The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [366]
The two groups of drivers started toward the mammoth herd, swinging wide to circle around behind without causing too much disturbance. Ranec and Talut were each behind one of the rows of cairns that converged toward the ice canyon, ready to supply quick fire when it was needed. Ayla waved at Talut and smiled at Ranec as she passed them waiting near a pile of ice and stone. Vincavec was on the same side as Ranec, she noticed. She returned his smile, too.
Ayla walked ahead of Whinney, her spears and spear-thrower secured in the holders of the pack baskets, along with the group’s torches. Several other hunters were nearby, but no one spoke much. Everyone was concentrating on the mammoths, fervently hoping that the hunt would be successful. Ayla glanced back at Whinney, then at the herd ahead. They were still grazing in the same field of grass where she had first seen them not so very long ago, she realized. Everything had happened so fast she’d hardly had time to think. They had accomplished a great deal in a very short time.
She had always wanted to hunt mammoth, and a chill of anticipation shot through her when she realized that she was actually about to participate in the first mammoth hunt of her life. Though there was something utterly ridiculous about it, when she stopped to consider it. How could creatures as small and weak as humans challenge the huge, shaggy, tusked beast, and hope to succeed? Yet here she was, ready to take on the largest animal that walked the land, with nothing more than a few mammoth spears. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She also had the intelligence, experience, and cooperation of the other hunters. And Jondalar’s spear-thrower.
Would the new spear-thrower he developed to be used with the bigger spears work? They had tried them out, but she still wasn’t totally comfortable with hers.
Ayla caught sight of Racer and the other group coming toward them through the dry grass, and the mammoth herd seemed to be moving more. Were they becoming nervous about the people trying to edge around them? The pace of her group was quickening; others were worried, too. A signal was passed to get the torches. Ayla quickly pulled them out of Whinney’s pack baskets and handed them out. They waited anxiously, watching the other group get its torches. Then, the hunt leader signaled.
Ayla slipped off her mittens and squatted down over a small pile of fireweed lint and crushed dung. The others hovered close, waiting. She struck her fire-starting flint against the yellowish-gray chunk of iron pyrite. The spark died. She struck again. It seemed to take. She struck again, adding more sparks to the smoldering tinder, and tried to blow it into flame. Then a sudden gust of wind came to her aid, and the fire suddenly enveloped the tinder and crushed dung. She added a few lumps of tallow to help it burn hotter, and sat back while the first of the hunters held their torches to the flames. They lit each other’s torches, then began to fan out.
There was no absolute signal to begin the drive. It began slowly, as the disorganized hunters made dashes toward the giant beasts, shouting and waving their smoky, movable flames. But most of the Mamutoi were experienced mammoth hunters, and used to hunting together. Soon the efforts became more concerted as both groups of drivers combined and the shaggy elephants began moving toward the cairns.
A big she-mammoth, the matriarch of the herd, seeming to notice a purpose in the confusion, turned aside. Ayla started running toward her, screaming and waving her torch. She had a sudden recollection of trying to chase a herd of horses once, alone, with only smoky torches to assist. All but one of the horses got away—no, two, she thought. The nursing mare fell into her pit trap, but not the little yellow foal. She glanced back at Whinney.
The screaming