On his father’s skull, Iturrioz swore a feud against the gorged bird, who sat on the edge of his eyrie, looking down with glazed eyes, and holding out his wings for the sun’s warmth.
Iturrioz went to the ruined temple of Quetzalcoatl and made a sacrifice, spilling blood and salt, for the condor was sacred to the god. Then he went home, and going to his hut he took his bow from beneath the eaves.
Iturrioz was a famous bowman, and he, with two other young men, did all the hunting for the tribe. He took five arrows that had belonged to his grandfather that were only to be used in blood feuds. These arrows were of cunning workmanship; and they were tipped with jasper.
On his thick, powerful bow, Iturrioz put a new string, and then he put the arrow heads to soak in a small pot of cura, a most potent venom.
He set out along the pass early in the morning of the next day. The sun was high by the time he came under the eyrie. The condor was nowhere to be seen.
The Indian squatted down and waited patiently, leaning against the warm rock.
As time wore on and the condor did not come, Iturrioz chewed at a leathery tortilla, still squatting with his great bow across his knees.
He had never seen a firearm of any kind, and, although he had heard of them, he did not really believe in their existence.
At times he thought he saw a speck high in the sky which might have been the bird, but otherwise no living thing stirred. There was no sound of any kind, nor was there any wind.
For some time Iturrioz considered the possibility of reaching the eyrie far above him, but he soon abandoned the thought, for the rock rose sheer; it did not offer the least foothold.
It would also be next to impossible to shoot the condor in its eyrie, for the projection offered a complete shelter from an arrow.
The condor did not return before nightfall, so the Indian left the dangerous part of the pass and went back to a spot where he had left a blanket. He rolled himself in this and slept until daybreak.
At sunrise he rose and went back to the village. There he took a very young llama, which he led along the pass of Quetzalcoatl. The condor was sailing slowly down the gentle wind some way below the pass, but he saw Iturrioz and the llama and wheeled into the wind, climbing rapidly. He soared high above the ledge, and poised himself motionless on his broad wings.
The Indian tied the llama to a long rope, and squatted down on the ledge in the same place as before. The young llama wandered up and down the ledge, for the rope to which it was tied was long enough to let it go a good distance from Iturrioz.
Twice it came so near the edge that the condor started to dive, but each time the bird checked, and each time Iturrioz sank back, releasing his bow with a twang.
The third time, however, the young llama presented a perfect target for the stooping condor.
The bird swooped from its great height; the Indian stood erect, perfectly still, with his arrow drawn to his ear.
The condor grew nearer and larger, and Iturrioz heard the rush of its wings. Then he loosed his arrow, the aim was true, and the jasper-headed arrow passed clean through the bird’s body, so strong was the bow.
The condor, jerked out of its course, screamed, and missed the llama. It shot down past the ledge, and then wheeled slowly up, hoping to gain its eyrie.
With lightning rapidity the Indian shot his remaining four arrows into the condor. He shot so quickly and so true that the four shafts were all in the air at one time, and they all found their mark.
The condor almost reached its eyrie before it died in the air. Then it circled down; the huge outspread wings supported the dead bird for a time, but soon it slipped sideways and hurtled down.
A drop of deep red blood fell on the ledge, where it dried quickly in the fierce sun.
OLD CRONK
VI
Old Cronk
A heron was flying slowly over the marshes a little before daybreak. There was light enough to fish by, and the four clamorous youngsters in the nest at home would soon be wanting food.
The country people who lived in and about the marsh knew the heron well, because of his remarkable size and age.
They called him Old Cronk, because of his voice. Landing on the edge of a stream he began walking slowly along the water’s edge, peering into the water.
A frog swam jerkily into Cronk’s sight, and the heron shot his long beak into the water with lightning speed, spearing the frog through the middle of the back.
Swallowing the frog into his crop, Cronk stalked on. Coming to a little pool, he stopped at a clump of kingcups, and drew up one leg under him, waiting for something to come along.
The white morning mists were melting away as the sun came up before Cronk saw anything. It was an eel, swimming slowly along the bed of the stream with a wriggling, snake-like motion. Cronk’s eyes brightened, and he stiffened with a barely perceptible quiver of his crest.
Down shot the spear-sharp beak, and the eel flew up into the air, impaled on the point. With a quick jerk the heron flung it off, catching it again with an open beak.
The eel joined the frog in the heron’s crop. Fearing that the disturbance must have startled all the other fish in the stream, the bird waded to the bank, where he gave a little jump, and launched himself into the air, flying with firm, steady wingbeats along the course of the stream until he came to another pool, larger and deeper than the first.
Here he landed on the bank, and waded slowly into the pool until he stood in about a foot of water.
Waiting for the inhabitants of the pool to settle down again after the slight disturbance that he had made, Cronk surveyed the pool. It was about twenty feet across, the stream led into it at one end, and two smaller streams led out at the other.
The heron had not fished in this pool very often, as the water was muddy, and it was not easy to see the fish.
For about half an hour the heron stood on one leg, stock-still, as if in deep meditation.
