“Gonch Recovered by Degrees”
“Gonch Recovered by Degrees”
Gonch recovered by degrees. He lifted his head and shoulders, supporting himself in a couchant position upon his elbows. There he rested for a time gathering renewed vigor from the fresh air with which he now filled his lungs. He raised himself to a sitting position. The wind sweeping down upon him from the northeast was biting cold. He shivered. “I will surely die if I stay here much longer,” he thought as he observed the sky’s fading light. He must get back to Castillo somehow and it must be done soon, before sundown. The cave-men might find him, true enough but not before morning. By that time he would be frozen solid and past mentioning. He could almost feel the rending teeth as his mates ripped the flesh from his bones. “Not that—not that!” he whined in an agony of terror. The fear of being eaten gave him strength. He grit his teeth in desperation and was soon crawling through the snow on his hands and knees toward the distant mountain.
It was black dark and the cave-men were snoring out their sleep when the night fire watcher heard cries coming from far down the mountain side. He listened and recognized them as those of a human being, so he went down and found the Muskman crawling upward his laborious way. With the man’s aid, Gonch was brought to the top where he fell exhausted beside the fire. This aroused some of the sleepers and they issued from the cave-entrance to learn what was the matter. At sight of their distressed comrade, they made so much adothat soon the whole tribe was wide awake and stirring. The giant hetman came forth and prodded Gonch with his foot. “You are late,” he grumbled and then looked all about him. “Where is the boy? He went with you. Where is he now?”
“Gone,” the Muskman moaned feebly.
“Gone?” Totan observed his henchman’s torn throat. He howled vindictively as the truth dawned upon him. “And your ax; it too seems to have disappeared. Did boy and ax go together?”
It was in Gonch’s mind to tell a falsehood ascribing his condition to the fury of some fierce beast, but he was too exhausted to think of aught but Kutnar’s escape and the necessity for immediate pursuit. “Yes,” he groaned. “The boy struck me down and escaped. He must be followed and brought back.”
The hetman scowled and grinned with cruel malice. “In good time,” he sneered. “He who allows himself to be mauled by a boy, may not give commands. We are not bats to fly around in the darkness and bump our heads to no purpose. The boy will not have gone far. At the first sign of light, we will feast and be on our way to find him.”
“Feast?” inquired one of the men. “On what?”
“This,” replied the hetman digging his toes into Gonch’s ribs. “He promised to bring us the Mammoth Man and failed. He has lost us our most expert hunter. Empty boasts are fit only to fill empty stomachs. Tell me, hungry men, what is the penalty?”
“Death,” growled a voice.
“Death,” echoed from four-score pairs of lungs, and there ensued a great rattling of clubs. The hetman stilled the tumult with a wave of his hand.
“Tut, tut,” he protested good-naturedly. “The poltroon is all but dead now. In the morning, I will give you a rare treat—fresh meat with the blood still dripping from it. We will roast him alive.”
Gonch heard and sickened with deadly fear, but he retained wit enough to lie quiet and appear as dead as possible. Totan rolled him over with his foot and peered into his face. The face was that of a corpse. It looked as though the hetman’s little joke would be spoiled long before sunrise. He left the body lying there and returned to the cave-entrance. The others followed and soon all were settled down and asleep once more. Apparently Gonch’s lucky star had set for the last time, then something happened to send it soaring to the zenith with renewed brilliancy.
One man remained by the fire as a sentinel to watch and feed the blaze. Had the Muskman made an effort to escape, this man if wide awake would have noticed it and given the alarm. However, he fell asleep after a time as was evidenced by his attitude and the sound of his loud breathing.
Gonch may have been more dead than alive, but the fear of what morning meant for him was the best tonic in the world for his ailment. Almost imperceptibly inch by inch he shifted his body away from the fire to the coping of the ledge and lowered himselfnoiselessly down. Once out of sight of wakeful eyes, he crept around the mountain beyond hearing distance of Castillo and climbed upward. No one would expect him to venture in that direction; therefore he chose to perform the unexpected. Up, up he crawled through the darkness, regardless of the pain and weariness his efforts cost him. Time was precious, for the fire-tender might awake at any moment and give the alarm.
Gonch reached the mountain crest and lay gasping amid piles of rubble and jagged boulders. There were plenty of places to hide and as he was nigh fainting with exhaustion, he chose the remotest recess available and secured himself snugly within it. In a few moments he was sound asleep.
After disposing of Gonch, Kutnar fled as fast as he could along the Pas. Near the west shore of the river, the ice would bear his weight and so he kept to that in preference to the high bank where his footprints in the snow might be plainly seen. The ice left little or no trail.
