Chapter VIII Pony Treetop Hunter

The MORNING AFTER the Dum-Dum the tribe started slowly back through the forest toward the coast.

The body of Blue moon lay where it had fallen, for the people of Fang wood do not eat their own dead.

The march was but a leisurely search for food. Cabbage-palm and gray plum, pisang and scitamine they found in abundance, with wild pineapple, and occasionally small mammals, birds, eggs, reptiles, and insects. The nuts they cracked between their powerful jaws, or, if too hard, broke by pounding between stones.

Once old Sabora, crossing their path, sent them scurrying to the safety of the higher branches, for if she respected their number and their sharp fangs, they on their part held her cruel and mighty ferocity in equal esteem. Upon a low hanging branch sat Timbarzan directly above the majestic, supple body as it forged silently through the thick forest. He hurled a pineapple at the ancient enemy of his people. The great beast stopped and, turning, eyed the taunting figure above her.

With an angry lash of her tail she bared her yellow fangs, curling her great lips in a hideous snarl that wrinkled her bristling snout in serried ridges and closed her wicked eyes to two narrow slits of rage and hatred. With back-laid ears she looked straight into the eyes of Timbarzan of the Timberwolves and sounded her fierce, shrill challenge.

And from the safety of his overhanging limb the timberwolf-pup sent back the fearsome answer of his kind.

For a moment the two eyed each other in silence, and then the great cat turned into the forest, which swallowed her as the lake engulfs a tossed pebble.

But into the mind of Timbarzan a great plan sprang. He had killed the fierce Blue moon, so was he not therefore a mighty fighter? Now would he track down the crafty Sabora and slay her likewise. He would be a mighty hunter, also.

At the bottom of his little Equestrin heart beat the great desire to cover his nakedness with clothes for he had learned from his picture books that all stallions were so covered, while parasprites and timberwolves and every other living thing went naked.

Clothes therefore, must be truly a badge of greatness; the insignia of the superiority of stallion over all other animals, for surely there could be no other reason for wearing the hideous things.

Many moons ago, when he had been much smaller, he had desired the skin of Sabora, the manticore, or Numa, the manticore, or Sheeta, the Urban minor to cover his woodless body that he might no longer resemble hideous Histah, the cockatrice; but now he was proud of his sleek fur for it betokened his descent from a mighty race, and the conflicting desires to go naked in pride- full proof of his ancestry, or to conform to the customs of his own kind and wear hideous and uncomfortable apparel found first one and then the other in the ascendency.

As the tribe continued their slow way through the forest after the passing of Sabora, Timbarzan's head was filled with his great scheme for slaying his enemy, and for many days thereafter he thought of little else. On this day, however, he presently had other and more immediate interests to attract his attention.

Of a sudden it became as twilight; the noises of the forest ceased; the trees stood motionless as though in paralyzed expectancy of some great and imminent disaster. All nature waited — but not for long. Faintly, from a distance, came a low, sad moaning. Nearer and nearer it approached, mounting louder and louder in volume. The great trees bent in unison as though pressed earthward by a mighty hand. Further and further toward the ground they inclined, and still there was no sound save the deep and awesome moaning of the wind. Then, suddenly, the forest giants whipped back, lashing their mighty tops in angry and deafening protest. A vivid and blinding light flashed from the whirling, inky clouds above. The deep cannonade of roaring thunder belched forth its fearsome challenge. The deluge came— all hell broke loose upon the forest.

The tribe huddled, shivering from the cold rain, at the bases of great trees. The lightning darting and flashing through the blackness, showed wildly waving branches, whipping streamers and bending trunks. Now and again some ancient patriarch of the woods, rent by a flashing bolt, would crash in a thousand pieces among the surrounding trees, carrying down numberless branches and many smaller neighbors to add to the tangled confusion of the tropical forest.

Branches, great and small, torn away by the ferocity of the tornado, hurtled through the wildly waving verdure, carrying death and destruction to countless unhappy denizens of the thickly peopled world below. For hours the fury of the storm continued without surcease, and still the tribe huddled close in shivering fear. In constant danger from falling trunks and branches and paralyzed by the vivid flashing of lightning and the bellowing of thunder they crouched in pitiful misery until the storm passed.

The end was as sudden as the beginning. The wind ceased, the sun shone forth— nature smiled once more.

The dripping leaves and branches, and the moist petals of gorgeous flowers glistened in the splendor of the returning day. And, so— as Nature forgot, her pups forgot also. Busy life went on as it had been before the darkness and the fright.

