He took his time, about three hours, to track down the three of them. He came down their back-trail in the very footsteps of Big Boy, who was precisely his size, but probably just about 16-years old. They were all, like the hunting party, wearing a type of moccasin. Old Man moved like he was perhaps forty, but was probably younger.

They had stopped in a clearing above a spring. He took up an over-watch position about fifty yards up-slope behind a thick weathered hardwood that he could not identify.

At some time a large hardwood had been split by lightning below. The seared remnants of the tumbled tree made a natural barrier to the north. The spring bubbled into a briar-choked streambed to the south. A steep wooded hill of crumbling shale rose behind, east of the clearing. The well-worn trail ended beneath the lightning-struck tree.

Old Man was short and wiry with real broad shoulders and long gray-black hair, tied in a top-not. He was wearing well-made sleeveless buckskins and a bear-hide cloak. Big Boy had a cloak of layered reindeer hides, but was otherwise dressed like Old Man. His hair though was long and loose. They both had three throwing spears thrust into the ground and spear throwers and large bone knives tucked into thick bison-hide belts. They appeared to be dark-skinned Caucasians and were cleanly shaved, except for handlebar mustaches. Little Girl had a huge mass of curly black hair and had her face painted black. She stood behind Old Man who held his arms wide while the young man arranged the haunch on a spit above the fire.

If anyone has an objection to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your fire.

Jay stepped out from behind the massive tree. The people had good wood-sense because they immediately caught his movement out of their peripheral vision. He had not made a sound.

Are you serious?

There you go; Big Boy is taking it out of your hands. You know how this going already…

He had a broad-head knocked. Big Boy did not even pick up on the bow. Old Man eyed it with worry and a little bit of interest. But neither of them could guess its significance. Little Girl stood with her hands over her mouth, staring in wild-eyed horror at what must have appeared an apparition, a pale bald man with strange weapons in a world of tanned nature-loving hippies.

Both men had gathered their spears and loaded one on their thrower, which were beautifully carved antler throwing-levers. The butts of their slender spears were couched beneath the snout of a carved horse head. Old Man was waiting. Big Boy hurled a spear which was going to take him center-mass. He side-stepped and the missile buried itself in the trunk of the tree behind him.

Big Boy is getting pissed and Old Man is doing some math.

The young hunter stepped forward with his next cast and put even more velocity on it. Jay had it vectored before it released and bent sideways at the waist. The spear that should have ripped through his guts ‘thunked’ into the tree trunk.

Old Man is throwing with him next.

As the young man loaded another shaft Jay raised his 120-pound-draw re-curve bow and sent a broad-head tearing through the astonished older man’s right shoulder, destroying the joint. The girl screamed and crouched next to her father who just ground his teeth and took a knee. Jay rolled to his left as the young man’s last spear caught a piece of his hide poncho.

Big Boy stood squarely before him with his long, broad bone knife drawn, the hilt carved to look like a mammoth. Jay shouldered his bow and drew his Arkansas toothpick as he walked calmly up to the younger man and stopped two paces away. With his empty left hand he indicated the girl. Big Boy spit angrily at him, the saliva splashing over Jay’s bald scared head, and spread his arms with a snarled challenge.

Old Man said something to Big Boy and Big Boy spat at Jay again. Jay did a lunging hi-step forward, bringing himself just into range. Big Boy—with great reflexes but little skill—lunged in for a stab just as Jay was bouncing back into an outside reverse-triangle step. This step took him out of range to his right as Big Boy lunged, and brought him back into range on Big Boy’s far left side as his opponent pulled up short. He checked Big Boy’s forehead with his left hand as he slid in and ran him through the heart and both lunges from under the armpit.

Little Girl let out a groan as her father said something. He could hear Mother crying hysterically in the back of his mind.

He stepped over the oozing body toward the shaking girl who squatted, crying with her hands framing her chin, looking up into his eyes in pure terror. Her father put a comforting hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently toward him, saying soothing words in an odd clicking language. She spoke angrily to her father and shook with fear. Old Man then looked up at Jay, said a few words, pointed to his own heart, and pointed to his daughter.

I think he’s asking you not to hurt her.

He stepped forward toward Old Man, who lay back on his left elbow, his left hand pointing up to his heart and his right hanging uselessly by his side as blood ran down his bare arm.

Little Girl was crying hysterically as he kneeled beside the man. She was now hugging her father around the waist and putting her head over his heart.

He laid the man down and pressed the man’s own left hand against the entry-wound. He then stepped over to the fire and heated his blade. When he came back a few minutes later with the smoking hot blade the daughter had her hand under the exit-wound behind his shoulder. Old Man gritted his teeth as Jay seared the entry-wound, and then pulled his shoulder forward and seared the exit-wound with the other side of the blade.

He retrieved his arrow and sheathed the blade, then stood over the man looking into his eyes. The man said something softly to his daughter, and she made a low cry of protest.

These people are patriarchal. Big Boy was giving the stag haunch to Old Man for his daughter, probably with promise of more to come. Well dummy, you want a real family, make an offer.

Jay unhitched his elk-handled Bowie from his webbing and left thigh and handed it scabbard-and-all to Old Man, who took it with a single word of agreement?

He wanted some of Big Boy’s clothes and gear—Randy would love the bone knife—but could not bring himself to loot the body in front of the girl.

He looked down into the girl’s fearfully tear-filled eyes and put his finger over his closed lips. She nodded as if she understood. He buckled down his katana and toothpick so she could not draw them without unsnapping the scabbards, and hoisted her over his left shoulder.

He stood momentarily before his new father-in-law while his wife exchanged some final words with her wounded father.

Before he turned to walk off with the man’s daughter he felt like he had to say something. A twinge of guilt twanged in his chest but he choked it down. He nodded respectfully to the man who he had just taken nearly everything from: a hunter who would never cast a spear again; a father who would never see his daughter again, “Good luck Old Man. I’ll treat ‘er right.”

So, that makes it okay?

Yes it does.

Sorry Mom.