Once Tree let Flower carry the antelope he had killed to the camp. She did so, proudly. Hamilton was angry. Knife beat Flower. Flower did not care. But that night Short Leg, with a chipped knife, crept to Flower. She held her hand over Flower’s mouth. When Flower opened her eyes, she was terrified. She could not move. She felt the clopped blade of the flint weapon pressing across her throat. “Stay away from Tree,” whispered Short Leg. Then she added, “Tree will be mine.”
“Did you see Cricket, Pod?” asked Hamilton, the berries in her hand.
“No,” said Pod.
She gave the toddler a berry.
“I will help you look for Cricket,” said Butterfly. “I will help, too,” said Antelope.
“Cricket!” called Hamilton. “I have something fox you!” She clutched the berries more closely.
“Tooth,” asked Butterfly, “have you seen Cricket?”
“No,” said Tooth.
“Arrow Maker, have you seen Cricket?” asked Butterfly.
“No,” said Arrow Maker.
“I will help you look,” said Tooth. “Ugly Girl!” he called. “Let us find Cricket.”
She came, nostrils distended, filtering the scents of the camp. Her sense of smell was superior to that of most of the Men. She stood still in the camp. Then she began to walk about its edge.
“Short Leg,” said Antelope. “Have you seen Cricket?”
“No,” said Short Leg, looking down, scraping a skin. She smiled.
“Where is Cricket?” asked Tree of Hamilton.
“I am looking for him,” said Hamilton.
“Oh,” said Tree. He did not look up. Hamilton turned away, the berries in her hand. When she was not looking, Tree rose to his feet. Perhaps Cricket was by the river. He liked to throw stones in the water. Tree was thirsty. He would look. He would see, on the way, if he could pick up a trail. It would not be out of his way.
Tree did not much care for Short Leg. She had been Spear’s woman. She was not beautiful. She was now fed by Stone. She was a cunning woman, and hard and sharp. Her mind was quick, her tongue cruel. Many times she had knelt behind Tree, but he would not throw her meat. He threw it to Turtle. Then Short Leg would hobble to Stone, and take her place behind him, and he would give her meat. Sometimes Hamilton, herself, thrust her away from Tree. “Tree is mine!” Hamilton said to her, though she would not have dared to say this within the hearing of Tree. “Stay away from him! He is mine!” Once she threatened Short Leg with a heavy stick. “You will be fed by Stone,” she said. “Go away!”
Although Tree did not want Short Leg, he was not displeased that this powerful woman wished to be fed by him. He was more pleased that Flower had begged for food. But Flower, for some weeks now, had not pressed herself upon him. She no longer met him on the return trails. This puzzled Tree. Once, in the camp, he took her, making her cry out, moaning, with unwilling miseries of pleasure, but she had seemed frightened; he had had, literally, to rape her; then she had fled away from him, terrified. He supposed that Knife had threatened her. “I can please you more than Flower,” had said Turtle, begging him for his touch, taking his hand, putting it on her body. “Tend your son,” had said Tree to her, angrily. She had wept.
Although Tree was careful to show little attention, and certainly no favoritism, to the boy, Cricket, it was clear to the women in the camp, and to many of the men, that he was much pleased with the boy, and that, somehow, his relationship to the boy was not simply that of one of the Men to one of the children of the Men. Tree had been present when the boy had taken his first steps. It was with pride and pleasure that Tree had laughed. It seemed strange to several of the men that Tree should be thus pleased. Did not all the children of the Men walk? Did he think that Cricket would not be able to walk?
“Old Woman, Nurse,” asked Hamilton, “where is Cricket?”
“I do not know,” said Old Woman. “I do not know,” said Nurse.
About the edge of the camp, followed by Tooth, Ugly Girl had dropped almost to all fours. She bent over, nostrils wide. The knuckles of her long arms, on the thick, short body, brushed the ground. She took scent deeply.
At the river Tree, angrily, examined the near bank. None of the camp were there.
