Littlenose sat under his favourite tree. Two-Eyes was sitting beside him and, for once, Littlenose paid no attention to the little mammoth. Even when Two-Eyes gave a squeak and prodded Littlenose with his trunk, Littlenose brushed it aside and said, “Don’t bother me, Two-Eyes. I’m busy, can’t you see?”
Two-Eyes couldn’t see, and he got to his feet and went off in a huff.
Littlenose settled back against the tree, closed his eyes, and began mumbling to himself. He was learning a poem. It had all started a week ago. To everyone’s surprise, not least of all Littlenose’s, he had passed each of his tests for promotion from apprentice to junior hunter. Actually, he had one more test to do, which was the reason for the poem. He had passed fire-lighting with distinction, tracking with top marks, and spear throwing . . . just! But now he had the last and final test. It was called Hunting the Grey Bear.
There wasn’t really a grey bear, or any other colour of bear for that matter. Three pieces of wood were tied together in a special way and covered with grey fur. This was carefully hidden, and the apprentice hunter had to find it by following clues.
The clues formed a poem and it was this that Littlenose was memorising. It didn’t seem to make a lot of sense, which didn’t make it any easier to learn:
The Grey Bear’s prints are in the clay,
The noon-day shadow points the way,
The island’s where the heron cries,
The ashwood close on willow lies,
The peak where pine grows to the sky,
The Grey Bear in his den does lie!
Littlenose said it once through to himself, then once more out loud. As long as he remembered it tomorrow, all he had to do was work out what it all meant.
Next morning, Littlenose was up before it was light. After a quick breakfast, he hurried to the Old Man’s cave carrying his boy-size spear. There was quite a crowd of hunters waiting to see him off. Dad wasn’t there. He had gone off even earlier with another man to hide the Grey Bear. The Old Man made a short speech about how he hoped that Littlenose’s name would be inscribed on the birch-bark roll of junior hunters. Then he gave Littlenose a tightly-wrapped package, food for the day“not to be eaten until the third line of the poem”.
Littlenose took the package, said thank you, and set off while everyone shouted: “Good luck!”
As he left the caves behind, he was quite sure of the first clue. The only clay around was close to the river and was used by the Neanderthal folk for making pots and bowls. Sure enough, there was a line of marks in the clay that looked more or less like bear prints. As he looked, there was a noise, and out from among the trees trotted Two-Eyes.
“Go home,” shouted Littlenose. “You can’t come. This is all very important.”
The little mammoth looked very crestfallen, and Littlenose turned his back and began to hurry along the line of tracks. The tracks left the clay but Littlenose found them easily as they crossed grassy patches, led through the pinewoods and took him far across a sandy heath.
Then they stopped. Just like that!
What was the next line of the poem?
The noon-day shadow points the way.
What shadow? Which way? It was almost noon now. He stood, perplexed. Then there was a quiet snuffle behind him. He jumped round.
“Two-Eyes!” he shouted. “What do you mean, following me like that? This is work for hunters, not mammoths!”
He started to think again about noon- day shadows, when Two-Eyes squeaked once more. He was standing pointing with his trunk to something on the ground. Right where the bear tracks ended was a rock. “That’s no good,” said Littlenose. “It’s too sunken in the grass to cast a shadow.” Two-Eyes pointed again with his trunk. The rock was chipped and cracked, and in the centre was a hole slightly bigger than a finger. “Of course,” cried Littlenose. “You are a clever mammoth!”
He took his spear and stuck it upright in the hole in the rock. It was noon. The shadow of the spear lay along the grass, and at its tip was a white stone. A few steps away was another, then another. If he went from stone to stone he should come to: The island’s where the heron cries. He hoped it wasn’t too far. He couldn’t open his packed lunch till then, and he was getting hungry.
The white stones led in a wandering way over open country. Ahead, Littlenose could see low trees and bushes and the glint of water. As he got nearer, the ground underfoot grew damp. There were stagnant pools and clumps of reeds. He came to the end of the trail of white stones and found himself on the edge of a wide marsh. A broad, slow-flowing river lay across his path.
Littlenose and Two-Eyes splashed the short distance to the river. There were willow trees along the bank, and others growing on a couple of islands. Which was the island with the herons, he wondered? Two-Eyes nudged him with his trunk. Littlenose turned. A heron was pacing majestically through the shallows by the bank. It stood still for several moments, peering down into the water. Then, quick as a flash, its long beak darted into the water and came up with a wriggling fish. Littlenose watched. The heron slipped the fish into its crop, then rose into the air on enormous wings. It circled round and dropped down into the top of a tree on the farthest-away island. “That’s it,” said Littlenose. “That’s the one!”
