The Cave Lion Took One Look—and Waited to See No More
The Cave Lion Took One Look—and Waited to See No More
On seeing the uselessness of further pursuit, Wulli came to a sudden halt. A sedge-tuft protruding from a crevice, chanced to catch his eye and he proceeded to nibble it with an air of the utmost unconcern. The battle was over.
The Mammoth now mounted the terrace followed by the Ape Boy. Both gazed at the Rhinoceros in amazement.
“Owk, owk; wonderful!” the big Elephant bellowed. “Never have I seen anything more wonderful than the way you made Grun Waugh run.”
Wulli said nothing. With most becoming modesty, he continued to bite at the tuft before him; but he was thinking. In his mind, glowed the spark of an almost forgotten purpose; of wrongs unavenged, as he watched his partner out of one eye. Then with brows contracted and nostrils swelling ominously, he turned and advanced upon the Mammoth.
Hairi sensed the approaching storm. His trained eye noted the lowered horn and his partner’s determined air. He became confused and stood staring like one in a trance, too helpless to move.
Slowly the Rhinoceros advanced until his horn was almost beneath the Mammoth’s chest. Onequick upward thrust and the affair would be quickly ended. He paused and Hairi awaited the fatal stroke, his limbs paralyzed with horror.
Suddenly a dark figure sprang between the pair. It was the Ape Boy. His body almost touched the tip of Wulli’s horn.
“Back, pig-beast,” he howled. “Would you dare touch the Mammoth? You have gone mad.”
The Rhinoceros raised his head and retreated a step. The amazement, now shown in every line of his face, was a picture to see.
“You?” he gasped and choked.
“Yes, I.”
“Can you; will you fight?” the Rhinoceros demanded eagerly.
“I can and will. You shall see.”
“Good,” Wulli grunted. “When you are ready, begin.”
“But I have no weapon,” said the Ape Boy. “You have a horn; I nothing. Will you fight fair?”
The Rhinoceros nodded. The youth was making for the grotto when Wulli stopped him.
“That red beast with the hot breath?” he grumbled. “No; you must fight with something else. I have had enough of its bad smell.”
“I will fight you with ax and dart,” replied theother angrily. “They lie on the cave-floor. Are you afraid?”
Wulli stepped back. Pic entered the grotto and reappeared in a moment bearing in his right hand a flint ax-head bound in a stout wooden haft. Several darts tipped with sharp-pointed flakes were in his left. Such were the Ape Boy’s weapons—the stone-ax and short stabbing spear—and not to be despised when a bold heart and powerful arm were behind them.
He laid the darts on the rock platform and took a position upon the edge of the terrace with ax swung over his right shoulder.
“I am ready; now begin,” and he waited for the Rhinoceros to attack.
Wulli aroused himself with a start. This was to be a duel to the death—no light affair,—touch, scratch and both satisfied. Rarely did he so bungle in his work. He lowered his horn, squared his legs and then found himself unable to proceed. That Ape Boy was so deadly calm and looked at him so strangely out of his deep-set eyes. Wulli felt sobered, awed. He would have welcomed violence; but those eyes chilled his marrow. He made one last effort to lash himself into a frenzy but it was no use. His eyes sought the ground; his tail hung limp like a wet string.
“Umph,” he grunted; “I will not fight one whomust stay on the ground because somebody has pulled off his tail.”
Pic’s eyes opened wide.
“Who says that?” he growled in a hoarse voice.
“Grun Waugh—and I say it because it makes you angry. ‘Once you had a tail and jumped about in the trees;’ he said that too.”
Pic was fast losing his temper, a fact which now put the Rhinoceros in the best of humor.
“Ape-beast hiding in a man’s skin,” he sniffed. “The Lioness said that.”
“Agh! What more?” The Ape Boy’s eyes blazed.
“Umph,” grunted Wulli. “Ask Grun Waugh. He and his pack have gone to the grotto of Sha Pall. The Wolf told him of a lone man who lived there.”
