XI

“You Must Stay Behind”

As if in reply, the Mammoth raised his foreleg and stood at attention. Pic’s despair changed to amazement, then understanding. Like a flash, he sprang upon the beast’s uplifted limb and seized his ear. A moment later and he was up and astride the great shaggy neck, sitting comfortably in the depression between head and shoulder. The cave-men waved their axes and shouted themselves hoarse: “Kill, kill! Death to the traitor!” and then Pic raised his hand. All became quiet, listening to their leader’s final instructions.

“You,” he said, pointing to a young giant seamed with battle-scars; “you must command here, and death to him who disobeys you. I may be gone many days. He who makes trouble in my absence will be food for the hyenas when I return. Good-luck to you and farewell. I will not come back without the boy.”

“Long live the Mammoth Man; death to Gonch,” howled the cave-men, waving their axes on high. Obedient to a hand-pat from his rider, the Mammoth wheeled and made for the river. Pic heard footsteps behind him. He looked back and frowned as he saw the Woolly Rhinoceros following closely on his partner’s heels.

“Not this time, good old friend,” he said. “You are too slow and will only delay us. You must stay behind.”

Wulli stopped short. The words rang in his ears like the sound of his own doom; but Pic had said them. He stopped obediently and stood, head cocked on one side, a prey to his ponderous reflections.The Mammoth had by this time entered the water, and still the Rhinoceros remained immovable watching the unsubmerged portion of his friend sailing rapidly across the stream.

So intent was he, so intent were the cave-men upon Pic and the Mammoth’s departure, that none perceived a spectre in the background slinking leisurely away. It was a big-eared beast with ghoul-grinning face and slopping jaws. It had been an interested witness of all that had passed, but none had seen or heard the foul beast of ill-omen, Crocut the Bone-breaker and giant leader of the Cave Hyenas.

Grun Waugh the Cave Lion reclined comfortably upon his side, beneath the lofty rock-shelter of Mawdlin—an overhanging cliff close to the right bank of the Vézère River. A few paces distant sat Scrag, his half-grown son. The latter was in the midst of his morning paw-scrub, a self-inflicted process indulged in by all members of the cat family and vulgarly known as “spit-wash.”

Scrag had spent the night in some wild orgy and had but recently returned home in the gray morning hours to where his parent awaited him. Judging from his appearance, he had experienced a lively time of it. His right eye was bunged and gashed so that he was obliged to depend entirely upon his left. One ear was torn and bleeding; it seemed to have been chewed. Father and son were conversing in low growls. At the moment Scrag had the floor and was recounting the details of his night’s adventures.

“I was hiding in the grass; lying low, chest and stomach to the ground, just as you have always told me to do. I cannot account for it, but he must have seen me.”

“How about your tail?” his sire remarkedgruffly. “No doubt, that was waving in the air so that even a mole could see it.”

“Possibly,” Scrag admitted, slightly elevating the brows crowning his one good eye. “I may have been a trifle careless as to tail. I never thought about it. Well, anyhow, just as he passed me, I jumped.”

“And missed, I presume,” the Cave Lion grumbled with an I-suppose-I’ll-have-to-pay-the-bill air.

“Not exactly,” chuckled the other, applying himself diligently to his toilet. “True, I missed what I jumped at”—souse, souse—“but I did”—swish, swish—“hit something.”

“What?” Grun Waugh snorted impatiently.

“A rock,” snickered Scrag, all set and ready to run. “I struck it head-on and bumped my eye. For an instant I was half-stunned; but luckily for me I had senses enough left to remember something else you used to tell me.”

“What?” roared Grun Waugh.

“That I had four good legs and knew how to use them. Did I use them? I most certainly did. You would have been proud of your little Scraggy had you been there to see.”

“Whelp!” thundered the Cave Lion. “Never will I hear the last of this. You, son of the grandest and boldest among flesh-eaters, fled from——”

“The Woolly Rhinoceros,” leered Scrag, screwing up his face. He stroked his chin bristles with his forepaw and looked thoughtfully at GrunWaugh as he added mischievously: “Now, who was it taught me to do that?”

The Cave Lion said nothing, but he was choking with suppressed rage, and his tail squirmed like a snake on a hot griddle. There were but two animals in the world that he had been known to run from, and the Woolly Rhinoceros was one of them.

He was brooding angrily over the matter and endeavoring to formulate some plausible excuse, when a burly figure suddenly thrust itself between him and the light. He looked up quickly and saw standing before him Crocut, his henchman and giant leader of the Hyena Pack.

Crocut settled down upon his haunches and grinned, first at Grun Waugh, then at Scrag. He always grinned and meant nothing in particular by it, for his face was simply built that way. It may be that, as head undertaker of the Vézère valley, it was his place to appear cheerful at all times, and because of that he either grinned or laughed. His grin was a death-mask and his laugh a voice from the grave.

