them that they were so distant from the clump
of trees so near the river. What he saw was that which would have made
the boys' fathers flee as swiftly had they been in their children's
place. Yet what Ab looked upon was only a waving, in sinuous regularity,
of the rushes between the tree clump and the river and the lifting of a
head some ten or fifteen feet above the reed-tops. What had so alarmed
the boys was what would have disturbed a whole tribe of their kinsmen,
even though they had chanced to be assembled, armed to the teeth with
such weapons as they then possessed. What they saw was not of the common.
Very rarely indeed, along the Thames, had occurred such an invasion. The
father of Oak had never seen the thing at all, and the father of Ab had
seen it but once, and that many years before. It was the great serpent of
the seas!

Safely concealed in the branches of a tree overlooking the little valley,
the boys soon recovered their normal breathing capacity and were able to
converse again. Not more than a couple of minutes, at the utmost, had
passed between their departure from their place of labor and their
establishment in this same tree. The creature which had so alarmed them
was still gliding swiftly across the morass between the lowland and the
river. It came forward through the marsh undeviatingly toward the tree
clump, the tall reeds quivering as it passed, but its approach indicated
by no sound or other token of disturbance. The slight bank reached, there
was uplifted a great serpent head, and then, without hesitation, the
monster swept forward to the trees and soon hung dangling from the
branches of the largest one, its great coils twined loosely about trunk
and limb, its head swinging gently back and forth just below the lower
branch. It was a serpent at least sixty feet in length, and two feet or
more in breadth at its huge middle. It was queerly but not brilliantly
spotted, and its head was very nearly that of the anaconda of to-day.
Already the sea-serpent had become amphibious. It had already acquired
the knowledge it has transmitted to the anaconda, that it might leave the
stream, and, from some vantage point upon the shore, find more surely a
victim than in the waters of the sea or river. This monster serpent was
but waiting for the advent of any land animal, save perhaps those so
great as the mammoth or the great elk, or, possibly, even the cave
bear or the cave tiger. The mammoth was, of course, an impossibility,
even to the sea-serpent. The elk, with its size and vast antlers, was, to
put it at the mildest, a perplexing thing to swallow. The rhinoceros was
dangerous, and as for the cave bear and the cave tiger, they were
uncomfortable customers for anything alive. But there were the cattle,
the aurochs and the urus, and the little horses and deer, and wild hog
and a score of other creatures which, in the estimation of the
sea-serpent, were extremely edible. A tidbit to the serpent was a man, but
he did not get one in half a century.

Not long did the boys remain even in a harborage so distant. Each fled
homeward with his story.

CHAPTER VII.

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.

It was with scant breath, when they reached their respective caves, that
the boys told the story of the dread which had invaded the marsh-land.
What they reported was no light event and, the next morning, their
fathers were with them in the treetop at the safe distance which the
wooded crest afforded and watching with apprehensive eyes the movements
of the monster settled in the rugged valley tree. There was slight
movement to note. Coiled easily around the bole, just above where the
branches began, and resting a portion of its body upon a thick, extending
limb, its head and perhaps ten or fifteen feet of its length swinging
downward, the great serpent still hung awaiting its prey, ready to launch
itself upon any hapless victim which might come within its reach. That
its appetite would soon be gratified admitted of little doubt. Profiting
by the absence of the boys, who while at work made no effort to conceal
themselves, groups of wild horses were already feeding in the lowlands,
and the elk and wild ox were visible here and there. The group in the
treetop on the crest realized that it had business on hand. The
sea-serpent was a terror to the cave people, and when one appeared to
haunt the river the word was swiftly spread, and they gathered to
accomplish its end if possible. With warnings to the boys they left
behind them, the fathers sped away in different directions, one up, the
other down, the river's bank, Stripe-Face to seek the help of some of the
cave people and One-Ear to arouse the Shell people, as they were called,
whose home was beside a creek some miles below. Into the home of the
little colony One-Ear went swinging a little later, demanding to see the
head man of the fishing village, and there ensued an earnest conversation
of short sentences, but one which caused immediate commotion. To the hill
dwellers the rare advent of a sea-serpent was comparatively a small
matter, but it was a serious thing to the Shell folk. The sea-serpent
might come up the creek and be among them at any moment, ravaging their
community. The Shell people were grateful for the warning, but there were
few of them at home, and less than a dozen could be mustered to go with
One-Ear to the rendezvous.

They were too late, the hardy people who came up to assail the serpent,
because the serpent had not waited for them. The two boys roosting in the
treetop on the height had beheld what was not pleasant to look upon, for
they had seen a yearling of the aurochs enveloped by the thing, which
whipped down suddenly from the branches, and the crushed quadruped had
been swallowed in the serpent's way. But the dinner which might suffice
it for weeks had not, in all entirety, the effect upon it which would
follow the swallowing of a wild deer by its degenerate descendants of the
Amazonian or Indian forests.