“A lone man? Whoow! Hardly a fair match is four cave-beasts against one lone man.” Pic’s rage softened as he thought of a fellow-being set upon by such overwhelming odds.
“A poor match indeed,” Wulli admitted. “He was sick too—the Man was. The Wolf said so.”
“Sick and alone?”
“Yes and he was blind in one eye. I heard the Wolf say that too.”
“What—blind?” Pic gripped his ax-handle untilthe wood creaked. “What more did the Wolf say?”
“Nothing more,” Wulli replied. “But the Hyena seemed to know who the man was—an old man with grey hair; a leader of other men. He was asking Grim Waugh’s leave to go and visit the grotto of Sha Pell and pay his respects to the lone man who was old, sick and blind in——”
“Agh, ar-rr-ah-h!” With a hair-raising yell the Ape Boy fairly hurled himself from the ledge and shot down the slope leading to the valley. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros stood motionless, speechless with amazement as they watched the flying figure grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear among the clefts and boulders far below.
The days passed. They grew into weeks, months, and meanwhile the Rock of Moustier remained bare and deserted. The visits of the Mammoth and Rhinoceros grew less and less frequent until finally they ceased altogether. Apparently the Ape Bay had left his home never to return.
It was the Irish Elk who one day came dashing up to inform Hairi and Wulli of his narrow escape from a pack of cave-beasts who had sprung out upon him as he journeyed through the hill country. They were gathered in front of a grotto. A man was standing in the entrance fighting them off with a stone tied to a stick. He was standing behind a pile of something which gave off thick white clouds. The mention of white clouds set the Mammoth and Rhinoceros to thinking. They knew of but one who fought that way. As they glanced at each other, the same thought was in the minds of both.
“Whenever you are ready,” said Wulli and so off they went. The hill country lay to the east. It was after a long walk that, at a signal from theMammoth, both stopped to listen. In the distance sounded a confused babel of howls and roars.
“Cave-beasts,” muttered Hairi and they moved on again. The sounds grew louder and more distinct—barks and roars of beasts among which a peculiar hoarse cry could be plainly heard. A hill rose up before them. A path wound and disappeared around its base. The two friends followed this and on rounding the hill, were confronted by a remarkable scene.
The path led to a grotto in the hillside. In front of the grotto, tiny smoke-wreaths arose from a fire’s last smouldering embers. Behind the heap of ashes, crouched a man almost in the cave-entrance, whirling a flint-ax above his head and shouting at the top of his lungs. Before him glided Grun Waugh, the Hyena and other beasts of prey awaiting their chance to spring. The Cave Man’s fierce attitude alone held them at bay, now that they had lost all fear of the rapidly fading fire. His manner was no less animal-like than that of the savage beasts gathered about him. His bared teeth, blazing eyes and furious howls were enough to make even the Cave Lion hold back dismayed. Deprived of the protection of his fast-dying fire, he raged and tore in such wild frenzy that none dared rush in and grapple with a creature so furious and desperate.
For an instant, the Mammoth and Rhinoceroslooked on dismayed by the terrible sight. But there was no mistaking that squat, powerful frame nor the face even when distorted by fiendish rage. The mad fury was their former acquaintance, Pic the Ape Boy of Moustier.
It took the two friends but a moment to see how matters stood. The Ape Boy was in trouble—fighting for his life and in great need of their assistance. Side by side, they bore down upon the group; not in a blind charge but grimly determined and keeping close watch as they advanced.
The Hyena was the first to observe their approach. Skulking behind the others as was his custom and interested only in seeing that his line of retreat was kept open, he espied the oncoming pair and gave the alarm. With a howl of terror, he dashed off in the opposite direction and thus gave warning to his companions.
The Cave Beasts faced about like a flash. In their blind rage at finding themselves interfered with, matters looked dark for a moment. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros came grimly on, shoulder to shoulder like a pair of trained gladiators. Except for the Hyena now rapidly disappearing, the Cave Beasts, in their turn held firm.
