The Defender Read online

  The rams eyed him gravely, with an expression that might have been gratitude on their long homely faces.

  “Yes,” they seemed to be saying. “Perhaps your pampered cattle down below would not thrive on this fare, but for savages like us it is nourishing. You see, we are not looking to put on fat, merely to survive.”

  With these friends, who had become like his own children, Turgen knew that he would never again be lonely as before.

  CHAPTER 9

  “A GOOD MAN GREETS EACH NEW DAY AS IF IT WERE A holiday.” Turgen thought of this proverb upon waking every morning now, because it described exactly the way he felt. By becoming the protector of these defenseless animals, he had found a mission which used all the warmth of his lonely heart. He only regretted that the idea of feeding the rams had occurred to him so late. “But why waste time in regret?” he reflected. “Better rejoice that the idea came to me at last.”

  In order not to give the rams occasion for fright, it was necessary to change certain of his habits. For one thing, he did no hunting at all in the neighborhood of his yurta and the rams’ feeding ground, but travelled some distance before permitting himself to fire a shot. He was gratified to discover before long that with the coming of spring birds and small animals, especially squirrels, flocked to his mountain side in great numbers. It was as if a rumor had spread that his place was their assurance of safety. The next spring and the next it was the same. Gay and charming visitors he had never known before came to delight him with their presence, and he felt himself being drawn into another world. How wonderful to be looked upon as a friend rather than as an enemy of these creatures!

  In three years the rams, too, showed growing confidence in him. He fed them regularly, even when the snow melted and the crevices of the rocky hills revealed young grass and tender new shoots on the shrubs.

  One sunny day he had gone as usual to the Rams’ Mountain and was standing on a ledge near the feeding ground waiting for them to appear. Soon he saw three coming cautiously toward him. Quickly he stepped out of sight. By their watchful movements he judged that they had been sent to reconnoitre, and he was more sure of this a moment later when they bleated a piercing “Ma-a! Ma-a!”

  He could not doubt that this was a signal to inform hidden companions that all was well, for the entire ram family now appeared, led by a huge powerful fellow who held his head with its sharp spiralling horns proudly. “What strength! What assurance!” Turgen thought, enchanted. The long beard and tail indicated that the leader ram was not young, but his legs were slender and built to endure. He had a reddish-brown coat flecked here and there with white. By his extraordinary size and confident attitude he impressed his authority on the herd.

  When the leader after a brief survey had satisfied himself that there was no danger he spoke calmly to his charges. “Ma-a!” he said. Whereupon all the rams fell to eating.

  Turgen counted them: six females and three males—with two lambs not more than three weeks old, which he had not seen before. Unlike the lambs he had noticed briefly in previous seasons, these were gay and frisky and seemed prepared to enjoy a long life. Two lambs to six females was not a large increase. Still they were promise of new generations. Turgen was overjoyed. Surely the smaller one must be a girl, the larger one a boy. He watched them drink greedily of their mother’s milk, then pick at some grass only to reject it disdainfully and return to their mothers. Clearly they preferred milk to the food of grown-ups.

  Turgen could not take his eyes from the rams, his wild mountaineers. In his imagination he saw this little family grown into a great herd.

  CHAPTER 10

  JUST THEN THE LEADER SOUNDED A SHARP WARNING upon which the rams vanished. Turgen looked to see what had frightened them, but could discover nothing amiss. He listened, and heard a noise as of sifting sand and gravel. Someone must be there. But who? Then his attentive eyes caught sight of a bear stealthily creeping toward the clearing. He was enormous.

  By nature a bear was clumsy and sluggish, no match in speed for the light-footed rams, but he had his own sure method of hunting. He would search out the path by which the rams traveled to get food and water, and there he would lie in wait for them behind one of the cliffs. He would wait for hours, patiently. Providing the wind was in his favor, his scent did not betray him and the rams would come unsuspectingly within reach. Then a pounce, a single blow of his enormous paw, and the nearest ram would be killed.

