'And I don't deny I've been jealous. But, damn it, I'm not a murderer! I'm a scientist! I didn't get my doctorate by lacking severe self-discipline. I have a tremendous amount of self-control. Too much, in fact. It's not my nature to kill, and even if it were, I have the strength to repress such an urge.'
Gribardsun waited until he was through. He said, 'All this talk means nothing. When I catch the man who took your rifle, I'll get his story from him, one way or another. Until then, let's drop the subject.'
'But I don't want you suspecting me!' Drummond said. 'You'll never trust me behind you again!'
'I don't trust anyone behind me,' Gribardsun said. 'Everyone is automatically suspect.'
He walked away. An hour later the tribe was ready, and it started down the mountains toward the great plains of Spain. These were not the semideserts that Gribardsun had known. They were well watered and covered with grass and there were many trees. They also had an abundance of animal life: great herds of bison, horses; the giant aurochs, and the infrequent mammoths and rhinoceroses. The lions of the plains were smaller than the cave lions; they resembled the African lion of the reservations of the twenty-first century.
Gribardsun said that even now he found it strange to see lions in snow. But then that was just because he had associated the big cats with the tropics. After all, the Siberian tiger and the snow leopard of the twentieth century (both extinct in the twenty-first) had lived quite well in freezing climates.
He decided to camp for several weeks. The place chosen would be, in approximately 11,000 years or so, the city of Madrid. He ignored the protests of the tribesmen, who said that he was contradicting himself in stopping here when he had said that they would not pause until they reached a warm country. He told them that he wanted to study the hunting habits of lions in snow and ice. Moreover, there was a tribe about six miles away which could provide another language for von Billmann's recorders.
Lramg'bud, a juvenile, was blooded at this time. With an atlatl and two spears, a stone axe and a knife, he went after a male lion that was eating a freshly killed horse. The lion acted as if it could not believe the stupidity of the man. Surely no one would be unintelligent enough to attack it while it was dining. But Lramg'bud went on in, looking brave enough, though there was no telling what his feelings were. The lion at last decided that he would not put up with the fool dancing around and stabbing at him. He charged, and the youth slammed a spear through the big cat's shoulder with an atlatl. The lion got up on three legs, and Lramg'bud drove his second spear deep into its chest. Despite this, the lion got to him and knocked his axe away with a bat of his massive paw. Lramg'bud seized the spear sticking from the chest and clung to it while the lion carried him backward. Suddenly, the beast collapsed; blood poured from its mouth; its eyes glazed. And Lramg'bud had a lion's head and lion's skin cloak to wear.
Everybody was happy, and the warriors feasted on lion meat that evening. Gribardsun ate his share raw. Lately he seldom ate cooked meat. Von Billmann had joked about this, and the Englishman had replied that he had always preferred raw meat. Von Billmann said that it was dangerous; raw meat was too likely to be infested with parasites. Gribardsun had merely smiled and continued chewing.
'It's not a question of when in Rome, do as the Romans do,' Rachel said. 'Even these savages cook their meat thoroughly. It disturbs them that you eat yours bloody.'
'Chacun a son gout,' Gribardsun said and licked the blood off the corners of his mouth. The fire lit his rugged and handsome face and seemed to be reflected in his gray eyes. Rachel turned away and went back to the women's feast. She had come over to the chief's 'table' to ask him a question and had been unable to resist joining the conversation.
Drummond looked at Gribardsun with an indecipherable expression. When he saw the Englishman's eyes on him, he looked down. But he was doing only what everybody did who tried to outstare Gribardsun.
Three days later, they packed and left. Efforts to make friendly contact with the nearest strangers had failed. The tribe had picked up and decamped northward.
The fourth night after leaving the site of Madrid-to-be, somebody shot out the lock of the door of Gribardsun and von Billmann's hut, stuck the barrel in, and blazed away. After discharging five cartridges, the rifle was withdrawn, and the man who had fired ran away.
If the rifleman had moved the barrel around a wider arc, he would have struck both occupants a number of times. In which case it is doubtful that either would have lived, since the impact of the high-velocity and heavy bullets was deadly.
But he had made the mistake of blowing out the lock when he could instead have fired straight through one of the walls. And he had moved the muzzle only a few inches to either side, not enough to send the bullets past one of the small boulders set inside the hut to hold it down. They had simply ricocheted off the boulder and out again through the walls.
Though unhurt, the two men had been deafened by the explosions. They sat in their original positions for twenty or so seconds after the explosions ceased, unable to hear the slapping of the would-be killer's soft leather boots on the rock. Then Gribardsun, rifle in one hand, burst through the doorway, banging the door to one side and tearing it off with the impact of his body.
By then the camp was awake. Several torches were thrust into the embers of fires, and the people came out of their tents.
Gribardsun immediately ordered a head count. Thammash and Glamug lined everybody up and had them call out by name.
Before the counting was done, a rifle exploded somewhere in the darkness. A bullet skimmed Gribardsun's shoulder. He rolled away into the darkness, out of the light of the torches, and then was up and into the nearby woods.
The Englishman had had many years of experience as a woodsman. He could move through the forest, winter or summer, without making a sound. But the man he was hunting had been born in a world where a man has to be one with the woods or starve. He had disappeared somewhere deep into the trees. Gribardsun finally found his tracks and started after him, avoiding but staying closely parallel to the tracks. Snow began to fall, and he realized that his quarry's trail would soon be covered. Moreover, if he did not return to the camp, he might find himself lost or bogged down.
The wind had come up, and the snow was pelting down when he got back to camp. By then, von Billmann had started the head count again. Gribardsun waited to one side grimly. He looked for Dubhab and did not see him and then, suddenly, Dubhab was coming out of his tent. He had gone back into it when the shot came from the woods, he said.
Nobody was missing. The rifleman had circled back and sneaked into camp during the hullabaloo.
The Englishman regarded him for a moment and then he, too, smiled. 'Light some more torches!' he said. 'Robert, set up some lights and equipment in our hut! We'll give them the paraffin test!'
Von Billmann and the Silversteins looked puzzled. Gribardsun spoke in Wota'shaimg so that the tribe could understand what he intended to do. He explained that when a man fired a rifle, he got some small particles of the gunpowder on his hand or on his clothes. This could be detected through the use of a substance known as paraffin. It would be easy to find out who had fired the rifle by examining the hands, or the gloves, of every man in the camp except, of course, those whom Gribardsun knew were not in the woods.
Von Billmann said in English, 'I never heard of that test, John. Is that some more of your old lore?'
'The paraffin test was used at one time, Robert,' Gribardsun said. 'But it wasn't used exactly as I said. Nor would we use it under these conditions, even if we had the paraffin.