But Hairi and Wulli were not to be denied. They meant business; not the wild hit-or-miss variety but the plain step-up-and-have-it-out kind. Even GrunWaugh found himself unequal to such a cold-blooded way of doing things. He stepped back. This was the signal for a general retirement. His companions abandoned their attack upon the Ape Boy and retreated along the hillside, followed by the Lion who never ceased snarling with baffled hate at being thus forced to give ground. At last with a parting screech he turned tail and crawled rapidly away after his more timid companions. As he disappeared in the thicket, Hairi called a halt:
“Enough; we may fall into an ambush and spoil all.”
So the pair turned back to the Ape Boy who was staring at them almost overcome with astonishment.
“Whoow!—where did you come from?” he finally managed to stammer.
“We came to see what all the noise meant,” Hairi replied. “Oomp! It is well for you, we did.”
“You arrived at just the right time,” said Pic. “A little later and you would have found Grun Waugh gnawing my bones.”
“Why did you leave us on the Rock without saying a word?” Hairi grumbled. “You have given us much worry and trouble.”
Pic at Sha Pell
Pic at Sha Pell
“He was vexed with Grun Waugh,” Wulli now put in. “Grun Waugh called him an Ape Boy—alittle tree-beast without a tail, hiding in a man’s skin.”
For an instant, Pic glared at the Rhinoceros, then replied scornfully:
“Agh-h! I know now what the name means. None but enemies would so speak of me. But not because of that did I leave the Rock. It was to help him of whom the Hyena spoke—an old man living alone, sick and blind, in the grotto of Sha Pell. Cave-men will have none of a leader grown old and feeble. This one, their chief, was cast out to die. He came here and then—I came too. He was very sick. I took care of him. Then the Cave Beasts set upon us and I dared not leave him alone to hunt food and water and gather wood for my fire. This man is my father——”
“Father?—Good!” the Mammoth grunted approvingly. “Friends should ever help each other. But are you sure he was your father? I cannot see how you remembered him. I could not have done it. Perhaps I never had a father. Had you, Wulli?”
The Rhinoceros cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at the ground.
“Father? Oo-wee! I do not remember that I ever had one. I would not know him even if I saw him.”
“But I know mine,” said Pic. “He was my goodfriend too or I would never have come here to help him.”
“Where is he now?” asked Hairi gazing up and down the hillside.
“In the cave,” said Pic. “None of us can help him now. He is dying.”
Hairi and Wulli stepped to the grotto’s mouth and peered in. For a moment, they could see nothing; but as their eyes became adjusted to the darkness, they made out the form of a man stretched full length upon the floor. A pile of dried grass and leaves supported the head. A tattered fragment of bear-skin partly enveloped the body. The figure was that of an old man aged by disease and the nearness of death. His eyes were closed. Breath came and went in feeble irregular gasps. The wide-open mouth was burned and parched with wasting fever. Although reduced almost to a skeleton, the short, broad frame showed traces of a once gigantic strength. The protruding face, chinless jaws, eyes buried beneath heavy brows which merged into the low sloping forehead, were the same as those of the youth now bending over him.
“You see he is too sick to help himself,” Pic explained. “Once he was the best hunter and warrior in our whole band. But the sickness came upon him and when he was dying, his people—my people—drovehim away. I kept the Cave Beasts from him but that was all I could do.”
His two hearers gazed intently into the sufferer’s face. They said nothing, only stared; too awed by the strange scene to speak a single word.
The whole group was like a strange bit of sculpture:—the grotto and its dying occupant; the Ape Boy crouched over the sick man; the two great brutes standing by awed and attentive; every figure motionless and rigid as though cast in bronze.
For a time, all was still and the Cave Man’s feeble gasps could be heard above the low breathing of the three silent spectators. Then the wasted chest heaved and the sick man slowly opened one eye. As it looked upon the Ape Boy’s face, a flash of color lighted the ghastly features and he strove to raise his head. An arm encircled his shoulders, and helped him to rise. He opened his mouth to speak; but the effort was too much and he sank back exhausted.
The Ape Boy’s body was now thrust between him and the light.
“Stand back,” Pic whispered to his companions. “He must not see you. He would be displeased to know that you are with me here.”
