The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [104]
Whinney balked a little when she felt the drag again, but Ayla was down by then and helped haul the deer a short distance up the beach. Then she untied the ropes. The deer was one step closer to the valley, but before they went any farther, Ayla had a few tasks yet to do. She slit the deer’s throat with her sharp flint knife, then made a straight cut from the anus up the belly, chest, and neck, to the throat. She held the knife in her hand with her index finger along the back and the cutting edge up, inserted just under the skin. If the first cut was made cleanly, not cutting into the meat, skinning would be much easier later.
The next cut went deeper, to remove the entrails. She cleaned the usable parts—stomach, intestines, bladder—and put them back into the abdominal cavity along with the edible parts.
Curled around the inside of one of the baskets was a large grass mat. She opened it out on the ground, then, pushing and grunting, she moved the deer onto it. She folded the mat over the carcass and wrapped it securely with ropes, then attached the ropes from Whinney’s harness. She repacked the baskets, putting a spear in each one, and fastened the long shafts firmly in place. Then, feeling rather pleased with herself, she climbed on the horse’s back.
About the third time she had to get down to free the load from hindering obstructions—grass tussocks, rocks, brush-she was no longer feeling so pleased. Finally she just walked beside the horse, coaxing her along until the trussed-up deer snagged on something, then going back to extricate it. It wasn’t until she stopped to put her footwear back on that she noticed the pack of hyenas following her. The first stones from her sling only showed the wily scavengers her range, which they stayed just: beyond.
Stinking ugly animals, she thought, wrinkling her nose and shuddering in disgust. She knew they also hunted—only too well. Ayla had killed one such scavenger with her sling—and given her secret away. The clan knew she hunted, and she had to be punished for it. Brun had no choice; it was the Clan way.
Hyenas bothered Whinney, too. It was more than her instinctual fear of predators. She never forgot the pack of hyenas that attacked her after Ayla killed her dam. And Whinney was edgy enough. Getting the deer back to the cave was turning out to be more of a problem than Ayla had anticipated. She hoped they would make it before nightfall.
She stopped to rest at a place where the river wound back on itself. All the stops and starts were wearing. She filled her waterbag and a large waterproof basket with water, then took the basket to Whinney, who was still attached to the dusty bundle of deer. She took out a traveling cake and sat down on a rock to eat it. She was staring at the ground, not really seeing it, trying to think of an easier way to get her kill back to the valley. It took a while before the disturbance of the dust penetrated her consciousness, but when it did, it aroused her curiosity. The earth was trampled, the grass bent down, and the tracks were fresh. Some great commotion had occurred here recently. She got up to examine the tracks closer, and gradually pieced together the story.
From the spoor in the dried mud near the river, she could tell they were in a long-established territory of cave lions. She thought there must be a small valley nearby, with sheer rocky walls and a snug cave where a lioness had given birth to a pair of healthy cubs earlier in the year. This had been a favorite resting place. The cubs had been playfully fighting over a bloody piece of meat, worrying loose small pieces with milk teeth, while the sated males lolled in the morning sun, and sleek females