Chapter VIII: The Making of Stone Weapons

Thorn and his grandfather walked for a long time, but at last Flint pointed to a cave in the side of the hill and said, "We rest there."

As they came up, Thorn saw his grandmother sitting in the sun at her door. Flint said to her, "Here is Thorn, your grandson."

"The little man!" she said, and laid her rough hand on his shoulder gently.

Then she quickly cut off big pieces of the rhinoceros meat and ran a long stick through them, and placed the stick over the burning fire. While the meat was cooking, Flint was telling about Burr and her little family; and of Strongarm's surprise at the making of fire; and of the lion hunt; and of the sleeping tiger they had seen on the way home.

After the hungry man and boy had eaten great pieces of the roasted meat, they went to the stone yard. There Thorn heard the sound of stone hammers and saw a big rocky place in the hillside. Three men sat on the ground at work. Other men sat about talking. Pointing to these, Flint said, "They are waiting to buy axes."

There were piles of bowlders on the ground, and little piles of stone chips around each ax maker.

Flint went up to one of them and said, "Redtop, my boy wants to make axes. Show him how."

Redtop grinned at Thorn, and threw him a smooth oval bowlder.

"That is your hammer stone," he said. "Now take a stone about the size you want your ax, and chip it this way."

Redtop sat on the ground. He held a flint bowlder and began chipping it with his hammer stone. Every time he struck the bowlder, a chip flew off. He kept on striking, first on one side and then on the other. Thorn watched with shining eyes. Redtop worked fast and easily, and after some time held up a beautiful ax. It was broad at the sharp end and narrow at the head. Thorn saw the little places all over it where the chips had come off.

He looked at it and laughed, and then sat down and tried to do what Redtop had done. He struck with his hammer stone, but the bowlder did not chip. He worked on and on, for a very, very long time. Still the bowlder would not chip, and his arm was ready to drop off.

At last Redtop said, "Enough for to-day! You will do."

Thorn threw down his stones with a shout and ran to his grandfather.

Old Flint sat at work under a big beech tree. At his side there was a little pile of bowlders, and about him there were chips of flint.

"Well," he said, as he looked up at the boy, "how is stone work?"

"It is not so easy as it looks, and it makes my arm hurt," said the boy soberly; "but Redtop said that I would do."

"Um," grunted the old man with an unsmiling face, the while laughing to himself.

He worked on. After a time he said, "The little thing you shoot with, your bow--did you bring it?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Well, I will make a little stone head for the stick."

"Good, grandfather!" said Thorn, clapping his hands.

Flint took a pebble from the pile and struck it with his hammer stone. It did not chip in the right way, so he threw it on the chip pile. He struck another. That was too soft; he threw that away. He tried many pebbles before he found a good one.

"This will do," he said at last. "The chip leaves a slight rounding hollow like the inside of my hand."

Then he began to work. He held the pebble in his left hand and struck it a sharp blow with another pebble. He went on striking, round and round the pebble, taking off a flake or a big chip at every blow. At last the part of the pebble left was too small to work with any more. It was the core; he threw it away.

"We chip axes by striking," he then said to the young ax maker. "That way of chipping is good enough for axes; they are heavy and have, besides, the weight of the arm to carry the blow. With spear heads it is different; a spear is thrown, and the head should be sharp. I can get a smaller chip, and so a sharper edge, by pressing than by striking; so I chip my spear heads by pressure."

He laid a little piece of deer skin in his left hand. On this he laid one of the flakes he had just broken from the pebble, and held it fast with his fingers. Then he took a piece of deer antler.

"This antler," he said, "is soft enough to spring a little when I press it against the pebble. Yet it is hard enough to bring off a chip."

He began pressing with the antler along the edge of the flake. He pressed very hard; and every time he pressed, a little chip flew off. He worked very fast.

"I must not let a hump come in the middle," he said; "for then I should have a turtle back. Look on that chip pile; you will see many turtle backs that I have thrown away."

The old man was making the point now, and he began to sing:

"I give you the eye of the eagle,
To find the rabbit's heart!
I give you the eye of the eagle,
To find the rabbit's heart!"

As Thorn listened, and caught the meaning of the song, his eyes grew bright and he held his head high.

"Grandfather hopes that I will hunt with the little bow and spear!" he said to himself.

He was very glad. He began to dance and clap his hands in time with the old man's song. Then he caught the words and began to sing with his grandfather:

"I give you the eye of the eagle,
To find the rabbit's heart!
I give you the eye of the eagle,
To find the rabbit's heart!"

Before long the little spear head was done. It was thin and sharp and beautiful. Thorn tied it to the little straight stick, and he had an arrow for his bow!

Flint worked on.

"We make all of our axes and spear heads and knives and scrapers of flint," he said after a while. "It chips more easily than any other stone."

After some time Flint and the boy left the stone yard.