The serpent did not lie a listless mass, helplessly digesting the product
of the tragedy upon the spot of its occurrence, but crawled away slowly
through the reeds, and instinctively to the water, into which it slid
with scarce a splash, and then went drifting lazily away upon the current
toward the sea. It had been years since one of these big water serpents
had invaded the river at such a distance from its mouth and never came
another up so far. There were causes promoting rapidly the extinction of
their dreadful kind.

Three or four days were required before Ab and Oak realized, after what
had taken place, that there were in the community any more important
personages than they, and that they had work before them, if they were to
continue in their glorious career. When everyday matters finally asserted
themselves, there was their pit not yet completed. Because of their
absence, a greater aggregation of beasts was feeding in the little
valley. Not only the aurochs, the ancient bison, the urus, the progenitor
of the horned cattle of to-day, wild horse and great elk and reindeer
were seen within short distances from each other, but the big, hairy
rhinoceros of the time was crossing the valley again and rioting in its
herbage or wallowing in the pools where the valley dipped downward to the
marsh. The mammoth with its young had swung clumsily across the area of
rich feed, and, lurking in its train, eyeing hungrily and bloodthirstily
the mammoth's calf, had crept the great cave tiger. The monster cave bear
had shambled through the high grass, seeking some small food in default
of that which might follow the conquest of a beast of size. The uncomely
hyenas had gone slinking here and there and had found something worthy
their foul appetite. All this change had come because the two boys, being
boys and full of importance, had neglected their undertaking for about a
week and had talked each in his own home with an air intended to be
imposing, and had met each other with much dignity of bearing, at their
favorite perching-place in the treetop on the hillside. When there came
to them finally a consciousness that, to remain people of magnitude in
the world, they must continue to do something, they went to work bravely.
The change which had come upon the valley in their brief absence tended
to increase their confidence, for, as thus exhibited, early as was the
age, the advent of the human being, young or old, somehow affected all
animate nature and terrified it, and the boys saw this. Not that the
great beasts did not prey upon man, but then, as now, the man to the
great beast was something of a terror, and man, weak as he was, knew
himself and recognized himself as the head of all creation. The mammoth,
the huge, thick-coated rhinoceros, sabre-tooth, the monstrous tiger, or
the bear, or the hyena, or the loping wolf, or short-bodied and vicious
wolverine were to him, even then, but lower creatures. Man felt himself
the master of the world, and his children inherited the perception.

Work in the pit progressed now rapidly and not a great number of days
passed before it had attained the depth required. The boy at work was
compelled, when emerging, to climb a dried branch which rested against
the pit's edge, and the lookout in the tree exercised an extra caution,
since his comrade below could no longer attain safety in a moment. But
the work was done at last, that is, the work of digging, and there
remained but the completion of the pitfall, a delicate though not a
difficult matter. Across the pit, and very close together, were laid
criss-crosses of slender branches, brought in armfuls from the forest;
over these dry grass was spread, thinly but evenly, and over this again
dust and dirt and more grass and twigs, all precautions being observed to
give the place a natural appearance. In this the boys succeeded very
well. Shrewd must have been the animal of any sort which could detect the
trap. Their chief work done, the boys must now wait wisely. The place was
deserted again and no nearer approach was made to the pitfall than the
treetops of the hillside. There the boys were to be found every day,
eager and anxious and hopeful as boys are generally. There was not
occasion for getting closer to the trap, for, from their distant perch,
its surface was distinctly visible and they could distinguish if it had
been broken in. Those were days of suppressed excitement for the two;
they could see the buffalo and wild horses moving here and there, but
fortune was still perverse and the trap was not approached. Before its
occupation by them, the place where they had dug had appeared the
favorite feeding-place; now, with all perversity, the wild horses and
other animals grazed elsewhere, and the boys began to fear that they had
left some traces of their work which revealed it to the wily beasts. On
one day, for an hour or two, their hearts were in their mouths. There
issued from the forest to the westward the stately Irish elk. It moved
forward across the valley to the waters on the other side, and, after
drinking its fill, began feeding directly toward the tree clump. It
reached the immediate vicinity of the pitfall and stood beneath the
trees, fairly outlined against the opening beyond, and affording
to the almost breathless couple a splendid spectacle. A magnificent
creature was the great elk of the time of the cave men, the Irish elk, as
those who study the past have named it, because its bones have been found
so frequently in what are now the preserving peat bogs of Ireland. But
the elk passed beyond the sight of the watchers, and so their bright
hopes fell.

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