  Turgen knew all this, knew also that the bear before him was an experienced hunter. Lacking a gun, he was powerless to give the rams any help. He thought of shouting, remembering that a bear is afraid of the human voice, but this might frighten the rams even more and decide them to seek another place of refuge. What then was he to do ?

  Rocks! He would throw rocks at the bear.

  Taking quick aim, he fired a stone which lit near the bear’s feet. The animal stopped, turned his head to sniff the air from all directions. When his eyes fixed upon Turgen above him, he let out a roar of fright that echoed from cliff to cliff and threw himself down the hillside. The clatter was terrific as he rolled over brush and outthrustings of rocks, crashing and bouncing and setting in motion a series of small landslides.

  Attracted by the racket the old ram reappeared farther up the mountain and stood watching his enemy’s progress with an expression of contentment.

  Satisfied that the rams were safe, Turgen started home conscious that the leader was following him with his eyes. A dreadful thought assailed him: What if the rams associated him with the bear? What if their old suspicion of man were aroused and they left this region for another?

  CHAPTER 11

  THAT NIGHT TURGEN COULD SLEEP LITTLE, BUT TOSSED and turned in anxiety lest his charges desert him. For they had become necessary to him, perhaps more necessary than he to them. The next morning he rose early and hurried to the feeding ground with a generous supply of grass. Good or bad, he must know the truth.

  His fears were promptly quieted when he saw the rams’ fresh tracks in the clearing. As usual, he deposited the hay, then stood behind a rock to wait. But not for long. First to come were the scouts, then the leader. Then the family. In spite of their dirty-brown coats they were to him a lovely sight in their strength and grace and daring. The old leader was like a king arrayed in tatters, fully three feet in height and nearly six feet from tip to tip. The females, appropriately, were smaller, with almost straight horns, and held themselves with a kind of humility.

  But it was the lambs to whom Turgen’s heart went out. “The darlings!” he whispered.

  Of course, the shy one who never ventured from her mother’s side was a female, the gay prankish one a male. If in his play he dared approach the cliff, the old leader recalled him with a snort to his anxious parent.

  “Eh! They are splendid children.”

  The rams seemed at home and at ease wandering about the clearing, and Turgen was reminded that it took more than a single fright to make them forsake their accustomed haunts. They were known to be stubbornly faithful to the place which provided them with food and shelter.

  Turgen was starting down the mountain to return home when he noticed the leader ram circle the clearing excitedly, then with amazing lightness spring to the top of a rocky ledge where he had a good view of the mountain side. Sharply he surveyed the region, and sharply gave warning.

  The warning was taken up by the other males, and promptly the females ranged themselves in a circle with their rumps together and their heads pointing out. The lambs, held within the circle, pushed against their elders inquisitively in an effort to get out, where were the other males.

  As a general, the leader was magnificent. From a height of at least twenty-five feet he dropped easily to the clearing and again made a full swing around its center edge. On another signal from him the males took posts along the cliff and the herd froze in position, front legs braced, horns lowered, all facing the exposed slope.

  “An astonishing battle formation!” Turgen sa
id to himself in excitement and wonder. The rams were prepared to fight off an enemy. But who was the enemy? “Wolves ?” Turgen wondered. He had heard of rams’ exploits in battle, but never had he seen anything like this.

  Intently he watched, and soon he saw three forest wolves approaching the clearing, enormous beasts made bold and dangerous by hunger through the winter. His heart beat fast with terror for his herd. What he would have given for a gun! Lacking that, he made sure that his knife was ready to hand, even though he knew himself to be a helpless onlooker should the wolves attack. “For I’m not a bird and not a ram, to go from crag to crag,” he thought.

