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48.
While she slept on her first day in her new home, Alex climbed down and crossed the beach.
The buffalo carcass had moved out a bit, but the tide was low and it was stuck on the sand, covered with birds. The ribs and spine were clearly visible. The fish had done a good job of cleaning it, alternating with seagulls and pelicans. He sharpened his stone knife as best he could on a thick piece of bone, and then carved away what he wanted of the hide. There were ripper teeth marks throughout, and this particular hide would be good only for odds and ends. But nothing would get thrown away. He left the hide exposed for the birds and fishes to clean it up.
Climbing back up to the cliff, he looked in on Maryan. She slept soundly and evenly. A good long sleep would do her good.
He went to the north edge and surveyed the valley. The surviving four rippers appeared restive—one adult and three young. They knew their numbers were dangerously low to defend their territory. The cubs were probably up to about 100 pounds by now, and quite powerful looking. Perhaps, with the birthing cave no longer such a safe and lucrative feeding source, they would move on in search of other food. Or they might intensify their efforts to get him. And now that he had Maryan, he must make the world safe for his kind.
As he sat watching them, he figured that he had their movements down pretty pat. In the afternoons, after hunting down and devouring the morning’s kill, they liked to sun themselves on that spit of sand that protruded into the river. They were surrounded on three sides by dense, old brush, and it was pretty dry. He formed an idea, and went to his fire chamber.
Some time ago, he had idly fashioned the first of several clay vessels. This was shaped like a cup, and contained stray bits of tinder and fat. He had also made a candle from buffalo tallow. He emptied the cup and inserted the candle. Making sure his sacred fire was well fed, he lit the candle and placed a stone lid on it. With his bows and arrows and stone knife, and holding the cup carefully in both hands, he made his way down to the beach.
This time he did not swim, but he walked through the marshes in the alluvial plain. He’d never been here before, and saw plenty of small game and wild life. If he could keep the valley clear of predators, he could live well here with his bride.
He jogged along, careful to stay downwind of the rippers.
He had a tricky time crossing the river outside its fan, where its current was weak. He had to keep the cup above water at all times—the bottom of it was wet by the time he paddled ashore on the west beach, but the flame still flickered. If that went out, his trip here had been in vain.
He climbed up the rocks and made his way into the woods above the valley, not far from where he’d found Maryan. There he gathered just the right kinds of torch materials—goodly sticks, and dry moss to wrap around them. He fed the little fire carefully with a bit of spare tallow and a new wick. He also built a small campfire using what he could find—some cow dung, leaves, dry wood. The fire was hot and not very smoky—it would take them a while to smell it.
Even at that, as he watched from above, he could see their muzzles sniffing—but they would do that all the time. They lay lazily on their sides, ribs showing, heaving with sleepy breathing. They blinked into the sunshine and soaked in the day’s warmth.
He was working hard, and perspiring.
When he was ready, he had about two dozen torches lying in a row, and a nice fire going, about a foot in diameter.
He laid five of the torches in the fire, head first, and waited a moment until they were ablaze. One by one, he threw them down. Another five. Same thing. And another. And then the last.
By now, all four animals were on their feet staring dumbly.
A wall of fire was growing faster by the second, a wall of smoke and heat about 100 feet long, cutting off their escape. They milled nervously, snarling, and kept to the edge of the water.
The water boiled by at a furious clip, bringing branches and other debris from the mountains. It looked green like jade and cold, with foamy teats and a mean disposition. The rippers seemed to fear it as much as they did the smoke on their other flanks.
He must act fast to capitalize on the situation. Recklessly, he slithered down directly into the valley. The adult female was trying desperately to cross through the hot embers as the fire began to die town. He put three arrows through her and she went down, twitching.
He circled around the north side, coming down in the sand just at the edge of the fire. With the greenery burned away, the three cubs had a similar idea to come his way. He shot the first one and it fell in the water. The other two turned to run, and he followed them up onto their skull-laden inner sanctum. There, he shot the second, and it lay down helplessly, taking deep twitching breaths as it started to die with his arrow protruding from its side.
The last cub snarled and got in a stance ready to spring at him. He shot an arrow down its open throat, and emptied his quiver into it.
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