Hairi and Wulli retreated several paces. Both obeyed silently and without protest, for reasons they could not understand.
Slowly the blood returned to the sick man’s pallid face. Once more his one good eye opened and gazed at his son. As he struggled to rise, the latter’s powerful arm helped him into a sitting posture.
“I knew it,” the Cave Man muttered. “My boy is no traitor; friend of beasts, enemy of men. You fought the flesh-eaters—for your sick old father. I saw—and you fought well.”
These last words were spoken in a scarcely audible whisper—a last outpouring of fast-failing strength. But with his expiring breath, the dying man’s will-power thrust aside, for a moment, the hand of death and summoned strength for words too weighty to be borne unspoken to the grave.
“Listen,” he gasped. “I am not ungrateful. The treasure—it is yours. High on the mountain side—buried in the cave floor—near the entrance,—beneath a stone.” The voice became stilled, the eyes closed and the body fell back heavily. The Ape Boy bent low with one ear against the shrivelled chest. Eyes and mouth remained staring, wide-open, but the heart beats were stilled forever. Death had finally come to free the Cave Man from his sufferings.
“It is finished. He is dead.” Pic stood at the cave-mouth facing the two animals who all this time had remained awed spectators of what was transpiring within.
Wulli took a long deep breath. He turned to the Mammoth. “The Trog-man is dead. Why should we stay here?”
“Yes, why?” Hairi glanced at Pic. “And you—what will you do now?”
The Ape Boy looked thoughtfully at the sky.
“I scarcely know. Now that my father is dead, I am quite alone. I have lived much alone but while he was alive I did not feel as now—without any friends at all.”
“None at all? What of us?” The Mammoth appeared much grieved.
“I meant men-friends—my own people,” Pic replied. “They say—my father said so too—that men and animals can never be friends. I do not see why it should be so. Except for my father, I have known none that please me more than do you and Wulli.”
“Why not join us?” said the Mammoth. “We are two; with you we would be three. I wish it could be so.”
“And the Rhinoceros—what does he say?”
Wulli’s eyes twinkled. He bobbed his head up and down until his ears rattled.
“We are three,” he grunted. “Good; let us be off. We can be of no more help to this dead Trog-man.”
“Agh!” Pic looked down and scratched his head. “What is to be done with the body? I cannot leave it like that—so cold and alone.”
“But not for long,” Wulli snorted with brutal frankness. “The Cave Beasts will attend to it. Every hyena in the neighborhood will hear the news by nightfall.”
“Yes, I know.” Pic was quite familiar with this method of caring for the dead. Hyenas were prompt and obliging undertakers. The Cave Lion might prefer food of his own killing; but hyenas were not so particular. Pic shuddered, as in his mind’s eye he saw these unclean scavengers rending and devouring the lifeless body.
“The foul brutes must not touch him,” he said determinedly. “This grotto is now my father’s home and in it he shall lie where no flesh-eater can reach him.”
“What do you intend to do?” Wulli asked.
“Wait and see.” The Ape Boy turned, re-entered the grotto and kneeled upon the floor. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros crowded closer into the low entrance and looked wonderingly on. They heard the sound of chopping—of flint-ax striking into hard dirt. In the dim light they could barely see the figure of the Ape Boy hard at work upon the cave-floor. Chop, chop,—the ax rose and fell, stopping at intervals as he laid it aside and scooped out the loosened earth with his hands. Long and earnestly he toiled while his friends stood guard at the cave-mouth and awaited developments. The work went on until a long shallow trench and piles of dirt bore witness to Pic’s untiring energy. Finally the chopping ceased and he came crawling to the light on his hands and knees.
Hairi and Wulli shifted to make room as he emerged and seated himself in the sunlight to rest and fill his lungs with fresh outside air.
“Why do you make that hole?” the Mammoth inquired.
“To bury the body,” Pic replied. “Once covered, the hyenas will find it hard work to dig him out.”
“Umph!” said Wulli. “I thought you were hunting for something in the cave-floor.”