A roach rose at a fly a little across the pool, and the soft ‘plop’ that it made sounded clear in the still morning air.
A fat bream rose lazily to the surface near Cronk’s feet, and swallowed a little insect that was struggling in the water.
Cronk jerked the bream into the air, and a second later it had joined the frog and the eel in his crop.
The wavelets subsided, and the heron settled down again to watch. A school of roach entered the pool from one of the smaller streams.
Cronk strode through the water with a purposeful air, making no disturbance. The soft brown mud at the bottom covered his toes as he waded a little deeper. With his long neck outstretched, Cronk waited for the roach to come a little nearer. Slowly the roach came within reach, and the bird raised his head to strike.
Then there was a rush as a great pike shot up from a deep hole, and snapped up one of the little fish.
Cronk had struck at the roach before he had realized the size of his adversary.
His beak had shot in after the roach just half a second before the pike had swallowed, and Cronk saw that he had got more than he could manage.
The pike snapped his strong mouth on Cronk’s beak, and pulled. The heron was taken off his guard for the moment, and almost lost his balance, but he flapped wildly with his wings and regained it, jerking twice with his beak to dislodge the pike.
Cronk dropped the roach, and was backing towards the land when the pike, who was in a furious rage, having been hurt by the heron’s beak, rushed snapping at his legs.
The heron darted down his beak to defend his legs, and jabbed the fish in the side. Undeterred, the pike seized Cronk’s right foot and pulled him over on one side. The heron lost his balance and fell with a squawk and a loud splash, thrashing the water wildly with his wings. Somewhat alarmed by the terrific splashing that the heron made, the pike drew off, watching warily.
Cronk was badly shaken and flustered by falling over, and in his attempts to regain his balance he got out of his depth, and was forced to swim.
&
nbsp; He could swim, but he did not like it, especially as he knew that he could not fly until he got to the land.
The pike, a very fierce old fish, weighing between twenty-five and thirty pounds, had lived for many years in the deep hole in the middle of the pool.
He was now thoroughly roused, and wanted to get Cronk over the deep hole in order to be able to drag him down by the foot and drown him. The pike had killed many moorhens and mallard in this way.
Getting between the bird and the bank the pike broke water with a loud splash, hoping to terrify Cronk into swimming deeper. But Cronk was far too stout a bird to be terrified by splashes, and he shot his beak at the pike, catching him, by a lucky chance, in the right eye.
The big fish beat the water into a foam before diving to bury his head in the soft mud.
The heron took advantage of the pause to swim towards the bank. Feeling land beneath his feet, Cronk began wading to the side. He heard the pike shoot clear of the water just behind him. Owing to his eye injury the pike had quite missed Cronk’s foot, and he snapped his powerful teeth on empty air.
Wheeling, the heron struck two lightning blows into the great fish, completely transfixing it; he jerked his beak free and reached the bank.
The pike sank writhing, to float up dead a little later on his side.
Cronk shook himself, and hopped into the air, flapping strongly with his broad wings.
He flew slowly, because he was tired, but soon he saw the trees of his ancient heronry coming into sight. He gave a loud ‘Cronk! Cronk!’ and quickened his pace. A few moments later he landed lightly on the great untidy heap of twigs on which his mate and four young ones awaited breakfast.
GORILLA
VII
Gorilla
Four great apes sat in a tree at noon. They were gorillas, one huge male, his wife, and two small ones. A fifth gorilla, the smallest, was scratching up roots on the ground.
From where he sat, high up on a sort of flat nest or platform of branches and twigs, the big gorilla smelt man. He gave a grunt, and his son on the ground swung up into the tree.
The fierce glare of the noonday sun scarcely penetrated the dense tropical foliage of the forest, and a steamy twilight prevailed except in the occasional clearings.
The largest of the apes had encountered men before, and he had killed two quite easily, but he did not understand them, and so he feared them in a dim, resentful way.
The scent grew weaker, and died away, but none of the gorillas left the trees until well into the afternoon. When they were in the trees they were at home; they swung from branch to branch by their great arms as lightly as gibbons. On the ground they felt lost and out of place. They walked awkwardly on their stumpy bow legs, keeping almost erect by leaning their knuckles on the ground. They shuffled uncomfortably, using their long arms as stilts, when they tried to walk upright; they went faster on all fours.
When it rained, as it often did, they were very miserable if they were on the ground, because they slipped, and stepped in puddles and mud, which they detested, being cleanly creatures. So they always went up to their nest to shelter from the warm downpour, and sometimes they had to sit there for hours, watching the rain. The father had sometimes tried to make a roof to keep the rain from dripping on to him, but he had never quite succeeded.
Sometimes when they were feeding far from their usual haunts they would meet other gorillas, but they avoided them as a rule. Once when they had encountered a solitary, morose old gorilla, he had attacked one of the younger ones, and the big male had gone to his rescue. The two gorillas had faced one another on the ground, half erect, roaring and beating their huge chests. The younger ape had slipped back to his mother.
