If this were true, I must have some weapons, I thought, and soon I found them—a five-foot, straight bow, lying beneath the broken branches that had fallen from the lightning-blasted tree, and a buckskin quiver. I pulled out the arrows; their points were of flint. I noticed that the sinew filaments that fastened them to the shafts were loosening from the dampness, and I found myself instinctively twirling each one between my fingers until the sinew was tight again. The carcass of a deer lay also among the fallen branches, evidently a victim of the bow.