Grun Waugh and Crocut had formed a partnership and were engaged in the meat business—wholesale and retail. Crocut selected the live-stock and Grun Waugh did the killing or dangerous work. He received the freshest and choicest cuts as his share, after which Crocut cleared away the remains and disposed of the by-products. The giant Hyena employed members of his own family as scavengers for this latter purpose. It was also one of his importantduties to develop new business, and so he wandered about continually, searching for occasional horse, ox, bison or other animal that might have strayed from its herd and could be attacked to advantage. It then remained for him to convey such information to his royal master the Cave Lion. Crocut had scruples and conscientiously refrained from intruding upon the executive or killing end of the business. This was Grun Waugh’s prerogative. The two got along finely by thus working in perfect harmony.

The leader of the Hyena Pack brought news, otherwise he would not have come. “I have much to tell you,” he began. “First, I will speak of the Woolly Rhinoceros.”

Grun Waugh scowled and wrinkled his muzzle. Again that name; but, although at first greatly vexed, he listened attentively as Crocut told of a man who had pushed a big rock over the cliff. This rock had barely missed crushing the Rhinoceros, also the Mammoth, who was with him. Crocut had seen this with his own eyes.

“Escaped; always escaped,” growled the Cave Lion. “Had either the Rhinoceros or Mammoth been killed, it would have been different; but as it is, the tale annoys me.”

“I, too, have suffered in order that my lord might learn all,” whined the Hyena. “The Trog-boy was with the two animals. He threw a stone at me and bruised my jaw. It is so sore that for several days I have been unable to crack even the smallest bone.”

Crocut grit his teeth, then winced with the pain which even this slight pressure caused him; then discovering that he was arousing no sympathy, he resumed: “Irritating, indeed; but please remember that it was a man who so nearly slew the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. Heretofore, none of the Trog-folk have dared attack the two animals.”

“Hagh!” Grun Waugh pricked up his ears. The tale now presented features of interest. “Not bad,” he said to Scrag, but the latter was already past hearing. He had curled himself up into a ball and was sound asleep.

“I have taken much interest in this man,” Crocut went on. “He has the odor of a hyena, and yet he appears to be a man. Possibly he is a relative; surely a friend. In addition to the first episode, he a second time attacked the Mammoth.”

Grun Waugh was now sitting up, his features expressing rapt attention. The moment of silence was broken by only Scrag’s resonant snores. Crocut described the scene at the slough and the Mammoth’s narrow escape. It was exasperating to think that the huge elephant had gotten off scot-free, and yet the narrative had its brighter side—the man’s share in it. He had done his part well, and the failure was no fault of his. Grun Waugh was beginning to feel kindly toward this Hyena Man. He purred softly and stretched his claws. Scrag snored peacefully on.

The Leader of the Cave Hyenas Brings News

“I have not yet told all,” the giant bone-breaker resumed. “The Hyena Man—our friend, if I may be so bold to say it—is now doing even better. Already he has set upon the Ape Man.”

Grun Waugh licked his flewed lips as though anticipating a feast. His purring became a gargle. He gave an attentive ear to the balance of Crocut’s thrilling account to the accompaniment of Scrag’s nose-racking snores. The Ape Man meant Pic. All flesh-eaters called him that and hated him most cordially into the bargain. Grun Waugh hated him worst of all, for it was whispered among beasts that this Ape Man, when a boy, had dethroned their royal monarch, the Lion. None dared speak such words aloud, but it was no secret that the puny Trog-boy had once driven Grun Waugh from the Grotto of Moustier and, having taken possession, had successfully resisted repeated attempts to dislodge him. It was only fair to explain that this same Trog-boy had not acted in an entirely honorable manner. He had employed fire as his chief means of defense, and, of course, fire was a thing that no beast, however brave and strong, could contend with.

Crocut explained that the stranger had not attacked the Ape Man directly, but it would seem that he had done even better. He had robbed him of his whelp and was now fleeing southward. The whole valley was in an uproar over the matter. Already the Ape Man had hurried off in pursuit, riding upon his friend the Mammoth. If they caught the Hyena Man, it would go hard with him. It was unfortunate and Crocut wished that thefugitive might in some way elude his pursuers, but the Mammoth was swift of foot, and there was no telling what might happen.

Grun Waugh leaped to his feet and gave vent to a thunderous roar. “And so the Mammoth and Ape Man are pursuing the Hyena Man,” he said fiercely. “Meddlers! We will follow and chastise them for interfering.”

Crocut wilted. He hung his head and looked about him as though seeking an avenue of escape. It began to look as though there might be some fighting, and, of course, he wanted to keep clear of that. “In your absence, I——” he began, and then held his peace, for Grun Waugh’s cold green eyes were directed full upon him.

“You will go with us, of course,” said the Cave Lion, biting his moustache and thereby displaying his huge canine teeth. “You began this, and now you must see it through. Come, Scrag.”