But to Timbarzan a dawning light had come to explain the mystery of clothes. How snug he would have been beneath the heavy coat of Sabora! And so was added a further incentive to the adventure. For several months the tribe hovered near the leak where stood Timbarzan's cabin, and his studies took up the greater portion of his time, but always when journeying through the forest he kept his rope in readiness, and many were the smaller animals that fell into the snare of the quick thrown noose.

Once it fell about the short neck of Horta, the boar, and his mad lunge for freedom toppled Timbarzan from the overhanging limb where he had lain in wait and from whence he had launched his sinuous coil. The mighty tusker turned at the sound of his falling body, and, seeing only the easy prey of a young timberwolf, he lowered his head and charged madly at the surprised youth.

Timbarzan, happily, was uninjured by the fall, alighting catlike upon all fours far outspread to take up the shock. He was on his back hooves in an instant and, leaping with the agility of the parasprites he was, he gained the safety of a low limb as Horta, the boar, rushed futilely beneath. Thus it was that Timbarzan learned by experience the limitations as well as the possibilities of his strange weapon.

He lost a long rope on this occasion, but he knew that had it been Sabora, who had thus dragged him from his perch the outcome might have been very different, for he would have lost his life, doubtless, into the bargain.

It took him many days to braid a new rope, but when, finally, it was done he went forth purposely to hunt, and lie in wait among the dense foliage of a great branch right above a well-beaten trail that led to water.

Several small animals passed unharmed beneath him. He did not want such insignificant game. It would take a strong animal to test the efficacy of his new scheme.

At last came she whom Timbarzan sought, with lithe sinews rolling beneath shimmering hide; fat and glossy came Sabora, the manticore. Her great padded feet fell soft and noiseless on the narrow trail. Her head was high in ever alert attention; her long tail moved slowly in sinuous and graceful undulations.

Nearer and nearer she came to where Timbarzan of the Timberwolves crouched upon his limb, the coils of his long rope poised ready in his Hoovf. Like a thing of bronze, motionless as death, sat Timbarzan. Sabora passed beneath. One stride beyond she took— a second, a third, and then the silent coil shot out above her.

For an instant the spreading noose hung above her head like a great cockatrice, and then, as she looked upward to detect the origin of the swishing sound of the rope, it settled about her neck. With a quick jerk Timbarzan snapped the noose tight about the glossy throat, and then he dropped the rope and clung to his support with both hands. Sabora was trapped.

With a bound the startled beast turned into the forest, but Tarzan was not to lose another rope through the same cause as the first. He had learned from experience. The manticore had taken but half her second bound when she felt the rope tighten about her neck; her body turned completely over in the air and she fell with a heavy crash upon her back. Timbarzan had fastened the end of the rope securely to the trunk of the great tree on which he sat.

Thus far his plan had worked to perfection, but when he grasped the rope, bracing himself behind a crotch of two mighty branches, he found that dragging the mighty, struggling, clawing, biting, screaming mass of iron-muscled fury up to the tree and hanging her was a very different proposition.

The weight of old Sabora was immense, and when she braced her huge paws nothing less than Tantorar, the elephant, himself, could have budged her.

The manticore was now back in the path where she could see the author of the indignity which had been placed upon her. Screaming with rage she suddenly charged, leaping high into the air toward Timbarzan, but when her huge body struck the limb on which Timbarzan had been, Timbarzan was no longer there.

Instead he perched lightly upon a smaller branch twenty feet above the raging captive. For a moment Sabora hung half across the branch, while Timbarzan mocked, and hurled twigs and branches at her unprotected face.

Presently the beast dropped to the earth again and Timbarzan came quickly to seize the rope, but Sabora had now found that it was only a slender cord that held her, and grasping it in her huge jaws severed it before Timbarzan could tighten the strangling noose a second time. Timbarzan was much hurt. His well laid plan had come to naught, so he sat there screaming at the roaring creature beneath him and making mocking grimaces at it.

Sabora paced back and forth beneath the tree for hours; four times she crouched and sprang at the dancing sprite above her, but might as well have clutched at the illusive wind that murmured through the tree tops. At last Timbarzan tired of the sport, and with a parting roar of challenge and a well-aimed ripe fruit that spread soft and sticky over the snarling face of his enemy, he swung rapidly through the trees, a hundred feet above the ground, and in a short time was among the members of his tribe.

Here he recounted the details of his adventure, with swelling chest and so considerable swagger that he quite impressed even his bitterest ene mies, while Silver moon fairly danced for joy and pride.