The Knife and
the Sheath
Able and Ted Andrews stood with the afternoon sunlight on their backs, the tips of their longbows resting on the stony soil of the ridge. In the distance, the yearly supply ship rose, glimmering with reflected light, above the dense forest.
Ted Andrews glanced up at his brother.
“Dad told us we might miss the supply ship if we went hunting now.”
Able calculatingly eyed the tall gray trunk of a dead staplenut tree down the slope toward the forest. There was the stub of a limb halfway up the tree, and the stub was hollow. Down the side below the stub were many small scratch marks where the splintered wood showed light brown.
“I’d rather hunt than watch the ship,” said Able. He selected several rocks the size of hens’ eggs.
Ted said disgustedly, “We haven’t seen anything to hunt.”
“We’ve seen sign.”
Able studied the tree carefully, then hurled three rocks one after another.
“Can’t eat sign,” Ted was saying. As Able threw the rocks, he blinked and stared.
The first rock hit the tree squarely, above the stub, to make a hollow bonk sound. The second hit on a level with the stub, and the third arced in just below it. Able bent to get his bow.
“Bonk!” came the sound of the second rock as Ted watched blankly.
“Bonk!” came the sound of the third rock.
Able straightened with his bow.
There was a muffled squawk. A sinuous brown-gray creature the length of a man’s forearm shot out the hollow stub and turned in the air. It stretched out all four limbs and the furry membrane that ran between them, and planed to the ground, to streak downhill in darting zigzags.
Able waited exasperatedly for it to pause, but instead it took a sharp swerve past a clump of thick brush. The brush shook. Something blue-gray and big burst out with a flash of teeth and glowing eyes.
Ted Andrews caught his breath.
“Woods cat!”
Able sucked in a deep breath, and strained to judge angle and distance. The two were running straight, and he risked the shot of an arrow.
The wind gusted, to rustle the long dangling leaves of a waterfall tree by the edge of the woods. The leaves briefly showed white undersides, their edges brushing to make the low roar that gave the tree its name.
The gust moved the arrow aside, and, this done, died as quickly as it had sprung up.
Suddenly the big gray cat caught up with its prey.
Able aimed carefully, shot an arrow, shot another—
The cat sprang almost straight up, twisted, and fell full length. Able swallowed, lowered his bow, and glanced around.
“See anything?”
“No.”
Able started downhill.
Ted cried, “We aren’t going down there!”
Able looked back.
“We can’t give up all that meat and hide.”
“Dad said, ‘Stay out of the woods!’”
“Are you scared?”
“No, but—”
“Then watch in back. I’ll watch in front.”
Ted glanced nervously around, and followed.
The big trees loomed taller and taller overhead.
The dead woods cat lay outstretched, one arrow through its back, the other through its neck. The wind ruffled its short blue-gray fur.
Able said uneasily, “This is the female.”
Ted gripped Able’s arm.
Able glanced uphill.
From under the long leaves of the waterfall tree moved an even larger blue-gray cat, with a mane that stood up from head to shoulders. Its black-tipped tail idly flicked leaves aside as it came out into the open.
Able’s chest grew tight, and his hands felt stiff, as if from cold.
The cat’s yellow eyes were like two mirrors that reflect light.
The yellow eyes glowed as the cat came downhill, its movements flowing and graceful, its gaze steady, unwavering.
Able faintly heard his brother’s voice:
“Able!”
He tried to raise the bow, and couldn’t move.
The remembered voice of his father spoke, as if he were there beside them:
“Never look in a woods cat’s eyes. Think where to sink the arrows in.”
Able blinked, looked at the blue-gray mane, then at the place where neck joined shoulders.
The cat disappeared behind a tree.
Able raised the bow.
The cat sprang to a closer tree.
Before Able could move, the cat stepped out, looked at him, and then stepped back out of sight.
Able nearly let the arrow fly. He recovered his grip. The cat made two swift bounds to a tree still closer.
Ted’s voice shook.
“Shoot him!”
“I can’t aim!”
“He’s halfway to us!”
“You shoot, too!”
Ted raised his bow.
The cat stepped out, then back.
There was a twang as Ted shot and missed.
The cat streaked behind a fallen tree resting low to the ground on stubs of limbs, its bark hanging in strips.
Able strained to find his target, but could see nothing behind the dangling bark.