The prodigal son yawned and stretched his limbs; then with a wry face stood erect and wiped the sleep from his one good eye. Crocut groaned inwardly. Although a bone-breaker of the first order, he aimed at all times to be numbered among the spectators whenever there was fighting to be done. However, the Cave Lion had spoken, and there seemed no way out of it. And so, under his guidance, the three hurried down the river bank to the Dordogne, where they picked up the Mammoth’s trail and followed it across the stream to the southland beyond.

Gonch was in high fettle. He no longer feared pursuit and figured that already the race was as good as won. His enthusiasm was contagious. Kutnar caught it, and what with his thought of journeying to an unknown land, he was thrilled to his very soul. He was having a wonderful time; so many adventures and new things to see and all because of his good friend Gonch.

The two runaways swam across a stream south of the Dordogne River and found the water so icy that when they reached the opposite side at first they could not climb the bank. They danced and thrashed their arms about to restore the blood circulation in their numbed bodies and were finally able to move on. As for Gonch, now that he had no real troubles to worry him, he was having a very enjoyable trip homeward. The boy was an excellent companion. Never had Gonch so enjoyed himself.

Then came the fly in his ointment. The two were making their way across the lowlands to the Midouze River. The Muskman occasionally glanced behind, more from force of habit than as a measure of precaution, but finally he saw somethingon the distant horizon that made his heart jump almost into his mouth. It appeared no larger than a speck, but it was a living thing, for Gonch saw it move and knew it to be a large animal by comparison with the rocks and trees about it. Only one beast was of such size.

Gonch had a most uncomfortable feeling that the Mammoth was pursuing him because of that unfortunate episode by the slough. He would have given much to erase that mad scrape and still possess the great beast’s good will. But it was too late for wishing things that were not. The Mammoth, once foiled, had set himself right somehow and was not far behind.

He and Kutnar were nearing a grove which bordered the Midouze. The approaching cold season had entirely defoliated it, but the closely growing timber and underwood offered chance of concealment. Before plunging into the tangled mass of tree-trunks, brush and vines, Gonch took another look behind him. The distant speck had grown much larger. It presented a full-length view. Gonch could have sworn that it carried something upon its back.

“Does the Mammoth ever wander about alone?” he asked of the boy.

“Never that I know of,” was the answer. “Wulli is always with him.”

“On the Mammoth’s back?” Gonch pretended to be joking.

“No, indeed,” Kutnar laughed. “None but myfather ever sat astride him. Hairi would never permit any other to do such a thing.”

“Your father? Ugh.” Gonch felt the humor all knocked out of him.

“Yes, he rides the Mammoth when he wishes to go far and fast. Hairi appears slow and clumsy, but none but a swift-footed animal can keep up with him. Why? What made you think of him?”

“Um, nothing,” replied Gonch, quickening his pace. His fun was now thoroughly spoiled.

He now understood why the big elephant had been able to pick up the trail once more. A man had helped him—a man familiar with human trickery. Gonch’s position was rapidly becoming a desperate one. The Mammoth’s speed, combined with his rider’s intelligence, would soon bring the chase to an end.

Gonch and Kutnar hurried through the woods and arrived at the river bank. The former waded into the water with the latter close behind him. The lad was preparing to swim across when Gonch whispered, “Not that way,” and waded upstream as fast as he could. The two had progressed fifty yards or more when Gonch stopped at the sound of a violent commotion among the trees. His pursuers were almost upon him. Beckoning Kutnar to follow, he waded back to the bank, climbed up and dashed into the woods. Again sounded the snapping of branches and brush trodden under foot. Man and boy dropped flat to earth and lay still.

The Pursuit

Peering above the grass and brush which concealed him, Gonch could see dimly and afar between trees, the form of a great beast smashing its way through the forest. His blood chilled at the sight and then became ice as he caught a momentary glimpse of a man’s face high above the trunk and tusks of a gigantic elephant. He turned to the lad beside him. Kutnar had not yet seen, nor must he see. Crash! the flat blade of the Muskman’s flint-ax descended upon the boy’s skull. Kutnar stiffened and lay as still as a log.

The noise in the forest had by this time become a cyclonic fury of breaking tree trunks and snapping branches. A voice which sounded in Gonch’s ears like that of an avenging fiend, jabbered and shouted hideously in a language he could not understand. He raised his head just high enough to see as the hurricane swept past him, a huge elephant tearing along with great swinging strides and using his head as a battering-ram, while a man of herculean build sitting astride his neck and clinging tightly to avoid being swept from his seat by the tossing branches, urged the beast forward as with whip and spur. It was Pic and the Mammoth. Gonch felt so terrified at sight of them that he burrowed his face in the dirt and cowered there, wishing he had never been born.

