The Hunter Returns by David Drake, Jim Kjelgaard Page A

was far more meat than even a large tribe could eat before it spoiled. One of Bull’s hunters ran a few steps toward Wolf, bellowing and shaking his spear in the air as if he were about to throw it.
    “Get back here, Longshank!” Bull snapped at him. “If you were in such a hurry to bloody your spear, why didn’t you manage to do it when the horses ran straight at you?”
    Longshank’s spear was not one of those which showed signs of a recent kill.
    Wolf continued to walk forward. He met the eyes of the other tribe’s chief. Boartooth, bolder still, strode past Wolf and pointed to the roan stallion. “Look, Chief Hunter,” he said in a loud voice. His hand indicated the chert-bladed weapon. “That is my spear. Without me, you would not have meat. It is right that this meat be shared between your tribe and mine.”
    Bull and the nearest of his men looked at the stallion in surprise. In their haste and triumph, none of them had noticed that the extra spear in the horse’s shoulder was not one of their own. It was obvious to all Bull’s men that Boartooth and his Chief Hunter were speaking the truth: Wolf’s tribe had been an important part of the kill.
    “We still don’t need to give them part of our meat,” Longshank muttered, looking at the horse. “The beasts were running when we killed them.”
    “There’s plenty for all,” another hunter pointed out.
    The women of the two tribes stood behind the men. As the discussion began and it was clear that there would not be a battle, the women straightened up and began eyeing the other tribe. Some of the unmarried women looked at the strange men with particular concentration; and the single men looked back.
    The stallion was partially butchered. Its ribs showed white on the upper side. The smell of fresh meat was dizzyingly wonderful to Wolf.
    A woman stepped up close behind Bull. She was probably a medicine woman, like Elm; and like Elm, she was old and crotchety. “Look at how thin they are, Bull!” she shrilled. “They’re unlucky. We should have nothing to do with them.”
    The hunter who had argued with Longshank now turned to the old woman. “How long has it been since we made such a kill on our own, Troutscale?” he said. “Maybe they have brought us good luck!”
    Bull looked over Wolf’s hunters with a practiced eye. “With this many men,” he mused aloud, “we would be able to hunt even the great mammoths. That would be good.”
    “We have trouble finding enough meat as it is,” Longshank protested. “With more mouths to feed, we will go hungry more nights than not.”
    “But—” said another hunter.
    “Wait!” Bull ordered forcefully. He looked at Wolf. “My tribe and I will discuss these matters in private,” Bull said. “You and your people may wait or go, that’s up to you. But you do not touch our kills until we have decided.”
    Wolf nodded at the challenge in the voice of the other Chief Hunter. “We will wait,” he said. “Then we will share with you the game that we drove into your spears, as is our right.”
    Bull’s tribe withdrew half a spear cast and huddled together. Their voices buzzed. Both adults and children cast frequent glances toward Wolf and his people. Wolf was not concerned at the delay. He knew that the other tribe was hungry also, and that they would shortly come to a decision.
    What that decision would be was more doubtful. It was not traditional for tribes to operate together for more than a brief session of trading, and Wolf well knew that his people had nothing to trade. But it was obvious that the strangers also found it increasingly difficult to hunt bison in traditional fire drives.
    Today’s accidental pairing of the hunting parties had resulted in a major kill. Bull’s comment about mammoth hunting suggested that the other Chief Hunter was thinking still further ahead.
    Boartooth walked over to the downed stallion. Several of the other tribe’s hunters turned, raising their spears. “Leave