He had beaten the Muskman in a fair hand-to-hand combat. The whole pack would soon be after him and yet he felt not at all afraid. Rather his sensations were those of buoyant self-reliance. He had vanquished a full-grown and seasoned warrior; something of an accomplishment for a sixteen year old lad. Such a feat gave him confidence in himself. Kutnar was not yet fully trained to the flint-ax; the sling was his weapon. A stern chase would afford him plenty of chance to use it. He had slain the young Castillan throwing champion with it and might repeat the performance if pressed too closely.
He was free. “Why did I not think to run away before?” he wondered, not realizing that a marked change had come over him and made him in many respects a man.
All this time he was hurrying southward along the Pas. The mountain of Castillo still hoveredupon his right flank. He ran abreast of its southern exposure and had turned his head as though to look upon it for the last time before he sped onward, when he caught sight of a dark spot high upon its side. The spot was a cave.
Kutnar stopped and gazed thoughtfully at this cave. It was but a short distance from Castillo and on the same mountain. Its proximity to the stronghold of his enemies was what made him view it with such interest. Who would think of looking for him there? Surely not Totan and his band. They would expect the runaway to flee from them much farther than that. What a lark! His enemies would search far and wide while he whom they sought lay hidden almost within sight of their own haunt. Then, too, he was jaded and needed rest. His previous night had been spent fire-tending and he had passed a strenuous day. All of these considerations tempted him. He left the river and turned to the distant slope treading only on bare ground and stones where possible, so as to leave no snow-tracks. After a long hard climb, he reached his goal and found only a bitter disappointment awaiting him. It was not a real cave but a grotto or shallow nook scooped from the rock. He could see every inch of the interior as he stood at the entrance but no living thing was there. As a hiding place, it had no possibilities. Kutnar now observed a hole in its floor. “A fox’s den,” he thought. “I am glad that the place is of use to someone.” He kneeled over the hole and peered in. A draught of air blewin his face. He coughed and the sound was repeated in a distant echo. This was both surprising and interesting. The hole was barely large enough to admit his body but there might be a larger cavity beneath. Not a fox’s den nor the home of any animal; he learned this by sniffing carefully about the cavity. Where did it lead? He put his feet in the hole and slid half-way in. It was a tube of solid rock. He could feel its sides with his toes but no bottom. He lowered himself further until head and all were in and still he found no place to set his feet. He let himself down another yard and it was just the same. “There must be an end sometime,” he thought as he continued to work his way downward. The descent was a simple matter, for the tube now jogged slightly this way and that, making it easy for him to cling to its sides with his hands and feet. The air was warmer than that outside; although humid and musty, it could be breathed.
The tube began to widen. The slight noise made by his feet sliding over the rock, sounded loud and distinct. The passage gradually angled more to the horizontal. It widened still more and the boy was able to turn and glance behind him. All was dark but in some places the shadows were darker than others. Kutnar heard squeaks and the flapping of bat wings. Evidently the passage-way opened into a large room.
By this time, Kutnar felt keenly elated over his discovery. As a hiding place, the grotto offeredgreat possibilities after all; not the grotto itself but the subterranean vault whose only means of access was the stone tube. The casual observer who could see every corner of the shallow cave, would not think of looking for a cavity beneath. Kutnar decided to stay in the vault for a time to hide and rest. There was the hole in the floor of the grotto however and it would be well to conceal that or someone might learn of the underground room as he had done. He crawled back through the tube the way he had come and stood once more in the open air.
It was now quite dark; the deep twilight preceding dusk, for night had settled over the mountain while Kutnar was exploring the cavity and where it led. There were many rocks piled below the cave-threshold and he hunted about until he found one of the right shape and size. He tried this over the vent and it fitted nicely, effectively concealing the opening in the floor. Anyone standing at the threshold would now gaze upon a bare interior; bare of aught but a single stone.
“Ha-a-a, yum!” Kutnar yawned loudly and stretched his limbs. Now that the day’s excitement was over and he had time for relaxation, a wave of drowsiness swept over him. He would sleep in the grotto, trusting to his sixth or slumber guarding sense to warn him of imminent danger. As a last resort, he could lower his body into the tube, set the stone above his head and hide as long as he pleased in the vault beneath.
He was preparing to lie down upon the floor ofthe grotto when he heard something that brought him to his feet in quick time. He tiptoed to the threshold and saw a dark figure ascending the slope. The figure was coming toward him. It moved in an erect position but it seemed too large and clumsy to be a man. It came nearer and although but an ebon patch on a sable background, Kutnar recognized it as a bear and a large one. What brought the creature there? Either the grotto was its permanent home or it was seeking merely a night’s lodging. Kutnar could not now safely vacate the premises, even had he chosen to do so. He tiptoed back to the grotto and moved the stone aside from the cavity, then lowered his body down, holding the stone in both hands high above his head as he descended. Arms and hands sank from sight and the stone settled over the hole. To all appearances, the grotto was now vacant.