As the Mammoth reached the river bank, he checked his onward rush so abruptly that had not his rider been holding on tightly he would have been pitched over the beast’s head. At a shout from Pic, Hairi ransacked the ground carefullywith his trunk-tip. Now that they were near the water, some trickery was to be expected. However, the Mammoth found the trail fresh and warm. It led straight to the river, and so he splashed in.

Gonch waited until he heard the beast settling into deep water; then raised himself on his elbows and watched. The Mammoth climbed the opposite bank and began a careful search for the trail. Pic, who had been noting his steed’s every motion, pointed to the bank downstream. Evidently he suspected that the Muskman was once more essaying the old water trick. He shouted a command, the Mammoth wheeled, and the two of them disappeared.

Gonch turned his attention to the boy, who lay as one dead. He raised him by the shoulders and turned him over upon his back. The boy’s eyes were closed. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth; but he still lived. Gradually his breathing grew stronger and he opened his eyes. He saw his good friend bending over him.

“Where am I?” he asked. “My head—the pain,” and the Muskman answered softly. “With your good Gonch, who drove away the beast that tried to kill you.”

“The beast?”

“Yes, a lion, the largest I have ever seen. He leaped through the trees and struck you down. Would that I had received the blow instead of you; but I did the best I could. The beast attacked me, and I drove it away.”

Kutnar was still indisposed, and so Gonch raised him in his arms and bore him away. To do this, he was obliged to carry his ax in his jaws, holding the handle between his clenched teeth. Not thinking of nor seeing the boy’s ax, he left it lying where it had fallen. Still holding Kutnar in his arms, he marched to the river and waded through the shallow water for a long distance. Finally, he went ashore and entered the woods. Here he laid down his burden and threw himself full length beside it, so that each might feel the other’s warmth. In this manner they passed the night undisturbed. Both rested well, and when morning came Kutnar felt sufficiently recovered to be up and on his way once more.

Gonch was careful not to cross the river, following the right bank instead until they were within sight of the seacoast. Then they crossed the river and ascended the elevations marking the western end of the Pyrenees. From there they deviated westward and entered upon the last leg of their journey along the northern flank of the Cantabrian mountain chain. This last leg was, however, not the least, for by this time winter was in full blast, bringing ice and snow with it and bitter north winds sweeping down upon the exposed country lying between the Pyrenees mountains and the Cavern of Castillo.

The Woolly Rhinoceros was left standing on the right bank of the Dordogne River watching Pic and the Mammoth disappear. He had been ordered to remain behind, simply because, through no fault of his own, he lacked one cardinal virtue—speed.

But Wulli was not bewailing his speed, or rather his lack of it. The subject never entered his head. He was trying to grasp the idea that for the first time in his long and adventurous career the Mammoth had gone away and left him alone. As friends they had always been inseparable. It seemed incredible that anything could cleave their bond asunder. What was one without the other? Wulli had never imagined the possibility of separation. It had always been “we”; now it was “I.” He bowed his head, stunned, crushed as the terrible reality dawned upon him—he had been left alone.

This was Thought Number One. His brain, being an unpretentious affair, gave room for only a single idea at one time. No one can blame him for that. Some space had to be sacrificed for nose-horn, bumps and everything. Unquestionably he could have thought as hard and fast as anybody had he the gray matter to do it with. However,things had to be taken as they were, and this Thought Number One consumed much time. The sun had set and darkness came on before he finished with it. Then occurred Thought Number Two.

This concerned Kutnar, and although Wulli would have blushed to admit it, he loved the boy with all the unselfish devotion of a faithful dog. He had known Kutnar ever since the latter was a baby. He had known the father even longer. Pic was the Mammoth’s particular man-friend; Wulli preferred the boy. He feared, admired and respected Pic, but he adored Kutnar. The Rhinoceros grit his teeth angrily as he thought of the lad now being spirited away by a stranger—one Hyena Man whom no self-respecting animal would look upon as a friend.

Stay behind? Well, he guessed not, and the mere fact that Pic had so ordered made no difference. He would follow where the Mammoth’s trail led him.

It was now dark. So profound had been his reflections that he failed to observe an animal crouching in the grass. Something shot through the air, brushing the hilt of his tail as it sped behind him. Then followed a thump and a muffled screech as the unknown struck the ground.

The Cave Lion Cub Learning How to Shoot

Wulli turned quickly and lowered his nose-horn, whereat the beast uttered a frightened caterwaul and bounded away. It was the Cave Lion’s half-grown son. Wulli gave a snort of contempt, then turned away to the river and plunged in. He did not expect to overtake the Mammoth that night nor even the next day. It might take weeks, months, even a year, but he was bound to find him in the end.

