It was just the
right diameter for the shaft of a spear--a hunting spear such as
her beloved Waziri had liked best. How often had she watched them
fashioning them, and they had taught her how to use them, too--them
and the heavy war spears--laughing and clapping their hands as her
proficiency increased.
She knew the arborescent grasses that yielded the longest and
toughest fibers and these she sought and carried to her tree with
the spear shaft that was to be. Clambering to her crotch she bent
to her work, humming softly a little tune. She caught herself and
smiled--it was the first time in all these bitter months that song
had passed her lips or such a smile.
"I feel," she sighed, "I almost feel that John is near--my John--my
Tarzan!"
She cut the spear shaft to the proper length and removed the twigs
and branches and the bark, whittling and scraping at the nubs
until the surface was all smooth and straight. Then she split one
end and inserted a spear point, shaping the wood until it fitted
perfectly. This done she laid the shaft aside and fell to splitting
the thick grass stems and pounding and twisting them until she had
separated and partially cleaned the fibers. These she took down
to the brook and washed and brought back again and wound tightly
around the cleft end of the shaft, which she had notched to receive
them, and the upper part of the spear head which she had also
notched slightly with a bit of stone.
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