Kutnar continued his downward journey until he reached the large room. Here he sat listening but could hear no sounds to indicate what might be transpiring above. Had the bear come and gone or was he now lying upon the floor of the grotto making ready to sleep? Kutnar thought it unnecessary for him to go up and find out. There was his own night’s rest to consider, so he lay down and pillowed his head upon his arm. He fell asleep without knowing when but awoke sooner than he would have wished because of the damp mustiness which oppressed his lungs. Fresh air, that was what he wanted, so he sought the passage-way andwriggled through it as noiselessly as a snake. On arriving at the top, he sought and found the stone and thrust it aside, inch by inch. After staying there for some time with his face as close to the opening as he dared, refreshing himself with deep breaths of outside air, he reset the stone and returned to finish his nap. He repeated this performance several times, not without considerable risk, for the bear was asleep in the cave-entrance as he knew from the sound of its breathing. “Even a cave-beast and a man can get along together sleeping in the same den,” he chuckled as he made his fourth upward trip. As he neared the outlet of the tube, he saw faint rays of light and knew that morning was near at hand. When he had moved the stone partly aside, he set his ear at the opening but heard no sounds. It would seem that his visitor had awakened and taken his leave. However, there was only one way to be sure of this. That was to see it with his own eyes. Slowly, noiselessly he shifted the stone farther and farther away until the opening was entirely clear, then his head arose almost imperceptibly through the tube and above the level of the cave-floor, giving him a view of the entrance and the grey world beyond.
The valley of the Ebro may have been perfectly satisfactory to the Mammoth and Rhinoceros but as regards climate, it did not suit Pic, for he possessed no hide garment to cover his nakedness. Winter was in full swing and the cold wind so chilled his body that he was driven to descend from the Mammoth’s neck and walk to keep warm. Pic was not a fast walker and the snowdrifts made it worse. It was an unfortunate situation for it reduced very considerably the distance which the trio might have traveled in a day. Then more snow fell and the drifts became so deep that Pic could scarcely make any progress at all. It was not surprising that he tired rapidly and was soon compelled to remount the Mammoth’s neck. This rested him and enabled the party to proceed at a fast gait but it was not long before the cold wind whistling about his ears, drove him to the ground again. There, as before, he floundered through the drifts and soon exhausted himself. All the time, he scolded and fretted because he and his associates were not making more progress. Hairi and Wulli considered his irritation uncalled for. It was his fault not theirs that they failed to do better. “You ought to grow more hair,” grumbled the Mammothand this made Pic so peevish, he would not speak to his friends for a time. The two animals in their turn, now became moody and irritable. Taken altogether they and Pic were not getting along very well and felt all the more vexed with each other for that very reason.
Then came a gale sweeping down upon them from the west to make matters worse. The wind blew clouds of fine snow-dust into their faces, lodging and accumulating there until the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were disguised in great white masks. This did not bother them in the least. Having no vanity as to their personal appearance and being warmly clad, they felt quite cozy and comfortable.
Pic’s case was different. The storm multiplied his worry and discomfort. The wind numbed his body. He was almost smothered and blinded by the fine sleet which drove into his mouth and eyes. Once more he slid down from the Mammoth’s neck and labored forward on foot. Finally he stopped. “I can go no farther,” he said. “Without warmth and rest, I will die. I fear that you must leave me.”
Both animals halted. The situation had grown acute. “Die? Leave you?” said the Mammoth. “We will wait while you warm and rest yourself.”
Pic made a wry face. “More easily said than done. Even a hare would find no shelter here.”
“But the mountains,” Hairi suggested. “There must be a hole in them somewhere.”
Up to this time, the party had seen no caves. Pic would have spent every night in one, were therecaves to be had. So far he had not noticed one; and many miles had by this time been traveled along the southern flank of the Cantabrian range. Hairi was right. Lucky for Pic, his good-fortune had not entirely deserted him, for as he looked toward the mountain through the blinding snow-dust, he saw a dark spot high upon its side. One glimpse was enough; the dark spot was a cave and he joyfully made known the news to his companions.
All smiled once more. It was agreed that their onward march would be halted temporarily, giving Pic a chance to take refuge in the cave and rest until the storm was over. Meanwhile, the two animals would wait in the lee of a rock-shelter which could be seen a half mile or so beyond the cave. When the weather cleared, Pic would rejoin his friends and they would continue as before. With this understanding, they separated. Pic made for the mountain side, while Hairi and Wulli moved off toward the rock-shelter.
