Mammoth Boy by John Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

them.
    These Agaratz laid on the cave floor. As Urrell watched, wondering, Agaratz took a flint flake and drew the outline of a wolf in a single easy line round the weapons, muttering over the drawing in a language unknown to Urrell and sprinkling ashes from the hearth over the three spears. The hunchback was entirely absorbed in his ceremony.
    “Now wolf no harm,” he said.
    It was scarcely light as they set out, not towards the river as Urrell had half expected but straight from the gulch towards the distant range of mountains that the boy fancied as ‘the land of mammoths’.
    Agaratz moved at a faster clip than usual, as though a great distance lay ahead, Urrell trotting along behind, his excitement slowly subsiding as the rhythm of the journey took over. Agaratz was more alert than usual, so Urrell kept a lookout too. By mid-morning their cliffs had sunk below the grass line. Huge herds of bison, seas of shaggy shapes, grazed slowly southwards. Ponies scattered at the sight of the two humans, galloping off only to stop and turn as if to see whether they were being pursued by such a puny pair. Deer loped away. Overhead vultures wheeled in ever-smaller circles as they descended on a distant carcass.
    By the time the sun had passed its zenith the grasslands were beginning to break up into gullies and ravines. “Wolves soon,” said Agaratz. He pulled one of the cold fowls from the pouch and tore it into two rough halves, one for Urrell, one for himself, which they squatted to eat, their weapons on the ground by them, their eyes watchful.
    Nothing disturbed their meal except marmosets popping up to stare at such unexpected visitors to their domain. When they had eaten, Agaratz descended into the ravine ahead, along a way he seemed to know, Urrell following. Across the bottom and up the other side to the top, where Agaratz beckoned Urrell to move with stealth. Over the rim of the next ravine Agaratz pointed at a burrow in the opposite bank, the earth worn at the entrance.
    The secret place, the smell of weeds.
    “Wolfs,” said Agaratz. He touched Urrell on the arm, sensing his fear.
    The burrow remained blank. Agaratz began to make whimpering sounds. Soon a snout and pricked ears appeared at the burrow entrance and a she-wolf emerged, sniffing the air and locating the direction of the sounds. Urrell saw her dugs in milk. Her cubs would be in the den, her mate and the pack not far, ready to defend. Agaratz’s whimpering changed to a low call and the she-wolf, ears pricked, loped down the bank, across the bottom and up to where Agaratz and Urrell were crouched. Urrell moved to flee but Agaratz’s grip held him back.
    “Stay. You see.”
    The she-wolf came right up to Agaratz, licked his hand and rolled on her back. She showed every sign of pleasure at seeing him and answered his snuffling sounds with snuffles of her own. She turned and went back down the incline towards her burrow. Agaratz slithered down after her. At the bottom he looked and saw Urrell still on the ridge.
    “Come, Urrell. Come, safe.”
    Against all instinct, he did so, his trust in Agaratz overcoming all he had ever heard about not approaching female wolves, bears, lions and other animals with young. The trust was borne out when the she-wolf, at the entrance to the burrow, with whimpering sounds of her own, coaxed out her litter. They appeared, one after the other, biggest first, shy of the visitors, cowering near the entrance.
    “Wolfs, eh?” said Agaratz.
    “How do you do this, Agaratz, you speak to a she-wolf with cubs?”
    “This wolf, my wolf.”
    “Your wolf?”
    “Yes. I keep when small.”
    She approached Agaratz and when close dropped to a creeping stance, crawling towards him, submissive and friendly in answer to his cajoling sounds.
    Shyer, drawn between following their mother and fear of the unknown, the cubs lagged behind, the smallest hanging back farthest. Their mother was three paces from Agaratz when she flattened her ears and