Meanwhile a girl
was flitting toward her home and the shadows of the waning day were
deepening.
CHAPTER XIX.
A RACE WITH DREAD.
Ab looked toward the forest wherein Lightfoot had fled and then looked
upon that which lay at his feet. It was Oak--there were the form and
features of his friend--but, somehow, it was not Oak. There was too much
silence and the blood upon the leaves seemed far too bright. His rage
departed, and he wanted Oak to answer and called to him, but Oak did not
answer. Then came slowly to him the idea that Oak was dead and that the
wild beasts would that night devour the dead man where he lay. The thought
nerved him to desperate, sudden action. He leaped forward, he put his arms
about the body and carried it away to a hollow in the wooded slope. He
worked madly, doing some things as he had seen the cave people do at other
buryings. He placed the weapons of Oak beside him. He took from his belt
his own knife, because it was better than that of Oak, and laid it close
to the dead man's hand, and then, first covering the body with beech
leaves, he worked frantically upon the overhanging soil, prying it down
with a sharp-pointed fragment of limb, and tossing in upon all as heavy
stones as he could lift, until a great cairn rose above the hunter who
would hunt no more.
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