Pic climbed up to the cave, but before intruding he made a careful preliminary inspection. Possession was nine points of law in such cases; the tenth point was getting possession. “Cave-jumping” was an offense meriting capital punishment. There could be no mercy shown one who attempted to deprive another of his home. This applied to men’s dealings with beasts as well as with each other. Men and beasts both fancied the same sort of dwelling, and in the winter time particularly there was constant rivalry between them for the possession ofdesirable caves. Some were more desirable than others, being furnished with more than one entrance or having advantages of plumbing and ventilation; such as cool drinking water trickling through the ceiling, or openings in the roof to permit the escape of smoke and foul air. Most of them had thresholds or sun-rooms, where the tenant might loll outside and enjoy natural light and warmth. Neither man nor flesh-eating beasts knew how to build houses, and so they made use of the best that Nature gave them.
Pic knew he had no business in that cave if some one were already there, but his needs were great and he intended to occupy it no matter who disputed him. He stepped boldly within.
Although vacant, the place did not lack an owner. It bore a pungent animal odor and that odor was fairly fresh. The occupant had been there recently and gone away. “Probably I will have gone away, too, by the time he returns,” thought Pic. The storm was already abating and it would not be long before he could resume his journey. Before selecting a comfortable spot to lie down and rest, he set about to learn what variety of animal he might have to deal with, should it return. His nose informed him that the odor was not that of a lion or any other cat-like animal. That was good, for they were his most formidable enemies. Wolf or hyena? No; then it must be a bear. Yes, it was a bear! Now his anxiety was relieved. Such animals variedgreatly in size and fierceness, but most of them were comparatively harmless if let alone.
Pic lay down in the cave-entrance where wind and sleet could not reach him and laughed at the storm outside. He could see the broad snow-covered expanse of country below him. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros had disappeared. A large boulder hung at the verge of the cave-threshold and obstructed his view in that direction. It also prevented his seeing what might be coming toward him up the mountain side. Not until he heard the crunch, crunch of something breaking through the snow-crust, did he realize that he was about to have a visitor. He sprang to his feet, glided to the boulder and peered over, then dropped behind it again for fear of being observed.
A burly animal was ascending to the cave. It was heavily furred and round like a big ball. A bear; Pic had interpreted the odor rightly, but he had not bargained for one as large as this. It was neither the black nor brown species, but a huge brute that no man, however strong and brave, would care to meddle with—the giant Cave Bear.
The beast came lumbering up the steep mountain side, occasionally stopping to gaze westward. At such times it growled. Probably it had seen the Mammoth and Rhinoceros pass by and decided that its den needed watching.
“The Cave Bear Looked Up and Growled”
“The Cave Bear Looked Up and Growled”
Pic gripped his ax tightly, for he knew this was an occasion to try any bear’s temper. The one coming toward him appeared big enough to do anything. He would put up a good fight without question, in the defense of his home. The man looked at his ax-blade and shook his head. Even its keen edge would find difficulty in reaching a vital spot through that heavy fur. One blow, possibly two, were all he could expect to deliver before the huge beast would close in. Once those mighty paws were around his body it would go hard with him.
The beast halted directly beneath the boulder behind which the man lay hidden. Should anything disturb that boulder and cause it to fall, so much the worse for Mr. Bear. Pic braced his feet against the projections of the ledge surface behind him and set his shoulders against the stone. One mighty heave loosened it from its setting. The Cave Bear looked up and growled. The motion of the stone and the slight noise above aroused his suspicions. Pic put forth every ounce of his great strength in a second effort. The boulder swayed, then toppled over. The beast saw it coming and made a frantic attempt to save himself. Too late! The huge stone descended upon him with a crash and the two went rolling and tumbling together down the mountain side, with Pic bounding after them, ax in hand, to deal the finishing blow.
But there was no need to complete the damage that the stone had begun. When Pic arrived at the foot of the declivity he found a perfectly dead bear. The crushing weight of the boulder and the longbattering journey down the steep incline had made an end of the beast for all time.
It was a magnificent animal, bulging with winter fat and the finest of heavy fur. Pic looked down upon it and sighed. Bears in general interested him and appealed to his gentler nature; bluff and ungainly and so different from skulking flesh-eaters. The beast had died without a chance to defend himself. Pic’s triumph was tinged with profound regret; but one or the other of them had to die, he consoled himself, and he preferred the bear to be that one. He marvelled at the beast’s vast proportions; its thick hams and mighty paws; then his attention was drawn to the fur. “A wonderful coat,” he said, as he kneeled and ran his fingers through it. “Would that I had one like it to keep out the cold.”
“It is yours; take it,” something within him answered and the idea once born, soon became a reality. In a trice, his ax-blade was unbound from its wooden handle and became a knife. With this, Pic began to skin the beast, a tremendous task for a lone man with nothing but a flint tool to aid him. But the flint was sharp and the man’s strength and determination carried him through. He slit the neck, chest and belly downward, then the forepaws, and after much cutting and tugging pulled the complete hide from the carcass. The hind legs were uncovered without slitting, leaving those parts of the skin solid like a pair of boots. When the hide was completely detached inside out, Picturned it back the right way again and the job was done.