Followed by a reluctant mammoth – Two-Eyes didn’t like getting his fur wet – Littlenose waded into the river. The water was little more than knee deep, and they quickly reached the island. There were several heron nests in the trees, and the big birds screeched at the intruders.
“Well, the herons are crying, all right,” said Littlenose. “That’s the third line of the poem. Now I can eat my lunch.” He opened the tightly-wrapped skin package. The Old Man had given him several pieces of prime venison. But . . . it was raw! It must be part of the test. All he had to do was build a fire.
It came as a nasty shock to find that there seemed to be nothing to build a fire with! The island was low-lying and swampy, and the few twigs and sticks Littlenose found lying in the grass were too wet to burn. Again, it was Two-Eyes who came to the rescue. He went over to one of the trees and reached up with his trunk. The branches were loaded with dead grass and sticks brought down in the winter floods, all perfectly dry. Littlenose stood on Two-Eyes’ back and dragged down an armful. Quickly, he struck a light with his flints and, in a short time, the venison was toasting over the flames.
Fed and contented, Littlenose sat on a low willow branch and thought, while Two-Eyes grazed nearby. That was half the clues used up, although he had to admit that without Two-Eyes’ help, he wouldn’t have done so well! Why, if he weren’t a mammoth, he might make a pretty good hunter himself. What was the next part of the poem?
The ashwood close on willow lies.
That wasn’t much help. There was plenty of willow. In fact, there was nothing else. Where did the bit about “ash” fit in? Was it perhaps among the driftwood in the trees? Oh dear! What if he’d burnt it in his cooking fire! He jumped down and picked up his spear. And as he did so, he remembered, the Neanderthal Folk used ash for spear and axe handles. It must mean his spear. Another thought struck him, and he climbed back on the willow branch. Yes! He’d wondered about the fresh marks cut in the bark. They were made just where small branches formed forks. He took the spear and rested it in the forks. It fitted perfectly, as if they were made for it . . . which they probably were! And the spear pointed straight back across the river towards a distant hill. That’s where he had to go now.
The hill was farther away than Littlenose first thought and it was late afternoon before he came near its foot. It was really a small mountain. The lower slopes were quite bare – they seemed to consist of red gravel. Higher up was red rock. The rock formed weird peaks and pinnacles.
The peak where pine grows to the sky,
The Grey Bear in his den does lie!
And there, just visible against the sky, was the twisted shape of an ancient pine clinging to the summit of one of the pinnacles. There was the end of the trail. Somewhere up there were three pieces of wood tied together in a strange fashion and covered with grey fur. All he had to do was climb up and get it.
Littlenose strained his eyes to find an easy route to the summit. He paused. He could see people. Two figures seemed to be hiding behind one of the smaller pinnacles lower down. Of course! That would be Dad and his friend who had hidden the Grey Bear. He would pretend he hadn’t seen them.
Littlenose and Two-Eyes circled round the base of the hill. And to their delight, they found that a path led almost to the top. Up they went, arriving panting close under the pine tree. It grew out of a crack above Littlenose’s head, but the rock seemed quite impossible to climb. They stood precariously at the top of the gravel slope and wondered where on earth the Grey Bear could be hidden.
While Littlenose poked about, Two-Eyes had been looking down to the foot. He gave a sudden soft squeak. “What is it?” said Littlenose. “Have you found it?”
He followed Two-eyes’ gaze . . . and his heart almost stopped. Half-way up, a huge black bear stood, rearing up on its hind legs. It had been hidden from below by the rocks. That was why Dad and his friend were hiding! Not from Littlenose. The bear took a couple of steps, but the gravel slipped under its feet. It couldn’t get at the hunters, but it was prepared to wait!
“We must do something, Two-Eyes,” said Littlenose. And he pulled himself up on to part of the rock for a better view. Too late, he realised that the rock was loose. He flung himself to one side as the rock crashed down the hill. He fell against Two-eyes and together they rolled down after the rock in a great cloud of red dust.
The bear leapt back in fright. What was this? A landslide . . . and a cloud of dust that made a noise like an angry mammoth! To crown it all, a large rock bounced out from the dust cloud just missing the bear’s head. Without a backward glance, it turned and fled.
As the dust cleared, Dad and the other man ran to join Littlenose and Two-eyes. “That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen,” said Dad. “And, of course, congratulations!”
Littlenose looked down. Brought down with the stones and gravel, and lying at his feet, was the Grey Bear.
That night, Littlenose stood proudly as the Old Man took a piece of charcoal and made the marks on the roll of junior hunters that meant ‘Littlenose’. Dad whispered something in the Old Man’s ear. The Old Man smiled and added: “and Two-Eyes”.
“You two really are a team,” he said.
“I knew Two-Eyes would make a hunter,” thought Littlenose. Then he hurried home, hoping that being a junior hunter meant that he was now allowed to stay up late with the grown-ups.