Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction; Tarzan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
The next step was fire. She might learn to eat raw flesh as had her
lord and master; but she shrank from that. The thought even was
repulsive. She had, however, a plan for fire. She had given the matter
thought, but had been too busy to put it into execution so long as fire
could be of no immediate use to her. Now it was different--she had
something to cook and her mouth watered for the flesh of her kill. She
would grill it above glowing embers. Jane hastened to her tree. Among
the treasures she had gathered in the bed of the stream were several
pieces of volcanic glass, clear as crystal. She sought until she had
found the one in mind, which was convex. Then she hurried to the ground
and gathered a little pile of powdered bark that was very dry, and some
dead leaves and grasses that had lain long in the hot sun. Near at hand
she arranged a supply of dead twigs and branches--small and large.
Vibrant with suppressed excitement she held the bit of glass above the
tinder, moving it slowly until she had focused the sun's rays upon a
tiny spot. She waited breathlessly. How slow it was! Were her high
hopes to be dashed in spite of all her clever planning? No! A thin
thread of smoke rose gracefully into the quiet air. Presently the
tinder glowed and broke suddenly into flame. Jane clasped her hands
beneath her chin with a little gurgling exclamation of delight. She had
achieved fire!
She piled on twigs and then larger branches and at last dragged a small
log to the flames and pushed an end of it into the fire which was
crackling merrily. It was the sweetest sound that she had heard for
many a month. But she could not wait for the mass of embers that would
be required to cook her hare. As quickly as might be she skinned and
cleaned her kill, burying the hide and entrails. That she had learned
from Tarzan. It served two purposes. One was the necessity for keeping
a sanitary camp and the other the obliteration of the scent that most
quickly attracts the man-eaters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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