He remounted his ax-head, rested and refreshed himself with some flesh-strips from the carcass, then proceeded to have a try-on of his new one-piece suit. The hind legs made comfortable trousers, and the rest of it, although somewhat loose and badly hung, might have been much worse. No better garment could have been devised to keep out the cold, and that was the main idea. It had but one drawback. Pic found it a most unwieldy thing to navigate in. When he tried to walk, he did nothing but trip and stumble over his own feet. This was no more than amusing, for he was feeling warm and comfortable and ready to smile at anything. “Hairi and Wulli will be surprised when they see me in this,” he laughed. “Agh! What a relief! My coat is every bit as warm as theirs. Snow, ice, cold wind; what of them? Now our way may lead to the country of the Mammoth and Rhinoceros, for all I care.”
The Mammoth and Rhinoceros were standing near the foot of the mountain beneath an overhanging cliff. From time to time they glanced eastward as though expecting some one. The storm had moderated considerably.
“It’s about time he were returning,” Hairi remarked. “I hope when he does come back he will be all rested and warm. What a pity he cannot learn to fancy the cold weather as we do.”
“Here he comes now,” said the Rhinoceros.
Both animals possessed keen ears and noses, but their eyesight was not at all good. They saw a blurred figure coming toward them through the snow, but neither one of them could have distinguished a man from an elk at that distance. The figure moved in a most peculiar manner. It walked on its hind legs, but as it approached them the two friends saw, to their astonishment, that it was not a man.
“A bear,” muttered Wulli.
“Yes, it looks like a bear,” said the Mammoth; “but did you ever see one behave like that?”
The creature was in truth performing most strangely. Its movements were those of one intoxicated, a condition that neither of the pair hadever observed in a bear or any one else, for that matter. It seemed to be having great difficulty managing its legs and feet. These tripped over and interfered with one another in an astonishing way. The big body heaved and tossed about because of its unreliable support. Finally, when several rods distant, it stumbled and fell sprawling in the snow. Hairi and Wulli looked on in amazement as the creature floundered helplessly upon its back like a turtle. After much puffing and grunting, it righted itself and again assumed an upright position.
A bear was nothing to be afraid of; so thought the Mammoth and Rhinoceros; but this one’s behavior mystified them. Once on its feet again, it lurched and lumbered forward, waving both paws as if in greeting. “Hi-yo, Hairi! Hi-yo, Wulli!” it cried.
The two friends jumped. They were trembling now and too scared to move. The words and voice sounded strangely familiar. They were those of a human being, but the creature was a bear. Then more surprising still, its head fell back and a man’s face appeared. The mouth was grinning as though it would split.
The Mammoth was on the point of beating a hasty retreat when Wulli suddenly squealed, “Pic! that is his face. What has become of the rest of him?”
Pic Astonishes His Friends
Pic Astonishes His Friends
Hairi’s eyes opened wide. “Pic, sure enough. But his body; where is that? The bear must have eaten it.”
“Perhaps he ate the bear,” whispered Wulli, clutching at a small ray of hope. “Let’s ask him.”
“Ho-ho!” laughed the unknown. “Did I frighten you? Now don’t run away, Hairi, for there is nothing to worry about. Nobody has eaten anybody.”
The voice was reassuring and it belonged to Pic without question. The Mammoth breathed more freely. He advanced a few steps and touched the other with the tip of his trunk. “Fur, long and thick like a bear’s.” He turned to the Rhinoceros and said, “I told him to do it and he has done it. But who would believe that he could grow so much hair and in so short a time?”
Sounds of muffled laughter greeted this last remark. Wulli now came forward to investigate the reason for this unseemly mirth. He sniffed at the bearskin, then suddenly backed away squealing with alarm. “Oo-wee! Blood! I smell it! Oo-wee; somebody has been killed.”
The two animals might have bolted then and there, had not Pic put an end to the farce. He threw the skin from his body and it fell in a heap about his legs.
“It is I; all of me,” he said. “Somebody has been killed but I was not the one. I slew the bear, otherwise he would have slain me. With my flint-blade I cut his pelt from him and now it is mine.”
“And so you did not grow it,” said the Mammoth,somewhat crestfallen. “At any rate, you did your best to do as I told you.”
Wulli took an entirely different view of the matter. He could appreciate a good fighter. “Only a big man could kill such a big bear,” he remarked thoughtfully.
“And a smaller bear would not have been much use to him,” Hairi sagely remarked. “He could never have gotten in its skin. I say he did right.”