  The first wolf had reached the edge of the clearing now. With his mouth open, revealing powerful tusks, and the hair erect on his spine, he was terrifying to look at. Turgen heard him growl, a low fierce rumble, and waited for him to pounce, but instead he flung himself full length on the ground while still keeping his burning eyes on the rams. Was he perhaps selecting his prey? Turgen did not know, but he saw how the female rams drew together in a closer circle behind the leader. It was quite clear by their staunch attitudes that the rams had no intention of running away.

  What a battle it would be! But what chance had the rams against those three beasts ?

  The first wolf, tiring of inactivity and prompted by greed, decided against waiting longer for his companions and rose to his feet. Slowly he advanced. With each cautious step Turgen expected him to plunge.

  Then an amazing thing happened. The old ram without warning, lowered his head to the ground and sprang at the advancing enemy. So exactly had he gauged the distance that his horns struck the wolf in the chest with an impact strong enough to raise him in the air and send him hurtling over the cliff. His howls echoed around the mountain as he fell and so distracted the other two wolves that they turned from the clearing and raced after their unlucky comrade.

  It seemed not more than a minute that it took to wage and win the battle. Then the herd of rams broke formation to lie down and rest. Except for the lambs who were as full of play as ever.

  Turgen, making his way home on legs which did not seem to belong to him, lived over again the old ram’s victory. It was as if the triumph were his own.

  CHAPTER 12

  AT HOME HE COULD NOT GET THE INCIDENT OUT OF HIS mind. These wild mountaineers had become like his own flesh and blood—what happened to them was his experience also.

  It was midnight, but he could not sleep from excitement. Reaching for his reed, he started to play—and soon the yurta was filled with music that spoke of sadness and at the same time of quiet rejoicing. The melodies were new to him. They had seemingly sprung out of the air in order to celebrate the afternoon’s wonderful adventure.

  At last he lay down to rest. With all his heart he desired this night to see a fine dream. What kind of a dream he did not know, but he felt that he must communicate the day’s fortune to the good spirit of the yurta. For had not a good spirit come to drive out the evil spirit when he made himself the protector of the rams? Turgen believed that it had. For his faith in God—the Great Spirit who ruled the world—did not exclude the possibility that there were other spirits known to his forefathers who acted as messengers for God and Satan and had more time to concern themselves with the affairs of a poor Lamut.

  His wish was granted him. In his sleep he saw a joyous dream.

  His wife and son entered the yurta, looking just as he remembered them. He wanted to welcome them, to say a thousand things he had in his mind to tell them, but no words came. He could only gaze at their dear faces in silent astonishment.

  His wife came near, took him by the hand, smiled and said: “Turgen, get up and come with us. The Great Spirit is happy that you are taking care of the wild rams and wants to thank you personally.”

  Turgen rose as he was directed and went with them. But his wife and son seemed to float through the air rather than walk and he had great difficulty keeping up. Up hills, over vertical cliffs he followed after them, gasping from exhaustion and fearful that they would abandon him.

  Finally he called out in despair: “Help me. I cannot keep up with you. If you do not help me, I shall never see the Great Spirit.”

  Encouragingly his wife answered: “Yes, Turgen, you are tired. But don’t be afraid. We will help you.”

  With that she took him by one hand, the son by the other, and all three rose into the air. Higher and higher they flew, to dizzy heights where it was hard to breathe, and came at last to a mountain whose top was lost in the clouds. When they had landed in a small field Turgen looked around him amazed.

  “What an immense place!” he exclaimed. “If the Great Spirit lives this far away it is no wonder that we never see him.”

  The place was remarkable for more than its size. The mountains familiar to Turgen were also high, but bleak and bare. Here were fields with trees and flowers growing in abundance and giving off odors that tickled the nostrils. And in the midst of the wonders he saw lambs browsing under the guardianship of wolves.

  “What is this?” he asked his wife. “How can such young things be entrusted to killer-beasts?”

  Smilingly she said: “There are no killers here, Turgen. Here everyone—birds, animals, people—live in love and harmony.”

