for an hour. Once we exasperated a band of wild pigs,
and they took after us. The Swift One dared a wide
leap between trees that was too much for me. I had to
take to the ground. There were the pigs. I didn’t
care. I struck the earth within a yard of the nearest
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one. They flanked me as I ran, and chased me into two
different trees out of the line of my pursuit of the
Swift One. I ventured the ground again, doubled back,
and crossed a wide open space, with the whole band
grunting, bristling, and tusk-gnashing at my heels.
If I had tripped or stumbled in that open space, there
would have been no chance for me. But I didn’t. And I
didn’t care whether I did or not. I was in such mood
that I would have faced old Saber-Tooth himself, or a
score of arrow-shooting Fire People. Such was the
madness of love…with me. With the Swift One it was
different. She was very wise. She did not take any
real risks, and I remember, on looking back across the
centuries to that wild love-chase, that when the pigs
delayed me she did not run away very fast, but waited,
rather, for me to take up the pursuit again. Also, she
directed her retreat before me, going always in the
direction she wanted to go.
At last came the dark. She led me around the mossy
shoulder of a canyon wall that out-jutted among the
trees. After that we penetrated a dense mass of
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underbrush that scraped and ripped me in passing. But
she never ruffled a hair. She knew the way. In the
midst of the thicket was a large oak. I was very close
to her when she climbed it; and in the forks, in the
nest-shelter I had sought so long and vainly, I caught
her.
The hyena had taken our trail again, and he now sat
down on the ground and made hungry noises. But we did
not mind, and we laughed at him when he snarled and
went away through the thicket. It was the spring-time,
and the night noises were many and varied. As was the
custom at that time of the year, there was much
fighting among the animals. From the nest we could
hear the squealing and neighing of wild horses, the
trumpeting of elephants, and the roaring of lions. But
the moon came out, and the air was warm, and we laughed
and were unafraid.
I remember, next morning, that we came upon two ruffled
cock-birds that fought so ardently that I went right up
to them and caught them by their necks. Thus did the
Swift One and I get our wedding breakfast. They were
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delicious. It was easy to catch birds in the spring of
the year. There was one night that year when two elk
fought in the moonlight, while the Swift One and I
watched from the trees; and we saw a lion and lioness
crawl up to them unheeded, and kill them as they
fought.
There is no telling how long we might have lived in the
Swift One’s tree-shelter. But one day, while we were
away, the tree was struck by lightning. Great limbs
were riven, and the nest was demolished. I started to
rebuild, but the Swift One would have nothing to do
with it. As I was to learn, she was greatly afraid of
lightning, and I could not persuade her back into the
tree. So it came about, our honeymoon over, that we
went to the caves to live. As Lop-Ear had evicted me
from the cave when he got married, I now evicted him;
and the Swift One and I settled down in it, while he
slept at night in the connecting passage of the double
cave.
And with our coming to live with the horde came
trouble. Red-Eye had had I don’t know how many wives
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since the Singing One. She had gone the way of the
rest. At present he had a little, soft, spiritless
thing that whimpered and wept all the time, whether he
beat her or not; and her passing was a question of very
little time. Before she passed, even, Red-Eye set his
eyes on the Swift One; and when she passed, the
persecution of the Swift One began.
Well for her that she was the Swift One, that she had
that amazing aptitude for swift flight through the
trees. She needed all her wisdom and daring in order
to keep out of the clutches of Red-Eye. I could not
help her. He was so powerful a monster that he could
have torn me limb from limb. As it was, to my death I
carried an injured shoulder that ached and went lame in
rainy weather and that was a mark of is handiwork.
The Swift One was sick at the time I received this
injury. It must have been a touch of the malaria from
which we sometimes suffered; but whatever it was, it
made her dull and heavy. She did not have the
accustomed spring to her muscles, and was indeed in
poor shape for flight when Red-Eye cornered her near
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the lair of the wild dogs, several miles south from the
caves. Usually, she would have circled around him,
beaten him in the straight-away, and gained the
protection of our small-mouthed cave. But she could
not circle him. She was too dull and slow. Each time
he headed her off, until she gave over the attempt and
devoted her energies wholly to keeping out of his
clutches.
Had she not been sick it would have been child’s play
for her to elude him; but as it was, it required all
her caution and cunning. It was to her advantage that
she could travel on thinner branches than he, and make
wider leaps. Also, she was an unerring judge of
distance, and she had an instinct for knowing the
strength of twigs, branches, and rotten limbs.
It was an interminable chase. Round and round and back
and forth for long stretches through the forest they
dashed. There was great excitement among the other
Folk. They set up a wild chattering, that was loudest
when Red-Eye was at a distance, and that hushed when
the chase led him near. They were impotent onlookers.
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The females screeched and gibbered, and the males beat
their chests in helpless rage. Big Face was especially
angry, and though he hushed his racket when Red-Eye
drew near, he did not hush it to the extent the others
did.
As for me, I played no brave part. I know I was
anything but a hero. Besides, of what use would it
have been for me to encounter Red-Eye? He was the
mighty monster, the abysmal brute, and there was no
hope for me in a conflict of strength. He would have
killed me, and the situation would have remained
unchanged. He would have caught the Swift One before
she could have gained the cave. As it was, I could
only look on in helpless fury, and dodge out of the way
and cease my raging when he came too near.
The hours passed. It was late afternoon. And still
the chase went on. Red-Eye was bent upon exhausting
the Swift One. He deliberately ran her down. After a
long time she began to tire and could no longer
maintain her headlong flight. Then it was that she
began going far out on the thinnest branches, where he
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could not follow. Thus she might have got a breathing
spell, but Red-Eye was fiendish. Unable to follow her,
he dislodged her by shaking her off. With all his
strength and weight, he would shake the branch back and
forth until he snapped her off as one would snap a fly
from a whip-lash. The first time, she saved herself by
falling into branches lower down. Another time, though
they did not save her from the ground, they broke her
fall. Still another time, so fiercely did he snap her
from the branch, she was flung clear across a gap into
another tree. It was remarkable, the way she gripped
and saved herself. Only when driven to it did she seek
the temporary safety of the thin branches. But she was
so tired that she could not otherwise avoid him, and
time after time she was compelled to take to the thin
branches.
Still the chase went on, and still the Folk screeched,
beat their chests, and gnashed their teeth. Then came
the end. It was almost twilight. Trembling, panting,
struggling for breath, the Swift One clung pitiably to
a high thin branch. It was thirty feet to the ground,
and nothing intervened. Red-Eye swung back and forth
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on the branch farther down. It became a pendulum,