From there, the cat could come out from so many different places that Able didn’t know where to watch.
He glanced at his brother.
Ted, his bow raised, stared helplessly at the fallen tree.
Suddenly the rest of what his father had said came back to Able:
“A cat will stalk you from tree to tree, and never give one clear shot till you run. Then he’ll land on your back.”
Able drew in a deep breath, watched the tree, and drew his bow taut.
“Ted—”
Ted glanced around.
Able said, “Run for it!”
Ted blinked, then whirled and ran.
There was an explosion of bark strips.
Ted was running headlong, the cat a gray blur behind him.
Able shot an arrow, strung another—
The cat swiftly shortened the gap.
Ted suddenly caught a sapling, clung, whirled himself around, and bolted in a fresh direction.
The cat slammed to a stop, one forepaw against the bole of a tree.
Able shot an arrow, and another arrow—
The cat bounded high, whirled in the air—
Able aimed, shot again—
Ted ran up, his legs unsteady, and snatched up his bow.
Able’s target had vanished. He stepped sidewise.
The big cat lay motionless.
Ted sucked in his breath.
“You got him!”
Able, trembling, gave mental thanks, then looked around.
Their arrows were strewn all over, and the shadow of the ridge was beginning to reach into the forest. From somewhere came a startled scream, then the eerie descending note of a wirebird.
Able took pains to keep his voice steady.
“Better stick together while we collect our arrows. We’ll drag these cats up by the hunt shack and bleed them—skin them if there’s time. If there’s a drag frame there, maybe we can get them home tomorrow.”
***
The hunt shack, on the far end of the ridge, was a small cabin of massive logs, with a shingled roof over heavy planks.
Able and Ted, worn out from skinning and butchering the woods cats, woke in the darkness of the cabin, listening to a distant barking and yipping.
Ted groaned. “Traprunners.”
“It’s about time for them to swarm.”
“How do we get the meat home? They’ll smell it.”
“Dad would say, stay here until they hunt out the brush and go north.”
“How long will that take?”
“It could be tomorrow,” said Able frowning.
“Or next week,” said Ted uneasily.
“The meat has to be cured soon, and we need a lot more salt than there is in the bin. We can’t stay here.”
The room seemed to go around and around as Able lay back.
“Are we,” he murmured, “going to just let it spoil?”
In the distance the traprunners yipped, and something screamed.
But Able didn’t hear it.
***
Midmorning of the next day found them crossing the first of three large streams on the way home. They were close to the edge of the forest, the big trees looming up to their right, while to their left the brushland sloped ever more gently off toward the swamp in the distance.
The morning, so far, had been unnaturally still, with the traprunners apparently asleep after the night’s hunt, and everything else in hiding. The worst of this quiet was that they had no idea where the creatures might be.
They paused to drink from the stream, then lay down beside a tall bush for a few minutes’ rest.
Atop the far bank, downstream, something moved.
A long-muzzled brown head bearing upright pointed ears appeared.
With a quick careless glance around, the creature ran down the slope, a brown animal about the height, at its shoulder, of a man’s knee. The head, on a thick neck, looked oversize for the body until it turned, to briefly show its massive chest.
At the edge of the stream it crouched, braced its paws on the bank, and leaned far down to drink.
Able strung his bow.
The bank crumbled under the creature’s paws, and it backed to keep from falling.
Able let fly an arrow.
The arrow struck the chest near the front legs. The traprunner fell over the bank into the water. Barely afloat, it slid down the stream.
Able looked all around and glanced at Ted.
Without a word, they went up the slope on all fours, crawled over the top, and looked back through the brush.
On the opposite side of the stream, far down the gentle slope, dozens of traprunners, of all shades of brown and gray, came leaping and bounding silently through the brush, appearing first here, then there, so that the eye seemed never to see the same one twice, while a broad stretch of brushland seemed alive with them.
In the distance, a long-legged creature with slender horns, off to the side of the pack, suddenly sprang up and bolted. The main pack paid no attention, but two more of the predators appeared as if from nowhere and bore it to the ground.
Ted said, his voice scarcely audible, “Will they cross the stream?”
“If they see us, some will split off and come after us.”
In the distance, there was a single short bark.
The pack vanished.
Able whispered, “Don’t move.”
There was a short sharp bark.
The pack sprang up, bounding high into the air and looking all around.
Ted caught his breath.