All that night he kept on and the following day, too, trotting or walking, but always moving and taking almost no time to graze. He was not disposed to waste precious moments, and so he fasted, drawing heavily upon his reserve fat to nourish him as he hurried along. The trail was an easy one to follow, and he kept his nose to it with a persistence that never faltered. That of the Mammoth was fresh and unmistakable. There was the scent of another grown cold and stale but the carrion odor yet clung to it, and Wulli judged him who had made it to be the Hyena Man. He got occasional whiffs of a third and familiar element and finally recognized it as belonging to Kutnar. The three were traveling the same path in a southwesterly direction.

Wulli had not gone far when he heard faint sounds behind him and detected odors in the air, both of which convinced him that he was being followed. Being a keen tracker himself, he could understand the possibility of others tracking him. The sensation of being hunted by unknown enemies made him nervous. Hyenas were annoying, but nothing worse. Wolves—real hungry ones—scared him as they scared everybody. A pack of half-starved wolves was a serious matter, even for a full-grownrhinoceros. It was hard to tell where they would stop. Wolves or hyenas, which? The uncertainty was most distracting. Wulli made up his mind to choose some advantageous position and wait until he found out.

It was sundown when he swam across a river and stood in the shallows near its western shore. Those who followed were now close behind him, so he waded into the deeper water until all but the top of his head and shoulder-hump were submerged. There he stood motionless. Any casual observer would have thought him a water-logged tree-stump with a root—his horn—projecting from one end of it.

Wulli waited patiently, patience being one of his greatest gifts. At last he was rewarded by the sounds of animals descending the opposite bank. They were now entering the stream. It was too dark to see them, but he could hear from the noise they made that they were coming toward him. His sharp ears caught faint murmurs as of water rippling and babbling against strong swimmers. There were several of the latter, judging by the sounds made. Wulli’s suspicions became reality, for soon he dimly distinguished three heads, keeping close together and coming toward him. Even in the dim light he recognized them in that short distance. Grun Waugh the Cave Lion was in the lead, followed closely by another smaller animal like him. The third beast trailing behind was a cave-hyena.

“Now, why did that stupid Rhinoceros come here?” growled a voice. The voice was Scrag’s.

“Yes, Crocut, you neglected to tell us about him,” grumbled the larger lion. “Now we have the Rhinoceros to account for; that makes it different.”

“But he is alone,” the Hyena sniveled. “You are two. It might have been worse.”

“We are three,” Grun Waugh sternly corrected. “If you value the meat on your bones, you will be wise and do your part.”

Crocut sighed deeply. He, the conscientious objector, was plunging into the thick of battle against his own free will. He shivered at the thought.

By this time the three animals had reached shallow water and were wading ashore. Wulli could hear them sniffing along the bank. “Here it is,” the Hyena announced. “I smell the Mammoth, also the friend I told you of. There is another man, too, but I find no scent of the Rhinoceros. Where did he go?”

“Here he is,” said Scrag. Wulli thought himself discovered and was preparing for emergencies, when the young lion added bumptiously: “I have his scent. It leads back to the water. He must have known that I was after him, or he would not have turned around and gone back to where he came from.”

“Pest,” snarled his parent; “get out of the way.” Scrag backed off and permitted Grun Waugh tosniff Wulli’s spoor. It was that of the Rhinoceros, sure enough, and it led back to the river.

“Wow, how unfortunate; he must have escaped us,” laughed the Cave Hyena, inwardly rejoicing.

“Let not that worry you,” Grun Waugh retorted. “You will have your fill of fighting when we overtake the Mammoth.”

“Ow!” yowled Crocut, and then he shut up like a clam.

“The Rhinoceros has turned tail,” thought Grun Waugh. “He came here and then went back again. I am glad of that. One less; so much the easier for us. The Rhinoceros is the worst of the lot—when he is mad.”

Just to make sure he stood at the water’s edge and gazed into the darkness. He saw nothing there, nothing but a tree-stump protruding from the river bed. He gave the signal and all three hurried away on the Mammoth’s trail.

When Wulli felt assured that the Cave Beasts were past hearing him, he emerged from his refuge, shook himself and followed after.

The affair was now become complicated. There were four elements, Wulli’s limit of mental arithmetic. More than that number was beyond his range. In times past he could count only two, the Mammoth and himself. Then Pic became an important factor in his life. This made three. Finally Kutnar appeared, and his education was complete. He could count four. This number fitted the present situation. The Muskman andKutnar represented No. 1 or the Pursued. Pic and the Mammoth following after them were the pursuers or No. 2. Grun Waugh and his gang made No. 3. Wulli himself was No. 4. Nos. 3 and 4 had changed their relative positions, and now Wulli was the tail of the procession. For some unknown reason the Cave Beasts had injected themselves into the affair, which, according to his way of thinking, did not concern them at all. And yet here they were and must be reckoned with. He felt sure that they were planning some mischief. He had considered himself as the object of their unwelcome attentions, which now, because of the change in the order of those pursuing, would fall upon Pic and the Mammoth. The three villains might attack his friends while the latter were unprepared. Wulli resolved to take a hand in this hare-and-hound game himself. It took him but a moment to pick up the combined trail of all parties concerned; then with a whisk of his tail he set himself in motion and went trotting briskly away through the darkness.

