Ab was alone, and would afford good eating
for those of the forest who, before long, would be seeking him. The scent
of the wild beast was a wonderful thing. The man tried to rise, then lay
back sullenly. Far in the distance, and growing fainter and fainter, he
could hear the shouts of the laughing spear-throwers.
The strong young man, thus left alone to death almost inevitable, did not
altogether despair. He had still with him his good stone ax and his long
and keen stone knife. He would, at least, hurt something sorely before he
was eaten, he thought grimly to himself. And then he pressed leaves
together on the cut upon his leg, and laid himself back upon the leaves
and waited.
He did not have to wait long. He had not thought to do so. How full the
woods were of blood-scenting and man-eating things none knew better than
he. His ear, keen and trained, caught the patter of a distant approach.
"Wolves," he said to himself at first, and then "Hyenas," for the step was
puzzling. He was perplexed. The step was regular, and it was not in the
forest on either side, but was coming up the path. A terror came upon him
and he had crawled deeper into the shades, when he noted that the steps
first ceased, and then that they wandered searchingly and uncertainly.
Then, loud and strong, rang out a voice, calling his name, and it was the
voice of Oak! He could not answer for a moment, and then he cried out
gladly.
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