He began to drag himself toward the bear. That took no longer than loading the gun had, though the body was only a handful of paces from him: he passed out several times on the way. At last he reached the carcass. If he was going to try to live, he would need to eat.
The bear was food, for as long as it stayed fresh.
The pistol ball left no visible wound, now that the bear's mouth was closed in death. Quick's first shot, with the rifle, had torn along the left side of the beast's neck and lodged in its shoulder. It might have been a mortal wound, but not quickly enough to do the trapper any good He tried to push the point of his broken shinbone back into his flesh, and failed repeatedly: the pain was too much to stand. He did drag himself to a sapling close by the bear's carcass and cut it down with his knife. Then, using the lace from his left boot, he tied the sapling to his leg. It was not much of a splint, but it was a little better than nothing. With it on, the broken pieces did not grind together quite so agonizingly.
He set out to make a fire, against the coming chill of night and the chill of his damaged body and for cooking a bloody gobbet he had worried off the bear's shoulder. He was still crumbling dry leaves for tinder when the hunting party of male sims came upon him.
He did not realize they were there until they were almost on top of him.
Along with their crude weapons, they carried squirrels and rabbits, a snake, and a couple of birds: . Not a great day's bag by any means. They looked in wonder from Henry Quick to the bear and back again. You kills one asked. After a little while, he recognized it as the male that had brought him the marten fur.
Understanding its hand-talk and responding took all the concentration and strength the trapper had. I kill bear, he answered.
Bear hurt me, break leg bone.
The sims grimaced. One gave an involuntary hiss of pain. Another pointed at the rude splint. Why stick!
Hold bone pieces stil . Hurt less. Quick changed the subject; his leg did not hurt much less. He waved at the dead bear, cut up meat, take to your fire. He could not hope to eat a twentieth part of it before it spoiled.
The sims could have done what they wanted with the bear no matter what he said, but his free giving of it seemed to take them aback.
Come with us, eat with us again! signed the male he knew.
He had prayed it would ask that. The band of sims, he knew, was his only hope of living through the winter, though he had scorned the thought not long before. It was his only hope of living longer than a few days, come to that.
Even if his leg healed well, he would not be able to travel for months. And with the injury he had, he had a bad feeling it would not heal well.
A male with a broken front tooth was signing at the one he knew best: Kil , it urged. More meat.
Kil , another male agreed. No hunt, no walk. Lie by fire, eat.
Cold soon. No food to give. No good to us. kil .
In other circumstances, Quick might have agreed with those sims.
He would be a burden for the band, and one more mouth to feed when they wein hungry themselves. Unless he could find a way to make himself valuable to them, he was done for. Take me to fire, then take all tools in pack, he offered.
One of the sims, unfortunately, was smart enough to see the flaw in that. Kil , then take tools, it signed.
He almost gave up then. Like a bul et, a spear going into his chest or a club breaking his head would put him out of his pain.
But he had not shot himself, and he did not want to end as a feast for subhumans. He forced his battered wits to work. Take me to fire, make more tools. That was the best he could do. If it did not appeal to the sims, he was dead. The male that had brought him the marten pelt hooted.
Make noise-sticks? it asked. He could see the eagerness on its broad features.
No, he signed, hating to have to do it. But even had he had metal to hand, he did not know how to make a gun.
Use noise-stick to kill game near fire.
He happened to think of bows and arrows. They were rare in the Commonwealths, but some rich men back east liked to hunt with them, claiming they were more sporting than guns. Quick cared nothing for sport. He was interested in surviving. Make thing like noise-stick, but quiet, he signed.
Kil far like noise-stick? the male asked. Not that far.
Farther than spear.
The sims shouted at one another, not so much arguing as to intimidate. Finally the male that had brought Quick the marten fur signed Take, and pointed at him. He tried without much luck to stifle a shriek as two sims hauled him upright. Others fell to butchering the bear.
It Soon they were toting slabs of meat bigger than those a man could easily carry.
That strength also helped the pair over whose shoulders he had draped his arms. Al the same, the journey to the band's clearing was a nightmare. It would have been dreadful even with careful men hauling the trapper. It was worse with sims. They were not deliberately cruel, but they were careless. Several times his broken leg hit the ground so hard he thought it would fall off. He rather wished it would. Mercifully, he passed out again before the hunting party got home.
The anguish when his bearers let him down like a sack of meal brought him back to himself. Sims were all he could see as he peered blearily upward. Their thick odor clogged his nostrils.
He felt blood flowing down his leg again. The thought of getting the sims to set the broken bone made him sweat but leaving it untended was worse.
Take off stick, he signed. Take off boots, pants. The sims grunted in puzzle the hand-talk gesture for trousers meant nothing to them, since they had never seen any except his. He pointed, and they understood. Fix bone, put stick back and another stick on, hold bone in place. He thought of thing else. Hold me down. I yell, you do anyhow.
the sims hooted in dismay when they saw how he was.
He die, a female signed flatly.
He live, he make for us, answered the male he knew. he live. That was another female. After a moment, he reconized it as the one that had wanted to couple with him. Well, no danger of that now, he thought, and even in torment almost laughed.
The grizzled sim pushed forward. Maker it signed. Good. if Live.
That was the most sign-talk the trapper had ever seen from it.
He turned his head away. The sight of his red-smeared tibia sticking through his flesh was making him even sicker than he felt already.
Push bone into leg, he signed. straight, like other leg.
Till then, he had only thought he knew what pain was. again, the sims were not cruel on purpose; again, that did help. No one could have set the fracture without hurting him badly. That the would-be healers were inexperenced subhumans made things worse, but perhaps not by much.
Some unmeasurable time later, his agony lessened, by a tiny fraction. He chose to believe that was because two pieces of bone were properly aligned. If not, he knew he could bear no more. His throat was raw from screaming; he could feel the blood slick on his hands, where nails had bitten into his palms.
now sticks on, he signed. Tie tight. Hold bones in place.
senses failed him before the sims were done. This time it did not return to him at once.
When at last he woke again, the sun was in his eyes. It morning His leg felt better; It was, he realized an improvement on how it had felt the day before. He looked around. Most of the Sims were long gone from ring, the males to hunt, the females to forage.
The female that had wanted him came out of the woods its arms were full of berries and roots it set down its prizes and came over to stoop beside him After a moment it rose again, to return with a chunk of food. His stomach twisted. He was not ready for food, but he had a raging thirst. Water, he signed.