The Boy of the Painted Cave (5 page)

T
hroughout the little camp the hunters heard the whimpering sound too.

“A wolf, a wolf!” shouted one.

They reached for their spears, grabbed flaming torches from the fire, and rushed out into the darkness to search the bushes and scrubwood.

Volt heard the noise. Throwing his deerskin robe across his shoulders, he strode into the firelight. “What is it?”

“Wolf!” a hunter repeated.

“Kill the evil beast,” shouted Volt, “or it will be a curse on our camp.” He followed the hunters, shaking his spear.

Tao stood at the edge of the camp, listening to the men moving through the forest. He heard them beating the bushes with their spears and he saw their torches bobbing in the darkness. He tried to think of some way to save the little wolf. To raise his voice or call out would only bring the hunters running.

Somehow he had to find Ram before they did. He grabbed a flaming stick from the fire and limped out into the night. He heard the hunters crashing through the underbrush and he knew they were forming a wide circle, getting ready to close in and surround the wolf dog.

Tao held his torch high, trying to see through the dark branches of the buckthorn trees. “Ram,” he whispered, his eyes searching the dim light. “Where are you, Ram?”

Moments passed. The little animal had been frightened off by the noise. But Tao was sure he must be near. He called again, softly: “Ram.”

Nothing moved. His torch flickered and the waving shadows of the buckthorn trees played tricks on his eyes. His heart sank as he heard the hunters come closer. The ring of spears was tightening. Just then a gray shadow moved across his path, slinking out of the darkness. Tao waited as the animal crept toward him, whimpering. It was Ram. Tao leaned down and pushed him back. “Go,” he whispered. “Get away, quickly.”

Ram refused to move. He stood there looking up at Tao, a fearful look in his yellow eyes.

Tao picked up a stick as if to throw. “Go,” he ordered sharply.

But it was too late. Tao heard the voices of the hunters only a few paces away. The little wolf was nearly surrounded.

Quickly Tao sprang forward. He thrust his torch into the damp earth, quenching the flame, then threw it aside. He curled the leg of his bad foot around the shaft of his spear and vaulted ahead. “Wolf, wolf!” he shouted loud enough for the hunters to hear. “Come,” he whispered fiercely to the wolf dog.

Stumbling, lurching through the forest, Tao heard their pounding feet as the hunters picked up the trail. Without looking back, Tao hurdled over the ground, dodging between the trees and bushes. The wolf dog followed close behind as Tao ran into the night. Branches whipped across his face, tree roots caught at his feet, holding him back. But if he could run fast enough, long enough, he knew he would outrun the hunters and save Ram.

Breathing hard, he pushed his way through the underbrush, listening to the grunts and shouts of the angry men as they came after him. He ran faster and faster, twisting and turning through the trees and brush, trying to throw them off the track.

But they kept up the pace, crashing through the forest not far behind him.

He stumbled on blindly through the blackness, vaulting along on the shaft of his spear. His arms grew heavy, his legs were like stones. The trees, the shadows, the night itself became a tangled wall, holding him back as he plunged into the darkness.

How long he ran Tao did not know, but little by little the shouts and footsteps began to fade. He continued on until he was sure it was safe. Panting and out of breath, he had almost reached the river. He stopped and looked around. The wolf dog was not behind him. “Ram,” he whispered, searching the darkness. “Where are you?”

He waited, listening. Nothing moved. He wondered if Ram had been caught. Maybe the wolf dog had been killed and the hunters had turned back. But he had heard nothing. Silence and darkness added to his gloom. His head throbbed and he turned to go back. Then once again he saw Ram slink out of the shadows, whimpering, creeping up to him on his belly.

With a wave of relief Tao stooped down and threw his arms around the animal's shoulder. He spoke to him firmly. “You cannot come into the camp of the clan people,” he said. “They have no love for the wolves. They will kill you.” Tao pushed the little animal away. “Go,” he said, sharply. “Go back and wait in the Slough.”

Ram looked up, panting, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

Tao reached down to pick up a stone. Immediately the wolf dog turned. He looked back once or twice, then disappeared into the darkness. Tao grinned. At last he had found a way to make the wolf dog understand.