Wulli was familiar with the habits of cave-beasts. They traveled all night, and their resting was done in the daytime. He, too, traveled all that night, but instead of following the trail he branched off in a wide detour at his utmost speed. This forced night march had as its object a return to the former relative positions of the Cave Beasts and himself. It was important that they be put back where they belonged, assuming that they belonged anywhere. To accomplish this, Wulli must overtake and pass them before daybreak, for he knew that at the first sign of light the Cave Beasts would slow up. They would skulk and crawl because of their aversion to being seen, thereby enabling the Rhinoceros to find and assume his rightful position in the line. It now remained for him to make good use of the wee small hours and circumvent his enemies without their knowing it. He proceeded to act accordingly.

The sky was becoming streaked with gray when Wulli arrived at the edge of a large grove. He judged that he must be considerably in advance of the Cave Beasts by this time, although his detour was not yet completed, and he must cover considerableground before he could feel positive of having secured a safe lead. He plunged into and through the woods as fast as his legs would carry him. Several hours later he emerged upon the right bank of a river. Good; so far his plans had carried perfectly. The next thing was to pick up the Mammoth’s trail. This, too, was finally accomplished after a long search up the river bank. The scent of his friend was mingled with that of the odoriferous Hyena Man and Kutnar. He hunted everywhere for news of the Cave Beasts, but found none. Evidently they had not yet arrived. He had about made up his mind to enter the river when he smelled something that made him shiver. It was the odor of blood. A careful search led him to a clump of brush several rods from the bank. This place bore the scent of two men—Gonch and Kutnar. The blood was that of the boy. An ax lay near by. It was a mere stone tied to a stick, but the handle had a familiar smell.

Wulli groaned and almost collapsed. The boy had been hurt, perhaps killed. It was too dreadful to think of. His heart pounded like a hammer within his chest as he nosed about, following the Muskman’s tracks. They led to the river. All trace of Kutnar had disappeared. Wulli bit his lips and looked about him despairingly. What did it all mean?

Then came the sound of snapping wood as of branches pushed aside or trodden underfoot. The Cave Beasts had arrived! Wulli hurried to theriver, plunged in and swam to the left bank. Here he stood wrist-deep in the water and waited.

A huge head thrust itself from among the trees, and then Grun Waugh’s huge form debouched majestically upon the distant right bank. Scrag and Crocut were close behind him.

“Two lions and a hyena,” thought Wulli. “Quite a number for me to manage.” Scrag was but an inexperienced cub and not much of a fighter, but he might be counted on to do something in a pinch. The Hyena was an unknown quantity. He appeared larger and different from the ordinary brand—a formidable adversary if he but knew and would use his powers. He might do so, seeing that his side was three against one. Grun Waugh was a host in himself. The trio were now entering the water. It was in Wulli’s mind to turn tail and flee in the hope of overtaking the Mammoth. With the latter’s assistance, Wulli felt no doubts as to the result if Grun Waugh chose to force an engagement. However, the Mammoth might be far away; then the Rhinoceros would be overtaken and compelled to fight the Cave Beasts all by himself. It would be on ground not of his own choosing, he remembered. The idea did not please him at all. He decided to stay where he was. He stood motionless in the shoals, watching the flotilla of heads bearing down upon him.

When no more than a stone’s throw separated the opposing forces, Grun Waugh suddenly uttered a surprised roar and backed water. The Rhinocerosblocked his way. He had taken for granted that Wulli was in full flight, but now he realized his mistake and at a most embarrassing moment. He dared not venture farther, for there was something suspicious in Wulli’s calm and receptive attitude. Grun Waugh knew him of old and therefore considered prudence the better part of valor. He deflected his course slightly downstream. By this act of courtesy he would avoid a collision with the Rhinoceros. Not to be outdone, the latter shifted his position to correspond. The Cave Lion found his enemy waiting to meet him, head-on as before. He growled with vexation, then turned and swam upstream. This was hard, battling against the swift current. Wulli kept pace with him. It required little exertion on his part, walking as he did on the river bottom. Grun Waugh snarled with rage. The Rhinoceros was determined to give him a warm welcome.

While their lord was vainly maneuvering for a landing, Scrag and Crocut conducted themselves in a most unbusiness-like manner. According to recognized naval rules, one or both of them should have outflanked the Rhinoceros while the latter faced Grun Waugh. In that case Wulli would have found himself in a most embarrassing position—attacked on several sides at once. However, Scrag and Crocut simplified matters by trailing after their leader. It being Grun Waugh’s fight and his part to do the dangerous work, the other two let it go at that. It did not occur to any of the three that this, their habitual practice, might be departed from in the present instance. The two lesser animals followed their leader, and whenever the latter tried to land he found the Rhinoceros ready and waiting for him.