Able looked carefully around.
From the distance came a rapidly repeated bark, high and piercing.
The whole pack turned away from the stream, as half a dozen spotted white-and-tan creatures sprang up and raced away. The pack raced after them in a V, two wings reaching to the sides to keep the small herd together. A constant yipping, high-pitched and short in duration, like the squeaking of innumerable ungreased hinges, jarred on Able’s ears.
Ted whispered, “Let’s go.”
Able looked carefully around.
“I’ll sneak away. You stay here a minute, and see if anything is watching.”
Able eased through brush and small saplings.
The roar of the stream dropped behind. The high-pitched yapping faded in the distance.
Able saw nothing but brush, scattered clumps of saplings, and, ahead, a tall tree, its leaves turning freely in the light breeze to create a soothing, almost hypnotic pattern of light and shade on the ground beneath, where the grass and moss grew sparsely.
Able, soothed, walked toward the cool sheltered shade.
Abruptly he stopped, the sweat starting out on his forehead.
Ted came hurrying up, to whisper, “I only saw two. They were watching the pack chase the brush deer.”
Able nodded and murmured, “Good. Watch it, there’s a wire tree in front of us.”
Ted started.
“Can’t we go farther from the forest, now they’re headed the other way?”
“We don’t dare. There could be some on this side.”
From behind came a chorus of cries, distant and triumphant.
Ted swallowed. “They’ve caught the brush deer already.”
“Now, they’ll turn. They’ll go north, or they’ll come this way. I think I heard them to the north last night.”
“Then they’ve hunted that stretch already.”
“Yes.”
The wind rose, and there was a roar as of a stream, from in front.
Ted said, “Waterfall tree.”
“We’ll have to get farther out from the forest, after all.”
Able turned to swing out toward the north, and in front of him there was a slender sapling whose leaves turned in the breeze to cast an inviting shade where light and shadow flickered in a soothing hypnotic pattern.
Ted gripped Able’s arm.
Able stood still, reminding himself of the things to remember.
The forest, he was thinking, is to the south. The traprunners are behind us, to the west. We have to keep near the forest, because the traprunners live in the brushland, and usually avoid the forest. We want the forest to our right, and not far away. But we have to watch out for the wire trees. They’re in the forest, and along the edge. We’ve got to remember the wire trees. But, now, there was the sound of a waterfall tree up ahead. We don’t want to get near that. We had enough of that yesterday. We have to keep away from places woods cats like. So we’d better swing a little farther north here, while there’s time—
As Able moved forward warily, there came a rapidly repeated piercing bark from the direction of the stream behind them.
The bark was repeated; then, after a pause, repeated again.
Ted said, “They’ve found our trail!”
“He’s calling the pack. He won’t follow until some of them are following him.”
Suddenly the barking grew fainter.
Ted whispered, “It’s going away!”
“Or starting down into the stream to follow us.”
Able intently studied the trees at the edge of the forest. There was one, to the right of the wire tree, that was huge, with widespread level limbs.
Suddenly the barking grew louder.
“Stay behind me,” said Able.
He walked straight toward the wire tree, passed outside the reach of its limbs, turned behind it, and walked toward the forest.
The barking was growing close, and now a high-pitched yipping joined in.
Suddenly this yipping seemed to burst out at them, to leap at them, from ahead, from behind, from all sides, its direction so confusing that Able could feel the urge to run, to rush this way and that, to panic.
Able glanced back.
Ted was turned with his bow raised, looking here, there—
Able took him by the shoulder, forced his own voice to stay level.
“Climb up into that tree ahead. I’ll follow.”
Ted ran to the tree, caught a thick low limb, and pulled himself up.
The tree’s big limbs, almost like a staircase, for a moment roused some faint memory in Able’s mind; but then, paralleling the edge of the brush and a few dozen yards inside the forest, a traprunner bounded into view, its muzzle up, yapping.
Able froze.
The traprunner, bounding along carelessly, shot past through the trees.
Able climbed.
He went up the smooth worn lower limbs, around the tree, sought a fresh grip, pulled himself higher, then stopped.
Through the forest below bounded another and another of the predators, muzzles thrown up, yipping.
Out in the brush, another came into view, head down, snuffling along their track. It put its head back and barked.