On that day the two males had contented themselves with roaring, and had not fought, but about a month later the old gorilla had passed under a tree in which his former adversary was hiding. Before he had had time to know what was happening, a great weight had struck him in the back, and fierce teeth had met through his neck, and he was dead. His enemy had remembered, and had hidden on purpose.
The gorillas could talk, although their words were few and difficult to distinguish from grunts. In their guttural, throaty speech the big male was called Urrgh.
Once Urrgh had had three wives, but two had been speared to death when the gorillas had been raiding the sugar canes near a native village. On that occasion Urrgh had killed two men by tearing them to pieces with his hands.
On their platform the gorillas had made heaps of dried fern leaves and grass, from which they made themselves comfortable beds. From the time when he had smelt men until late in the afternoon, Urrgh occupied himself with making a bed.
He selected tufts of soft grass from the main heap and took them to the corner of the nest nearest to the trunk of the enormous tree, then with the greatest care he arranged them to his liking. When he had finished, something in the bed displeased him, so he tore it to pieces, and started again.
Suddenly a change in the wind brought back the smell of man. This, combined with the failure of his bed, annoyed Urrgh, and he got up on his stumpy legs and roared a great deep-throated roar, and thundered on his chest with his clenched fists – the sound was like that of a muffled drum. Then, stopping, he cuffed his wife, and went on with his half-made bed.
His wife, offended, went down to the ground, where her offspring were grubbing up roots.
The veering breeze carried away the smell of men, and the gorilla concentrated on his bed.
Suddenly he saw something glint in the bushes on the ground. He looked down to the little clear space where his family were scuffling about – they had noticed nothing. He looked again, and saw a number of men crouching in the shadow of a thick bush.
He knew that there were more than four, because he could count up to four, but no more.
He was too curious to see what they were doing to give the alarm at once. The thing which he had seen glittering was the barrel of a rifle.
There was a white hunter with five black servants. They were out to catch a young gorilla alive, and they had a net for that purpose.
The wind was blowing into the faces of the hunters, so the gorillas on the ground had no hint of their presence.
One of the smaller apes was gradually nearing the edge of the little clearing; quickly the net shot out and covered him. Instantly Urrgh gave a great bellow of warning and swung down towards the ground. His wife and the other young ones reached the platform as Urrgh reached the ground.
On the ground he paused for a moment, beating his chest. The hunters had all their work cut out to overpower the powerful young gorilla in the net. Suddenly Urrgh charged; scrambling along, now on all fours, now erect, he went faster than a man can run.
The white hunter fired twice; the first bullet missed, but the second struck Urrgh in the shoulder. It did not stop him, however, and before the white man could fire again Urrgh tore the rifle from his grasp, twisted it up like so much rubber tubing, and launched himself at the men.
Two of the natives broke and ran, but the remaining three threw their heavy spears. One only grazed him, but the other two pierced him through the chest. He did not stop for all that, and seized the nearest native in his great arms. He finished the wretched man in a few seconds, but by that time the others had fled, carrying their captive still in the net.
Urrgh dropped the corpse and began to pursue the fugitives. After a moment he stopped, and plucked at the spears. In the heat of the battle he had hardly felt them, but now he felt the pain and roared, pulling at the spears. One came out easily, but the other was barbed, and the head broke off short.
He shambled back to the clearing, where his wife came down to him. She licked his shoulder, and after a few minutes they set off on the trail of the hunters.
They could see the track easily, for the running men had beaten down the undergrowth in their hurry.
The apes swung through the branches after the men, and after a bare minute of hard going they came withi
n sight of them. The hunters were on the bank of a river, just getting into a canoe. They pushed off as the apes came roaring down to the water’s edge.
They still had the young gorilla, and the current was far too swift for the apes to cross by swimming.
They returned to the trees, and raced up and down trying to find a place where they could cross. At last they came to two great trees whose branches interlaced over the river. Urrgh and his mate hurled themselves across, and cast about for the trail again. It was some time before they found it, and Urrgh was weakening from loss of blood, but his rage kept him on.
By nightfall the gorillas reached the hunter’s camp, which was in a clearing surrounded by large trees. The natives were just beginning to make up the fire for the night, and the white man was standing under one of the trees lighting his pipe.
The young gorilla was in a portable cage. The white man knocked out the dottle of his pipe against his heel, and filled it again.
From a leafy branch just above him a great hairy hand reached down … he never uttered a sound when he dropped, because his neck was broken.
The natives saw his death in the twilight, and ran; they would fight in the daylight, but not in the dark.
It was the work of a minute for the two full-grown gorillas to smash the light cage. As night fell the three fled back through the branches to their platform.
In the night Urrgh became feverish, and dreamed of great gestes. He fought with his shadow in the light of the moon, and fell backwards from the platform.
He was dead by the morning.
WANG KAHN
VIII
Wang Kahn
Wang Kahn was chief of all the elephants who were piling teak for the Amalgamated Teak Company. He was a mighty bull in the prime of his life, and he was extraordinarily skilful with the great teak logs that came floating down the river from the forests on their way to the coast and the Company’s headquarters.