Wulli Defies the Cave Beasts

Grun Waugh felt terribly incensed. With all his courage, he dared not advance and impale himself upon that terrible nose-horn. He reviled Wulli under his breath for his obstinacy, but that did him no good. Then he tried threats, roaring loudly and showing his cruel teeth. He was fearful to look upon, but the Rhinoceros failed to appreciate this. Having determined that he was pursuing the best possible course, he refused to budge from it. Not for an instant would he permit the Cave Lion to enter shallow water and rest himself.

“Go away,” roared Grun Waugh. “We will not hurt you this time, provided you stand aside and let us pass.”

“Pass where?” asked Wulli in his blandest manner. “Your home is behind you. You are going the wrong way.”

“And you will not stand aside?”

“Not if I can help it,” replied the Rhinoceros. “You do not belong here. Go home and take your hyenas back with you.”

Scrag nearly had a fit as he heard himself thus insulted. To be classed as a hyena was more than he could bear.

“Pig!” he wauled, forgetting his paddling. His head sank; the waters closed over it. When itreappeared, Scrag was blinded and half-choked, also the starch was taken out of him entirely. He was cold and tired and made up his mind then and there that he could be of more service to the world as a live lion than mere fish-food. He faced about, wheezing and panting, and sailed away on his return trip.

Crocut saw the young lion scudding past him. He was suddenly reminded that his wind and strength were ebbing fast. Just about enough fuel left in his bunkers to carry him back where he came from, so he, too, swung around and steered a straight course homeward.

Thus was the Cave Beast squadron shorn of much of its seeming strength. The battle was not yet over, however, for Grun Waugh still persisted in his efforts to effect a landing. But Wulli held the bridgehead, and the Cave Lion, try as he would, could accomplish nothing. Finally, he, too, gave up, tired and discouraged and steamed away, leaving the Rhinoceros in full possession of the field.

Wulli remained at his post for some time to make sure. When convinced that there was nothing more to be feared from the Cave Beasts, he again went about his business. For some time he trudged back and forth in an agony of indecision, but there seemed only one way to go—after the Mammoth whose comfort he yearned for and sorely needed. So he made that his choice, following untiringlyover hill and valley, through glades and across swiftly flowing streams.

His woolly coat was torn and shabby and nearly every ounce of his superfluous flesh had been consumed, when at last he came to great mountains, so lofty their peaks seemed to touch the sky. He groaned dismally. Cliffs and high places were the last things on earth any rhinoceros would care to meet. Wulli would have given half of his life just then if the Mammoth and Pic had suddenly appeared before him, homeward bound. He hated mountains. They made him dizzy and weak at his knees and elbows. He gazed despairingly at the towering crests. The trail of his crony the Mammoth led to them, clear and unmistakable. There was no help for it. Wulli set his jaws tightly together, and with many misgivings for his future, plunged blindly and boldly upward among the peaks and crags.

The left bank of the Midouze River was for Pic the parting of the ways between himself and his son. All trace of the latter had vanished absolutely and completely. He tried every known art of woodcraft but without success. Search the river bank as he would, he could find no sign of the missing boy. “The traitor has made use of the water to play me a trick,” he thought, but just what the trick was, he could not determine. “He has fled to his country in the southland,” he told the Mammoth. “If we continue in the same direction as we have been going, we will again find this Gonch following the straight path.”

There was nothing left to do but pursue this plan. Thus far, the Muskman’s flight had been on a straight line to the southwest. It was reasonable to presume that in time he would so continue. He had doubled or side-stepped to avoid his pursuers, but he must get back to the line in the end.

Heretofore the Mammoth’s nose or trunk-tip had guided the way, but now that the trail was lost, the responsibility for taking the right course devolved on Pic. It was a case of direction, and so he made use of his knowledge of the sun’s positionat rising and setting, also other signs that good woodsmen knew for determining where they wished to go.

“I will find this man, even if I have to go to the earth’s end to do it,” he vowed, and the way he scowled boded ill for the Muskman. He guided the Mammoth through the Midouze region across another river, the Adour, to a low wet region where traveling was most difficult. It was a veritable network of brooks and rivulets with ponds, sloughs and soft spots scattered promiscuously between. From black muck and mud, the soil gradually changed to marl, then sand and clay as the land surface inclined upward. This latter was seamed everywhere with tiny streams, through which flowed the drainage from a more elevated region. The two travelers were now ascending the slopes, leading to a mountain range which barred their way, extending in a long line from east to west.

At sight of the mountains, Pic said to Mammoth: “The rough country lies before us. Among the rocks and cliffs we will find where men live.”