  “Wonderful!” Turgen exclaimed. “I should like to live here myself for a while.”

  “You will in due time,” the woman assured him. “But come now—the Great Spirit is expecting you.”

  Turgen looked around, expecting to see a large yurta in which the Great Spirit lived, but instead he saw only a great larch tree and under it a bench very like his own. An aged man dressed in white was sitting there, a man who bore striking resemblance to his long-dead grandfather.

  “Who is this?” Turgen asked himself. “Is it possible that he is the Great Spirit? I did not picture him so. This man is lean and not very tall and there is nothing of grandeur about him. No doubt he is a servant.”

  But meeting the old man’s eyes, which held a kind of fire, he was seized with fear and reverence. Humbly he fell on his knees and whispered: “Forgive me, Almighty! I, a sinner, failed to recognize you. How could I recognize you, since I have never seen you ?”

  A gentle voice replied: “Rise, my son. Do not be afraid. If you have not seen me, yet you heard me when I said to you, ‘Turgen, go feed the starving rams. They are my children too, just as you are.’ Your heart is open to goodness. You have given me much joy. Now rise and sit here beside me.”

  Eagerly, Turgen leaped to his feet—and woke up.

  CHAPTER 13

  FOR A MOMENT HE WAS GRIEVOUSLY DISAPPOINTED AT having lost his dream, but soon a great happiness overtook him. Surely this was no ordinary dream, he told himself. The Great Spirit in his mysterious wisdom had chosen this way to make his favor known. Although Turgen longed to rush down the hill and share the night’s adventure with Marfa and her children, he didn’t—because the dream, for a reason he was at a loss to explain, seemed to belong to him alone.

  Did Marfa notice that something of extraordinary importance had happened to him? If so, she gave no sign, for it was not her habit to question. Nevertheless, Turgen felt a sense of guilt that he should conceal anything from his kind friends.

  The children especially might well have asked: “Turgen, why don’t you tell us stories any more? Why don’t you play the reed and sit by the komelek and smoke ?”

  For he did none of these things, being so preoccupied by his own thoughts and concerns. He went for his milk as usual, gave abrupt greetings, asked absurd questions which deserved no answers, and quickly departed.

  The truth was, he had to admit honestly, that the family of rams had become dearer to him than anything or anyone.

  At home there was more than enough work to keep him busy, for it was important that he make good use of what was left of the summer. Hay must be dried and stored for the rams, wood chopped to last a long winter, fish and game caught and packed away in a small cellar not far from the yurt
a—a hole dug in the ground where food stayed fresh summer and winter. He remembered the old proverb:

  “What the summer gives, the winter will swallow.”

  As a result of his dream he suddenly gave most careful attention to his housekeeping. Every day he swept the floor, and he polished the kettles and pots until they shone. He did this because, secretly, he cherished the hope that his wife and son would visit him again. Maybe—who knows?—the Great Spirit himself might condescend to drop in.

  But always the rams came first. At least twice a week, in every kind of weather, he carried food to them. He fed them even though the mountains were still green with vegetation, because they were now more than ever necessary to him. Besides, the succulent grass which he gathered in the valley gave variety to their diet and they loved it. While the rams never came close to him but maintained a respectful distance, they showed no nervousness at sight of him, and this pleased him very much.

  The summer, brief as a dream, had brought changes in the flock. The rams had taken on flesh, their coats were soft and thick and of a uniform brown except for tufts of white on the sides, under the groin and neck. The similar markings confirmed Turgen’s belief that they were of the same family. Warm weather and plenty of food had made them active, also; often, out of sheer high spirits, two grown up males would lock horns in combat. And every day, it seemed, the lambs were inspired to new feats of inventiveness and daring.

  The male lamb especially enchanted Turgen. Everything his elders did he tried to imitate, executing leaps that made Turgen’s heart turn over in fear. At times his impudent pranks brought him a sharp reprimand from the leader.