Tao walked lightly as he returned to camp, but he put on an angry face. “I could not catch him,” he said to the hunters who had gathered by the fire. “But he is far gone. He will not return.”

Volt grunted, slamming his fist into the palm of his hand. “It is an evil sign,” he said, rubbing his scarred cheek with the back of his hand, his dark shaggy head nodding. “It is an evil sign.”

“We must watch for him and kill him,” said Garth. Sometimes Garth sounded more like Volt than Volt himself. “We will not let him get away again.” Tao felt his stomach turn.

The next morning, after he had banked the fires with three other younger boys of the clan, Tao walked out along the foot of the limestone cliffs, far away from camp. The ash-gray walls loomed high over his head and he came to a spot with many caves. This is a good place, he thought. Here I can make images away from the eyes of Volt and the hunters. Yet it is close enough to visit Kala and bring back food to her and the clan people.

He looked up at the steep rocky ledges and started to climb. It was not easy, but he was able to cling to the crevices and stunted pine shrubs growing out of the cliff wall.

The first two caves he saw were not to his liking. One was too small and the walls were rough and uneven. The second had an animal smell. Tao did not wish to share his home with a leopard or a bear. About halfway up he found a third one. It looked out over the flat valley. He saw no pugmarks and he was sure it was deserted. It was about ten spear lengths long and opened into a small cavern. The walls were smooth with only a few breaks or cracks.

This is what I am looking for, he thought. This will be a good place to stay.

Certain that he had found what he wanted, Tao spent four days filling his cave with dried grass, firewood and kindling. Kala gave him a bearskin robe and a tallow lamp made from a large cockleshell filled with animal fat and a wick made of peat moss. She showed him how to dry cat-tail roots and bur-reed tubers for cooking. She wrapped live embers in a handful of wet grass, placed them in a hollow bone and gave them to him for his fire.

When his cave was ready, Tao went down to the little stream that ran through the willow wood and found a bank of yellow clay. He scooped out some of the clammy substance, rolled it into long pieces and let them dry in the sun. He picked oak twigs and burned them in the fire to make sticks of charcoal.

This done, he stepped back and looked around his little cave. With his chunks of clay and charcoal and a handful of moss for a wiper, he was ready to become a maker of images. He had no picture or sketch to work from. He would have to draw from memory.

He picked up a stick of dried clay. It felt good in his hand and he made a mark on the gray wall. It showed up bold and sharp.

I will draw a horse, he thought. Even though no one else will see it, I will know what I have done and I will feel good.

He started with the head, drawing the long face and the square jaw. Next he sketched in the ears and the gentle curve of the neck. He worked quickly, trying to see in his mind's eye how the horses looked when he saw them out in the valley. With firm strokes of the chalk he drew in the muscular body, the shoulder, the arched rump and the tail.

Then he tried to draw the legs. His hand hesitated. Did the front leg bend just below the body, or farther down? He could not remember. The hind legs were even more difficult. He thought they slanted toward the tail, then bent forward at the knee. But where was the knee? He wasn't sure. He went on, his hand moving across the wall. When he was finished he stepped back. It's not right, he thought. The legs are all wrong.

Impatiently he rubbed it out with a handful of moss and started again. This time he drew the body first, adding the legs and the long, sweeping tail. But when he drew the head, it was too big for the body. He shook his head peevishly. “It's no good,” he said. “It looks more like a bear.”

He tried again and again, but each time it only seemed to get worse. He tried drawing a row of heads, then a row of bodies, but they didn't match. He shook his head in frustration and threw the chalk against the wall, where it broke in a hundred pieces. “I'll never learn,” he said.

He sat on the cold floor, brooding for a while. Then he picked up another piece of chalk and tried again. All day long he drew horses—small horses, running horses, all kinds of horses. He forgot to eat the ground plums Kala had given him, he forgot to make his drink of birch tea. The harder he tried, the more trouble he had. He dropped his chalk and lay down on his bearskin rug, tired, angry, and discouraged, and he fell asleep.