But when he drew nearer to them, he was much taken aback and his views underwent a decided change. The vastness of what he saw was appalling. The steep slopes rose to tremendous heights; so high that many of the peaks were lost to sight far above the clouds. The spaces or valleys between them were filled with masses of snow and ice, from which torrents of water gushed forth and down the mountain sides, bringing great quantitiesof sand and clay with them. At times, great chunks of rock or ice detached themselves from high places and came crashing down. The ground trembled beneath their impact as though shaken by an earthquake.

To Pic, the sight and sound of all this was beyond his power of understanding. He had lived his life in the lowlands and knew little of mountains. It was not cold—where he and the Mammoth stood. Winter might be near at hand, but the sun shone brightly and he could feel its warm rays. And yet, there was ice, high above his head, and ice meant cold, a discomfort he was unprepared for. In his hurried departure from the Vézère Valley he had not thought to bring a hide with him as protection from the cold. There appeared to be need of such protection if he scaled those mountains. They were not homes of men. The southland must lie beyond, and to reach it he must cross the mountain barrier.

A stupendous undertaking; Pic could appreciate the difficulty of such a task, or rather he could appreciate only a fraction of the difficulty. “Do men climb over such things or do they go around them?” he asked himself. “Go around them,” something within him answered. He gazed to the east; mountains in a never-ending chain as far as the eye could reach. Westward it was the same, except that they seemed to taper off like the tail of a gigantic beast. There was no guiding angel to watch over him and say, “Turn west and skirt the mountain barrier;then all will be well.” The Mammoth could not help him and Pic saw no way but to choose the straightest, although most difficult, course. He gave a command and Hairi marched straight ahead—to the mountains towering above him.

Up, up and never down. At times the Mammoth assumed an almost erect position, so steep was the climb. Pic had to hold on tightly to avoid sliding backward and off the beast’s tail. When night came he was only too glad to stop and rest, snuggled up close to his big friend to keep himself warm. No use of wishing that he had a bison robe to wrap around and protect his body. When day came and the journey was resumed, he dismounted and proceeded on foot, hoping that the exercise would drive off the chill which made him shiver from head to foot. Both he and the Mammoth made frequent stops, for the higher they climbed, the more quickly they tired. The long and arduous ascent had by this time brought them into a rarefied atmosphere—thin air—which imposed a severe test upon their hearts and lungs.

Trees, bushes and other vegetation gave way to evergreens as they mounted to the region of perpetual snow, and finally these were left behind them. Snow, ice and low rugged crests alone remained.

One line of these crests, projecting from the hard-packed snow, extended for a great distance across our travelers’ line of march. A second similar rock backbone lay in the dim distance, runningparallel with the first. Man and elephant were crossing the intervening space, when suddenly the Mammoth uttered a loud bellow and stopped short, his feet bunched beneath him like four wooden posts. “The ground! It shakes!” he squealed, much alarmed.

Pic halted, bent low and held his ear to the ground. The latter did tremble; he felt it. He also heard a muffled rumbling roar that seemed to originate in the bowels of the earth. He shivered, but this may have been due as much to the cold he felt as to fear of the unknown. He could offer no explanation of the mystery. The Mammoth was far more frightened than he was, so he coaxed and teased the great beast, telling him there was nothing to fear and that he must move on.

Hairi yielded after much persuasion, although he now proceeded half-heartedly and timidly, for the trembling ground inspired him with great dread. He was soon treated to another unpleasant surprise. The space between the two lines of crests was a waste of hard-packed snow which became broken up into hummocks and ice-blocks as the two advanced. Again Hairi stopped and stood shaking like a leaf as he caught sight of a long deep rent in the snow-plain. It emitted a deep, booming roar—a thousand Cave Lion voices rolled into one.

This was too much for the Mammoth’s overbalanced nerves. He stopped and refused to budge. He would stand there until he starved and the hyenas could come and polish his bones, but hewould never go near that hole which growled so strangely. Pic advanced to the rent in the snow-plain. It widened and deepened as he approached. He saw a gleam of ice beneath the snow—no rock, nothing but ice. The roaring grew louder. Pic kept on, although almost overwhelmed by the timidity that even brave men feel when confronted by dangers they do not understand. A few more steps and he stood upon the brink of the rent. He sank to his knees, dizzy and scared almost out of his wits. Down, down, down descended the cold ice-walls to some unknown depth beyond the range of human vision, where the roar of rushing water echoed and re-echoed until it boomed like thunder.

Pic began to comprehend. The snow-plain was an ice-field of tremendous depth; the rent was a crack in the ice; and the booming noise came from the water which flowed through the bottom of the crack. These things could be seen by any one who dared stand on the brink of the rent and look at them, but although Pic had a clear head when moving about cliffs and high places, the vast depth and cold emptiness made him so giddy he could scarcely stand.

The ice-rent or crevasse was thousands of feet deep, an indication of the ice-field’s depth. The two lines of crests were in reality the tops of lofty mountain chains, their intervening space filled almost to the top with slowly moving ice; a glacier with a torrent of water flowing through its base.

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