Jean Auel - The Clan of the Cave Bear

Leaving the foothills behind, they fell into a ground-eating dogtrot, approaching the herd downwind. As they drew close, they crouched low in the tall grass watching the huge beasts. Gigantic humpbacked shoulders, tapering to narrow flanks behind, supported massive woolly heads bearing enormous black horns that spanned well over a yard in mature animals. The rangy, sweaty smell of the close-packed multitude assaulted their nostrils and the earth vibrated with the movement of thousands of hooves.

Brun, holding up a hand to shade his eyes, studied each individual creature that passed, waiting for the right animal in the right circumstances. To look at the man, it was impossible to tell the unbearable tension the leader kept under tight control. Only his pulsing temples above locked jaws betrayed his nervously pounding heart and raw-edged nerves. This was the most important hunt of his life. Not even his first kill that had elevated him to the status of manhood matched this one, for on it rested the final condition for residence in the new cave. A successful hunt would not only bring meat for the feast that would be part of the cave ceremony, but would assure the clan that their totems did, indeed, favor their new home. If the hunters returned empty-handed from their first hunt, the clan would be required to search further for a cave more acceptable to their protective spirits. It was their totems’ way of warning them that the cave was unlucky. When Brun saw the huge herd of bison, he was encouraged. They were the embodiment of his own totem.

Brun glanced at his hunters waiting anxiously for his signal. Waiting was always the hardest part, but a premature move could have disastrous results, and if it was humanly possible, Brun was going to make sure nothing went wrong with the hunt. He caught the worried expression on Broud’s face and almost regretted, for a fleeting moment, his decision to let the son of his mate make the kill. Then he remembered the boy’s shining eyes filled with pride when the leader told him to prepare himself for his manhood hunt. It’s normal for the boy to be nervous, Brun thought. It’s not only his manhood hunt, the clan’s new home may depend on his strong right arm.

Broud noticed Brun’s glance and quickly controlled the expression that gave away his inner turmoil. He hadn’t realized how huge a living bison was-standing up straight, the hump at the shoulders of the lumbering beast was a foot or more above his head-or how overpowering a full herd of them could be. He would have to make at least the first telling wound to be credited with the kill. What if I miss? What if I strike wrong and he gets away? Broud’s thoughts were in turmoil.

Gone was the lad’s feeling of superiority strutting in front of Oga making practice thrusts while she looked on with adoration. He pretended not to notice; she was only a child, a girl child at that. But it would not be long before she was a woman. Oga might not be a bad mate when she grows up, Broud thought. She will need a strong hunter to protect her now that both her mother and her mother’s mate are gone. Broud liked the way she took special pains to wait on him since she had come to live with them, eagerly running to obey his every wish even though he wasn’t even a man yet. But what will she think of me if I don’t make the kill? What if I can’t become a man at the cave ceremony? What would Brun think? What would the whole clan think? What if we have to leave the beautiful new cave already blessed by Ursus? Broud clutched his spear tighter and reached for his amulet in a pleading gesture to the Woolly Rhinoceros to give him courage and a strong arm.

There was little chance of the animal getting away if Brun could help it. He let the lad think the fate of the clan’s new cave rested on him. If he was going to be leader someday, he might as well learn the weight of responsibility of the position now. He would give the boy his chance, but Brun planned to be nearby to make the kill himself, if necessary. He hoped, for the boy’s sake, he wouldn’t have to. The lad was proud, his humiliation would be great, but the leader had no intention of sacrificing the cave to Broud’s pride.

Brun turned back to watching the herd. Shortly, he sighted a young bull straggling away from the throng. The animal was nearly full grown, but still young and inexperienced. Brun waited until the bison drifted farther away from the rest, for a moment when he was a solitary creature away from the security of the herd. Then he signaled.

The men darted off instantly, fanning out, Broud leading off. Brun watched as they spaced themselves at regular intervals, anxiously keeping an eye on the straying young bison. He signaled again and the men sprang toward the herd, yelping and shouting and waving their arms. Startled animals near the edge began to run into the main body of the herd, closing the gaps and nudging the ones near the edge toward the center. At the same time, Brun dashed between them and the young bull, veering him away.

While the frightened beasts at the periphery plowed into the milling multitude, Brun pounded after the one he had singled out. He poured every ounce of energy into the chase, driving the bull as fast as his thick muscular legs could move. The dry earth of the steppes filled the air with fine silty soil, churned up by the horde of hard-hooved bison as the movement at the edge rippled through the throng. Brun squinted and coughed, blinded by the swirling dust that clogged his nostrils and choked his breath. Gasping, nearly spent, he saw Grod pick up the chase.

The bull veered again at Grod’s fresh spurt. The men were moving in, forming a large circle that would bring the beast back to Brun as he jogged, still panting, to close the circle. The vast herd was in full stampede, charging across the prairie-their unreasoned fear multiplied by the movement itself. Only the young bull was left, running in panic from a creature with a fraction of his strength, but with more than enough intelligence and determination to compensate for the difference. Grod pummeled after him, refusing to give in though his pounding heart threatened to burst. Sweat made rivulets in the film of dust that covered his body and gave his beard a dun cast. Grod finally stumbled to a halt just as Droog took his place.

The hunters’ endurance was great, but the strong young bison pushed ahead with untiring energy. Droog was the tallest man in the clan, his legs a shade longer. Urging the beast forward, Droog bore down on him with a fresh burst of speed, heading him off when he tried to follow the trail of the departing herd. By the time Crug took over from the exhausted Droog, the young animal was visibly winded. Crug was fresh and he pushed the beast on, forcing a new spurt of energy from the flagging bison with a touch of his sharp spear on the flank.

When Goov jumped into the relay, the huge shaggy creature was slowing. The bull ran blindly, doggedly, followed closely by Goov, constantly prodding him to drain the last drop of strength remaining to the young animal. Broud saw Brun moving in as he let out a yelp and took his turn racing after the massive beast. His sprint was short-lived. The bison had had enough. He slowed, then stopped altogether and refused to move, his hide lathered, his head drooping, his mouth foaming. With his spear held ready, the boy approached the exhausted bull.

With a judgment born of experience, Brun made a quick appraisal. Was the lad unusually nervous for a first kill, or overanxious? Was the beast completely drained? Some wily old bison stopped short of total exhaustion, and a last-minute charge could kill or seriously injure a hunter, especially an inexperienced one. Should he use his bola to trip the animal and knock him down? The brute’s head nearly dragged the ground, his heaving sides left no doubt, the bison was spent. If he used his bola, the boy’s first kill would have less distinction. Brun decided to allow Broud the full honor.