A
great oak stood in the middle of the pathway and toward it already a spear
or two had been sent, all aimed, as the first thrower had indicated, at a
white fungus growth which protruded from the tree. It was a matter of
accuracy this time. Ab leaped ahead some yards in advance of all and
hurled his spear. He saw the white chips fly from the side of the fungus
target, saw the quivering of the spear shaft with the head deep sunken in
the wood, and then felt a sudden shock and pain in one of his legs. He
fell sideways off the path and beneath the brushwood, as the wild band,
young and old, swept by. He was crippled and could not walk. He called
aloud, but none heard him amid the shouting of that careless race. He
tried to struggle to his feet, but one leg failed him and he fell back,
lying prone, just aside from the forest path, nearly weaponless and the
easy prey of the wild beasts. What had hurt him so grievously was a spear
thrown wildly from behind him. It had, hurled with great strength, struck
a smooth tree trunk and glanced aside, the point of the spear striking the
young man fairly in the calf of the leg, entering somewhat the bone
itself, and shocking, for the moment, every nerve. The flint sides had cut
a vein or two and these were bleeding, but that was nothing. The real
danger lay in his helplessness.
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