“Right or wrong, only a good fighter could have done it,” grumbled the Rhinoceros.
“And now I am clad as warmly as you are,” said Pic. “It will be better for all of us, for we can travel as fast as we please. The skin will keep me warm. This makes us three instead of two Tundr-folk.”
The new arrangement was a success from the very start. The bearskin had its drawbacks, but they detracted only in a small measure from the main point. Pic could not make much headway in it traveling on foot; furthermore, the Mammoth was obliged to lift him to his seat when he vainly endeavored to mount. Pic was no more able to help himself than a turkey tied up in brown paper. However, when once astride Hairi’s neck, he was in the height of his glory. His new garment was impervious to wind and cold, and having nothing to do but sit and think, he felt thoroughly comfortable and contented. The two animals shared his good spirits. From then on the party got along finely and proceeded at a great rate.
The Ebro River soon appeared upon their left. It was fed by many smaller streams flowing into it from the mountains. The latter were frequently cleft by deep passes or defiles running through them from south to north. After crossing the headwaters of the Ebro the trio came in sight of another mountain pass traversed by a modest stream. This latter was partly frozen over, but the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were powerful cold-water swimmers and found little trouble in breaking their way through the ice to the opposite side. As they climbed the bank and halted to shake the water out of their shaggy coats, Pic saw before him a lofty peak in whose side, five hundred feet or more above the level on which he stood, loomed a dark spot. His trained eye immediately recognized it as a cave. It must be in or near the zone of human occupancy if what the snow-grouse had said was true. Now was the time to cut through the mountain range to the northern side.
Pic glanced at the sky. The sun was hidden in the west. Before long, all would be dark. The party must wait until morning before proceeding, and so they began to look about for a convenient spot to halt and rest. Pic resolved to spend his night in the cave, assuming it to be vacant. No fire burned upon its threshold. And yet, it might be the home of a man who could be forced to give information that might prove valuable.
The trio advanced to the mountain. It appeared near, but appearances were deceiving, andit was quite dark when they drew up at the foot of the steep slope. Here Pic and his friends parted; the former to climb upward, the latter to proceed a short distance, browsing as they went.
Pic discovered the cave to be a small one and unoccupied. However, it had been a man’s home and probably still was, for the human odor still clung to it. This was interesting and important, for it was reasonable to suppose that other human beings lived somewhere near. Pic glowed all over with the pleasure and excitement this thought aroused in him. The long climb too had warmed him, particularly as he was now attired in his bearskin suit. The latter was cumbersome, but it would make a comfortable sleeping bag, and for that reason he had been loth to leave it behind. Before settling down upon the threshold to rest he examined the cave. There was little to see, for it was a small and simple hollow in the rock and absolutely bare except for a single flat stone lying upon the floor. Pic lay down in the cave-entrance, gathered his robe about him and was not long in drifting to the land of rest and forgetfulness.
In the morning’s small hours he suddenly awakened. A low scraping noise sounded from behind him—from the floor of the cave. It continued with fits and starts. Still lying motionless, he turned his head around far enough to view the cave interior. He saw nothing there—nothing but the stone upon the floor. “Probably some small animal stirring,” he thought and then—the stone moved. For amoment he was startled, to say the least. No stone ever shifted about of itself. Something must be pushing it. He looked on dumbfounded as the stone hitched itself almost imperceptibly along the cave-floor. It appeared bewitched; and then, as he watched its strange motions while uneasiness and fear of the unknown began to creep over him, a vent appeared beneath the stone and from it issued a human hand.
A man! The mystery was now explained.
The cave-owner was concealed in a hole in the floor and was removing the stone which covered the entrance to it. Pic gathered his feet together under him, laughing softly to himself. What was there to fear from one man? He rose to a crouching position, relieving himself of the bearskin as he did so. Leaving this in a heap where he had lain, he crawled to the rear of the grotto and kneeled behind the hole in the floor, his arms outstretched—and waiting. The mysterious hands—there were now two of them—sank within the cavity and a head appeared. It rose until its eyes were above the level of the cave-floor. The eyes stared at the bearskin robe a few seconds, then the head settled down and again the hands reached upward to grasp the stone.
“The Unknown Was Plucked From His Burrow”
“The Unknown Was Plucked From His Burrow”
Quick as lightning Pic pounced upon the hands, locking both wrists in his iron grip. One heave and the unknown was plucked from his burrow like a rabbit, struggling and yelling like fury at finding himself so suddenly caught. A boy and a stout one, too, for he fought like a wildcat; but he was as helpless as a kitten in the clutches of the giant Mousterian. Pic held him fast and dragged him to the outside light. “Agh, little rascal!” he said. “And so you were the one who disturbed my night’s rest.”
At the sound of his voice, the boy gave a loud cry that made his captor’s heart leap within his chest:
“Father!”
