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Updated: June 14, 2025
Grôm, who was now sole chief and master of the tribe, signed every raft to push out into deep water, beyond reach of further attack. With all responsibility now upon his shoulders, he had little time to grieve for the death of Bawr, who, after all, had died greatly, as a Chief should.
But Bawr strode forward, thrust the old men aside, hacked himself off a generous collop, stuck it on his spear-head, and thrust it into the fire. In his impatience, Bawr kept pulling the roast out every minute or two, to taste it and see if it was done enough.
"I demand this fellow, Bawr, as my captive!" said Grôm. "It was you who took him," answered the Chief. "He is yours." He was about to add, "though I can't see what you want of him"; but it was a part of his policy never to seem in doubt or ignorance about anything that another might perhaps know. So, instead, he sternly told his followers to obey the law of the tribe and respect Grôm's capture.
In any case, he said, the hordes were bound to wait for the dry season, because the way from their country to the Valley of Fire lay through a region of swamps which became impassable for any large body of migrants during the month of rains. As the dry season was already close upon them, Bawr and Grôm now set themselves feverishly to the arrangement of their defenses.
No wonder, therefore, that there was grumbling, and protest, and shrill lamentation in the caves; but Bawr being in no mood, since the defection of Mawg and his party, to tolerate any opposition, and Grôm being now regarded as a dangerous wizard, the preparation for departure went on as smoothly as if all were of one mind.
While these preparations were being rushed somewhat to the perplexity of the tribe, who could not fathom the tactics of stuffing the landscape with rubbish Bawr was keeping a little band of scouts on guard at the far-off head of the valley.
At last, radiant with gravy and repletion, they flung themselves down where they would and went to sleep, Bawr and Grôm, and two or three others of the older warriors, who had been wise enough to banquet without gorging themselves, thought with some misgiving of what might happen if an enemy should steal upon them at such an hour of torpor. But no enemy approached.
To Grôm and Bawr, however, A-ya explained the whole situation in a few pertinent phrases, and followed up her explanation by proffering them each a well-cooked morsel. They both smelled it doubtfully, tasted it, broke into smiles, and devoured it, smacking their bearded lips. "Did you do this, girl?" demanded Grôm, beaming upon her proudly and holding out his great hairy hand for another sample.
"Hurry! hurry!" thundered Bawr, straining at the stranded timbers till the great veins stood out on neck and forehead as if they would burst. Under the added efforts of Grôm and his band the last of the rafts floated. The children were thrown aboard, the women clambered after them, and the men, wading and guiding, lest the rafts should ground again, began to follow cautiously.
He did succeed, however, in making it clear to Bawr that there was a certain mighty Bright One, capable of putting even the saber-tooth and the red bear to instant flight, and that he had somehow managed to subdue this powerful and mysterious being into the service of the tribe. Bawr had examined with deep musing the strange black bite of the Bright One on Grôm's club and spear.
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