When he awoke the next morning it was quiet. He looked around. There was no smell of Kala's fire, no sound of voices. Then he remembered he was alone, and he was hungry. He climbed down the cliff and made his way across the valley. When he reached the river he turned west and continued on until he came to the Slough.

The trees and vines were green with new leaves. The black loam was thick with uncoiling ferns, and the dank bottomland smelled sweet and earthy. He stopped for a moment and looked around to be sure no one had seen him, then he pushed on through the thickets and into the Slough. He had long forgotten about evil spirits and demons, and he stopped at the stream to feast on watercress and mussels. No longer hungry, he went down into the glades, where he hoped to catch a rabbit or even a young pig.

He was searching around the clumps of dwarf oaks when he saw Ram come running through the tall grass. Tao smiled broadly. He was surprised to see how well the little wolf looked. Ram had gained weight and his silver-gray fur coat was clean and smooth.

The animal crept up to him, whimpering, holding its head low. As Tao reached down to pet it, it rolled over on its back and licked his hand. “You are growing,” said Tao. “Someday you will be a fine wolf dog. But you must learn to stay away from the clan people and the hunters. Come,” he said. “Now we will hunt together.”

All that morning they hunted through the Slough, catching rabbits, field mice and a willow grouse. With Ram trotting by his side, Tao started back for his little cave. He looked around again as he crossed the open valley to be sure no one was watching. Once in the shelter of the cave, they were safe. Here Tao started his fire from the old embers and roasted their grouse and rabbits. The sun had not yet set behind the hills, and golden shafts of light streamed in through the cave entrance. Ram was standing in the opening, and, as Tao ate, he saw the wolf dog's body outlined against the pink skyline.

Quickly he pushed aside his food and picked up a piece of chalk. He began sketching hurriedly, trying to catch the animal's form and shape. He worked swiftly, his hand gliding over the cave wall. He drew in the sharp muzzle, the pointed ears, erect and alert. His hand flew in curves and swoops, catching the lithe beauty of the silver-gray body.

He stepped back and looked at the picture. Then he picked up a stick of charcoal and added the slitted eyes and the coal-black nose. This time he was pleased and he did not rub out the drawing. He knew now that if he had something to go by, something to guide his eye, he could make an image true and without mistakes.

L
ater that spring, Tao and Ram roamed the valley and woodlands. Mostly they hunted in the Slough, where the game was plentiful and where they were not likely to be seen by Volt and the other hunters.

Far to the north, in the high mountains, the retreating glaciers sent down torrents of cold water to form crystal-clear lakes, rippling streams and endless swamplands. In the icy creeks Tao and Ram caught trout and pike. Sometimes, in the distance, they saw the big brown bears fishing along the edges of the sandbars, slapping salmon out of the water with their great paws.

When the hunting was good and they caught much game, Tao left Ram in the little cave and returned to camp with rabbits, quail, geese and strings of salmon for Kala and the clan people.

One afternoon Volt and Garth were standing in the clearing as the boy came in. Volt scratched his head with a big hairy hand, squinting. “You bring in much game,” he said. “Yet you say you hunt alone.”

Tao did not want to lie. Yet he knew, if he told the truth, that everything he had would be taken from him—the cave, the paintings, the wolf dog, everything. He stared hard at the ground. “I hunt with no man,” he said.

“Then you have found a place of plenty,” said Garth curiously. “If that is so, you will tell us where it is.”

Once again Tao hesitated. He dare not talk of the Slough, but he could tell about the other places. “If you will go one day's walk to the spruce forests where the creeks run down to the big waters, there the hunters will find salmon. But the brown bears are taking many. The hunters will have to hurry.”

Volt grunted, shook his head and walked away with Garth behind him. Tao knew it was not easy for the big leader to ask a boy where game was to be found. Yet the small band of clan hunters could not cover all the land.

Whenever Tao saw the hunters in his area, he stayed in his little cave. Here, with Ram lying at his feet, he practiced his drawing, covering the walls with pictures of bears, bison and mammoths. He was never satisfied with these. But when he made pictures of Ram, he felt his images were good.