Pic seized the lad’s head between his hands and turned it so that he could peer into the face. His knees trembled, his whole body shook as with ague.
“Kutnar! Boy, is it you?”
For an instant each face stared at the other as in the waking moments of a dream. Then came light and understanding and in a moment father and son were locked tightly in each other’s arms.
The sky might have fallen in just then; anything might have happened and Pic would not have noticed it. He had no thought of aught but the one happiness that filled his heart to bursting—Kutnar was found. The pursuit through southwestern France, the long journey across the Pyrenees, the terrible cold; all were set aside and forgotten for this supreme moment—one of the most blissful he had ever known. For a time, nothing was said. Father and son sat in the cave-entrance, holding each other tightly as though they would never let go. Kutnar wept silent tears. He had played the part of a man well, but once more under the protection of his powerful sire, the reaction was overwhelming and he was but a baby boy, tired and homesick and so glad to be again with the one he loved best.
When the first joy of meeting was over, Pic drifted back to earth. “What were you doing in that hole?” he asked.
Kutnar told of his escape from Castillo and the various events leading to it. Everything bespoke the Muskman’s perfidy and cruelty. Pic’s face became adamant as the tale of Gonch’s duplicity gradually unfolded itself. Driven to desperation,the boy had turned upon the traitor, who must have by this time breathed his last.
“I could tell you more,” said Pic, “but what you already know is enough. However, it would seem that what my boy has suffered has made him bear himself as well or better than a man. And this Gonch; are you quite sure he is dead?”
To this Kutnar replied: “No, I do not feel at all sure. When I left him lying in the bushes he still breathed. Something warned me to make an end of the ruffian, but I could not summon courage to deal the death-stroke.”
Pic fidgeted uneasily. “It would have been wiser had you shown him no mercy,” he said; “but you did well and I am proud of you. Now I am going to treat you to a pleasant surprise. You see, I did not come alone. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros are near at hand and waiting for us to meet them.”
While saying this, he was on his feet striding to the edge of the cave-threshold with Kutnar by his side. Suddenly he uttered an imprecation and withdrew hastily into the grotto, dragging the boy with him. “Your enemies! I had forgotten them,” he said. “Agh; let us hope they have not seen us.”
Vain hope; he had jumped back quickly, but too late. Several groups of men stood apart from each other at the foot of the eastern and southern declivities. They were waving their clubs and pointing upward to the cave. As Pic endeavored to conceal himself, a chorus of howls floated to his ears andhe saw human figures scrambling up the steep ascent. For an instant he stood irresolute. If fight he must, he could not choose a better position than the one he now held. He was but one against many; how many? He gazed down at his enemies; here, there and everywhere. They seemed to be coming in swarms. He was a giant, past master with the flint-ax, but there were limits as to what one man could do. A sudden change came over him. His eyes blazed death. He bared his teeth and his features became those of a gorilla, tracked to his lair by the hunters and brought to bay. He beat his great chest with one clenched hand, while with the other he shook his ax at the men below him. He howled furiously. Four-score throats gave answer. The several groups of men had by this time spread out and joined each other in a long, thin line. Single figures were hastening toward the western slope to extend that line. They moved fast. The path westward was still open; soon it would be closed. There at the far end of it awaited the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. Pic was but one man pitting himself against a host. Even in his fury, he saw the better part of wisdom.
“Quick, run!” he cried, pointing to the west. “Once with our friends, we can laugh at any number of these wretches.” So away they scurried along the mountain side, while their pursuers, observing them, hastened around in the same direction to cut them off.
Hairi and Wulli were standing motionless onthe western side of the mountain and to the north. They heard shouts and cries and saw two men running toward them along the heights. While they were wondering why there should be two instead of one, more men appeared, a crowd of them, also coming head on, but from farther down. What did it all mean? It would seem that the two were being set upon by many. If so, one of the fugitives must be Pic. Although uneasy and not knowing just what to expect, they kept close watch and waited until the time came to take some action.
So engrossed were they in the two men and their pursuers, they had no eyes for something far above their heads. The mountain at whose base they stood, ascended gradually to the Scarp—a precipitous rock-wall whose craggy pinnacles were lost above the morning brume. Apparently none but birds or the Chamois and Ibex among beasts could have found a footing upon its glabrous surface. But there crouched a man. None knew of his presence except himself. In the grey dawn he had crawled part way down the wall to hide where none dared come; none but one unusually sure-footed and possessed of a clear head. The man was Gonch.