It seemed impossible that the yipping noise could grow louder, but it seemed now to be not only on all sides, and overhead and underfoot; it also seemed to be inside their heads, a sound that stopped thought, made time stand still, and held the attention like the points of a thousand daggers, touching first here, then there, so that the mind was constantly distracted, could not think, could not plan—
Suddenly a roar echoed through the forest.
Down below, the onrushing traprunners slowed, jumped aside.
Eyes glowing, gray fur on end, claws extended, tail lashing, lips drawn back from sharp teeth, a big woods cat paced half sidewise, its whining growl a background to a look of sledgehammer hate like the glare from white-hot iron.
The traprunners backed away.
Out in the brush, the main pack bounded up, stopped, watched curiously, and sat down.
The woods cat herded the nearby traprunners to the edge of the forest, and there he paused. The threatening whine dropped to a low growl, rose again to a whine as a traprunner blundered forward, and dropped to a growl as the predator jerked back; then the cat settled down beneath the outspread limbs of the tree, near the edge of the forest.
Able clung to the smooth worn limbs, groping for some explanation.
Down below, the cat held the horde overawed.
From somewhere overhead came a faint mewing.
Able looked again at the tree’s smooth worn limbs. He glanced up.
High overhead in the tree was a dark bulk against the sky, a place where the limbs seemed woven together.
From somewhere overhead came a gruff questioning bark.
Able forced himself to breathe slowly and steadily.
From above came a slipping, clutching noise.
A small feline form arced through the air, to seize a limb, swing, cling with a scratching, clutching sound, climb up on the limb, and then bound to the main trunk of the tree. A second small form arced down.
Able watched numbly.
The gruff bark sounded from overhead, louder.
Ted glanced urgently at Able.
Able looked around, moving only his eyes.
The radiating limbs of the big tree reached out past other trees. But any movement along them would be in view of the male cat down below, and of all the traprunners waiting at the forest edge.
Now from up above came a menacing growl. It rose to a threatening whine.
Below, the big cat gave a reassuring gruff bark.
Out in the brush, a large traprunner sat on its haunches, tongue lolling out between long sharp teeth, and looked from Able to Ted.
Able fitted an arrow to his bow.
Through the woods, panting and bounding, came a traprunner that had fallen behind the rest.
The woods cat growled a warning.
Overhead, there was a rustle and a sway of branches as a large gray shape moved out the mouth of the den and peered down at Able and Ted.
Out of the corner of his eye, Able could watch the approaching traprunner. Seeing all his fellows, this predator was not awed by the woods cat, but gave a hunting yip, and bounded straight for the cat.
The cat’s left paw lashed out, ripped flesh and fur from the traprunner’s side, struck again, and threw the carcass into the brush.
The nearby traprunners stood up and began to growl, whine, and yip.
From up in the tree, the female woods cat came dropping swiftly down from limb to limb, her gaze fixed on Ted. Her lips drew back from her teeth.
Able aimed, his position awkward and strained, and let the arrow fly.
The arrow struck the cat’s head just above the eyes, cut fur and flesh, and glanced off the bone beneath.
The cat missed its footing, dropped, twisted, and hit Ted a glancing blow on the way past.
Ted caught another limb, his face strained.
Able quickly strung another arrow. The female cat circled below the tree, looked up, and crouched. Able shot. The arrow struck the woods cat at the base of the neck. The cat gave an abortive spring, and dropped.
The traprunners rushed the male woods cat.
The cat battered them right and left, drove them back—
One of the traprunners circled behind him, rushed up.
The cat whirled with a flash of teeth.
The yipping seemed to come from everywhere.
The traprunners from out in the brush spread out as they rushed. A knot of them passed directly under the wire tree through the flickering light and shade.
The ground exploded. Pebbles danced in the air as the dirt boiled. Dust drifted up in a cloud. The air looked filled with whips, the predators whirled in the dirt and pebbles, vanished into the soil, and from overhead there sounded the eerie descending notes of a wirebird.
Able reached out to steady Ted, and pointed to a thick limb that led straight back into the forest.
Ted nodded.
Able started out along the limb.
Around him, under him, above him, from all sides, inside his head, exploded the high-pitched endless yipping. Twice he almost lost his footing.
A roar of murderous rage blotted out the forest.
Able clung to the limb.
Behind him, the monotonous yips were suddenly disjointed, startled.