Short Leg had seen that not all was well between Turtle and Tree. Tree was angry with her, many times. This pleased Short Leg, but, to her puzzlement, he continued to feed her. Sometimes, when Turtle suckled the child, or fondled it, and played with it, paying Tree no attention, he was clearly angry. At other times, he seemed fond of the child, inordinately and inappropriately so for so powerful a hunter. Why should he so care about the child of Turtle? Even if it was his seed, it was not important; it was the son of the mother, and the mother’s alone, until the men should want it and take it from her, to make it a hunter. Turtle’s son, Short Leg understood, was, for all his irritation, important to Tree. It made Turtle, to him, somehow different from all the other females of the camp. If it were not for the boy, Short Leg reasoned, Turtle would be to him no more than Cloud, or Flower or Antelope. If Tree would feed Short Leg, Short Leg would not object if he took Flower or Cloud, only that she, Short Leg, would be first woman. Flower would be behind her. She would not be first. It would be then as it had been with Spear. Short Leg would be the woman of Tree, but he would have others, too, which he might feed, and use for his pleasure. Stone could have Turtle, or Runner or Fox. Or, she could be traded to the Bear People, or the Horse People, for another girl, a new girl, not knowing the group, who would do as Short Leg told her. Short Leg had seen Tree’s anger with Turtle. Why did he continue to feed her? It had to do, somehow, with Turtle’s son.
Hamilton, with Cloud and Butterfly, struggled through brush about the camp.
“Cricket!” Hamilton called.
The berries were only stains and pulp in her clenched fist. She could hear others, too, the women, and Tooth, calling out, elsewhere in the brush.
Then she heard Tooth call out to her. “Turtle!” he cried. She, with the others, struggled through the brush, towards him. Ugly Girl, on her hands and knees, looked up at them. She looked frightened, sick.
“What is wrong?” whispered Hamilton.
“She has found the trail,” said Tooth.
Ugly Girl could not tell in the language of the Men the mingled scents she had detected, for her mouth and tongue could not make the words. But she did not sign the scents either, in hand talk. Tooth could not look Hamilton in the face.
“What is it!” cried Hamilton.
She saw a broken branch, a crushed leaf. “Cricket!” she cried. “Cricket!”
Ugly Girl, the others, and Tooth, did not follow her.
Hamilton made her way through the brush, pushing aside branches.
32
“He liked berries,” said Hamilton.
She placed, in the tiny trough, a dozen berries. They were large, juicy, red. She put in the tiny trough five tiny, pretty shells, and a toy, of stuffed leather, in the shape of a small, four-footed animal. Pod, who was the son of Short Leg, put a shiny pebble in the trough. Tree crouched nearby, but back with the others. He put a tiny bow, with tiny arrows in the trough. The Men put stones over the trough.
Hamilton stood up.
Short Leg, seeing her return, seeing her eyes, and that she knew, had leaped, eyes wild, terrified, to her feet and fled. “Turtle will kill me!” she cried to Stone. “Cricket is dead,” had said Stone. Short Leg fled to the cave where Spear sat, on a rug of fur. “Turtle will kill me!” she cried. “A child of the Men is dead,” said Spear. “Protect me!” cried Short Leg. “Are you here, Stone?” asked Spear. Prom the entrance to the shelter Stone had said, “I am here.” “With stones cut off her fingers,” said Spear. “With sticks punch out her eyes. Then take her into the forests. Leave her far from the shelters. Leave her far from the shelters at night.” “No,” cried Short Leg. She scrambled past Stone. On the ledge outside Spear’s shelter she saw Hamilton below. Hamilton began to climb toward her. “Turtle will kill me!” cried Short Leg. She picked up a rock and hurled it down toward Hamilton. Hamilton continued to climb toward her. Below, at the foot of the shelters, Short Leg saw Ugly Girl, Tooth, Cloud, the others. They were looking up, watching. “Protect me!” screamed Short Leg. “I am Short Leg!” she cried. “Protect me!”