He had journeyed by the early morning light from the northern side of the mountain where lived the cave-men of Castillo. A night’s rest and realization that he was still alive, had given him renewed strength and courage. He had been so bold as to creep half-way down the Scarp, where evenon the smooth rock, occasional rugged projections and crevices gave him a chance to hold tightly on. He had paused to rest temporarily before descending further to where the wall leaned outward, forming a canopy or shelter over a ledge at the base of the Scarp. While resting and wondering what the day had in store for him, suddenly he espied two large animals standing motionless far down the mountain slope beneath him. He recognized them as the Mammoth and Woolly Rhinoceros. His face blanched. “How did they come there?” he muttered, gazing far and wide over the country below him. At that moment he heard distant cries and two human figures hove in sight. They were running swiftly toward him from the south and along the mountain side. More figures followed, many of them coming from farther down the slopes.
As the two figures drew nearer he recognized one of them, who led by several yards. The other who followed was a much larger man—a giant of herculean build. Gonch grasped the whole situation—at least he thought he did. Kutnar had been overtaken and was now being hotly pursued by the Castillan horde. The larger of the two men—presumably Totan—was on the verge of capturing the youth. Gonch looked on, growing more and more impatient as the latter drew nearer to his animal-friends. What ailed the hetman? Why did he not seize or strike down his quarry. “Agh, clumsy dunce,” he muttered. “Soon you will be too late.Strike, strike while you have the chance.” But the supposed Totan kept on as before, following Kutnar closely, but making no effort to kill or capture him. “Pig, lubber,” thought the Muskman. “Your folly will spoil everything. It is time for me to take a hand and make an end of it.”
He looked about him. There were several partly detached stone-blocks within his reach. He chose the largest and pulled it loose. The rock went bounding down the face of the Scarp. He found another and another and tore them from the wall. They in their descent dislodged other blocks and the stream of them crashed and bounded down upon the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. The latter heard and saw the oncoming avalanche and immediately flew into a panic. Squealing and bellowing with fear, they turned tail and dashed away, with the storm of rocks sweeping close behind them.
Gonch laughed wolfishly as he saw them go. He had meant to destroy them, and although this plan failed, there was some satisfaction in knowing that the next best thing was accomplished. Kutnar now need expect no assistance from his friends. The man and boy slowed up as the storm of rocks swept down the mountain side. They saw the two beasts gallop madly away. On the heights lay Pic’s only chance for fighting off the man-pack. It was then that he caught sight of the ledge and its protecting canopy at the base of the Scarp.
“To the rock,” he panted, and Kutnar turned to the right, with Pic after him. Gonch could nowsee the boy’s features; mouth open and nostrils dilated with excitement and fatigue. It was then that he also got a clear view of the man; the supposed Totan. It was but a fleeting glimpse, for the man and boy had already passed from his sight beneath the shelter, but in those few moments he learned his first mistake. It was not Totan but the giant Mousterian weapon maker, the man whom Gonch feared more than anything on earth. Cold sweat exuded from every pore of the Muskman’s body. His knees shook and he clutched the rocks to save himself from falling. Then came the reaction, as he saw the Castillan horde coming rapidly toward him. Gonch wiped the cold dew from his brow and laughed hideously. He was safe from Pic’s wrath and soon he would be forever rid of his most dreaded enemy. He descended the rock-wall until he stood over the ledge where he could hear, although not see, all of the tragedy about to be enacted. From this elevated position he watched the men of Castillo complete their enveloping movement. All chance of the fugitives’ escape was now gone. The cave-men came swarming up the slope in a wide semi-circle, baying like hounds. Gradually the wings of the line converged as those on the two extreme ends rushed toward each other. Those in the center drew closer together and moved forward to meet the wings. Thus the human net slowly contracted upon its prey—Kutnar the boy, and Pic, hetman and weapon maker of the Mousterians.
In the brief interval allotted him, Pic rested and prepared himself for the impending struggle. He had one thing to encourage him; his position was admirably chosen. His assailants must meet him face to face and climb up to him. None could strike him from behind. He took his place at the edge of the rock-platform and hurled defiance at those who were advancing to destroy him. To the men of Castillo, the powerful figure and distorted features appeared as those of some unearthly being. The thought that his new-found cup of happiness might soon be snatched from his lips, had nigh driven Pic to frenzy. He was in truth a lion-man at bay, defending his cub.
Hiss! something whistled past. One of the on-rushing horde reeled and fell. Pic turned and saw the boy standing toe to the ledge-coping beside him. Already the sling was reloaded and whirling for a second cast. Hiss, again! Another man dropped back, holding his arm and screaming like a hurt beast. The stones flew fast, with few misses, for there was little need of accurate shooting at such a mass of men. Almost every shot left an enemy accounted for. The cave-men wavered as they witnessed the havoc wrought among them by the deadly sling. They might have fled, but Totan was there to drive on the laggards and strike down any man who attempted to run away. Kutnar strove to single him out, but one man was hard to distinguish in the ruck and the hetman escaped unscathed.