There was a clutching, a snap and scream, another clutching sound, a strange singing tone, a yip, another sound of clutching, a startled bark, and as Able eased farther along the limb a picture formed in his mind.
The cat was using the trees.
The traprunners, accustomed to open ground, unable to climb, unused to the forest, were fighting a thing that could escape at will, return from whatever direction it chose, and, when they followed it, could lead them straight to one of the wire trees around its den.
And now the cat must have found its dead mate.
There was another roar that seemed to blot out earth and sky, and the fight moved away, a sound of slaughter off toward the brushlands.
Carefully, Able lowered himself from limb to limb, and dropped to the ground.
Ted followed, and Able led the way, walking and running, scanning the trees and the ground ahead for a particular deadly pattern of shadow and light.
Behind them, there came a bark.
Through the woods trotted a big traprunner, nose to the ground.
Able fitted an arrow to the bow, aimed carefully—
Ted yelled, “Look out! There are others!”
Able let fly the arrow.
Something hit him in the side like a thrown billet of wood. A tan shape hurtled by to lock its teeth on Ted’s shoulder.
Able dropped the bow, whipped out his knife, and stabbed up, through the front of the abdomen. The traprunner dropped to the ground.
Ted fell across it, rolled free, and looked up.
“Able! Look up!”
Able glanced up.
Smeared with blood, gray fur matted, eyes blazing, the woods cat came low and fast along the thick level limbs of a nearby tree.
Able stooped for his bow.
The cat sprang.
Something hit Able like a tree trunk swung by a giant. The world spun. He saw gray fur, and stabbed the knife into it. There was a raking pain across his back. He clung to the fur with his left hand, and stabbed the knife into it again and again. Gray and brown intermingled before his eyes, flowing together and separating. Something jerked his left arm so hard it seemed all but torn out by the roots. Ted screamed. Able clung grimly, stabbed the knife home, and ripped back with the blade.
The world seemed to explode.
After a long time, Able opened his eyes.
The cat was gone.
Ted lay flat on the ground, his shoulder smeared with blood.
Able bent beside Ted, saw faint signs of breathing, picked up his bow, recovered his arrow from a dead traprunner. He made sure he had his knife, and knelt beside Ted. Beside the mauled shoulder, Ted seemed to have several injured ribs. Able straightened.
Where the traprunner pack might be now was anyone’s guess.
Ahead of them stretched miles of wire trees, waiting for one misstep.
Overhead, the sun was passing its highest point and they weren’t halfway home.
Too late, Able could hear his father’s advice, and understand it.
Gently, he shook Ted by the unhurt shoulder.
***
It was after dark when Able, carrying his brother, was challenged by the guard atop the wall of the settlement.
The moon was halfway across the sky by the time his mother finished dressing the bruises, cuts, and long deep scratches he hadn’t known he had. By now, Ted was asleep in his cot, wrapped in bandages.
Able’s father cleared his throat.
“We didn’t settle this planet to raise children to feed woods cats and traprunners. You’re supposed to use your head.”
Able nodded unhappily.
His mother said disappointedly, “You should have known better, Able.”
His father murmured, “However, he did get two woods cats. And there should have been enough salt in the hunt shack.”
His mother spoke indignantly to Able’s father.
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
“What more?”
“There’s such a thing as caution. You can’t say anything to Ted tonight, but you have got to make Able understand!”
His father suddenly laughed.
“Let me ask you exactly what I can do that will compare with being worked over by three woods cats and a pack of traprunners. They’ve either learned caution, or they’ll never learn it. Able!”
Able looked up dazedly.
“Tomorrow I’ll teach you a path through the forest to the ridge. Boys can’t be trusted with it, but as far as hunting is concerned, I say you’re grown up. Besides, we have to take care of that meat, and that’s the quickest way with traprunners around.”
Before Able could speak, his mother started to object, but his father spoke first.
“Courage is like a knife, and caution is the sheath.” He smiled at Able. “You understand, you can get quite a few nicks in the blade if you’ve always got it out.”
“I understand.”
The strain released, Able became aware that he ached all over. Tomorrow they would head through the forest where the wire trees grew thickest, where thorn bushes and assassin vines hungered for the kill while awed predators edged around in search of some easier place.
Worn out and aching, Able crept into his bunk, and was asleep in a flash.
His mother glanced at him wonderingly before she put out the lamp and shook her head.
Able was smiling.