“Whoow!” Pic’s eyes opened wide. “My father told me of something before he died. I had nigh forgotten.”
“What?”
“He was grateful because I helped him. He spoke of treasure that might some day be mine.”
“Treasure? What does that mean?” Hairi asked.
“Something nice. Something I would like to have.” The Ape Boy clapped his hands together. He grinned like a pleased child.
“What is it?”
“Umm—now what is it?” Pic screwed up his face much perplexed. “Agh! I do not know. My father did not say nor did I think to ask.”
“How unfortunate,” said the Mammoth. “Where did he say this treasure was? We can go and find it.”
“In a cave on a mountain side, buried in the floor near the entrance beneath a stone: that is what he said.”
“What cave; what mountain?”
Pic looked blank and threw up his hands, palms outwards.
“I am sure I do not know,” he replied helplessly. “I was not thinking of such things just then and forgot to ask.”
“Ooch, ooch,” Wulli snorted. “You should have known that we would like to see it. Is it something to eat!”
“My father did not tell me what is was.”
“What would you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nuts or fruits possibly,” Hairi suggested. “Squirrels and other animals sometimes bury them in the ground.”
“The flesh-eaters often act like that. I have seen them,” Wulli declared. “But they hide only bones. The treasure may be bones; who knows?”
“Not bones,” said the Ape Boy with a smile. “Bones without meat would be of no value to a cave-man. As for fruits and nuts, they would rot away. It is something else.”
“What, then?”
“I have no idea.”
The two animals raged inwardly, now that their curiosity was aroused and found nothing to satisfy it. Even Pic felt a new interest in the treasure, of which his father had spoken. He had not thought much about it at the time. His interest in the sick man had precluded all else. Now he inwardly rebuked himself for his lack of foresight. He might have learned the nature of the treasure and its place of concealment; but now his father was dead and the secret had died with him.
“Then the only thing to be done is to go and look for it,” the Mammoth suggested. “There are many caves. We can search them all.”
“The stone will help us,” said Pic, his hopes rising.“A stone in the floor marks the spot. I know of many caves; this one, mine upon the Rock and others; but none of them have stones in the floor. I am certain of that. When I have finished my task, we can determine what is to be done.”
So saying, he re-entered the grotto. The grave was dug—not a large or deep one, but with none but a flint tool he had done his best and could do no more. Laying aside his ax, he seized the dead man by the shoulders and dragged him into the shallow trench. The latter was scarcely large enough to contain the body; but he bent the limbs to fit and then began covering it with the loose earth lying about. Hairi and Wulli took no part except as interested spectators. They saw Pic pause in his work to place several stones for protection about the head. They saw him lay his ear to the dead man’s chest to make certain that no spark of life remained. They heard his surprised exclamation as his cheek encountered a hard object concealed beneath the bear-skin which now served as the dead man’s shroud. And as they gazed and wondered, the Ape Boy fumbled under the shaggy covering and drew forth something flat and leaf-shaped, much like his own hand in size and form.
“What is it?” whispered the Mammoth as Pic arose to his feet and glided to the cave-mouth. But the Ape Boy could find no words for reply. Hiseyes were fixed on that which he held in his hand; a flint-blade of lustrous grey, wonderfully formed, beautifully chipped on both sides—a specimen of workmanship unsurpassed. To his trained eyes, the marvellous blade was a sight to endure forever.
“Umph! Only a rock,” said the Rhinoceros as he peered over the other’s shoulder. But Pic was too engrossed in his discovery to hear. His face glowed with excitement as he held the prized flint before his companion’s eyes so that they might see and admire.
“Is it not wonderful?” he asked. “So beautifully flaked and chipped. See how broad and shapely it is; pointed, double-edged and the same on both sides. Agh, my poor little turtle-backs! Never can I make another after having seen this wonder of wonders. How was it done? I would give my life to know him who made it and learn the secret of its making.”
“A rock,” sneered the Mammoth; then as the Ape Boy shrank from him offended, he said in less scornful tones: “Yes, it is quite remarkable; but neither Wulli nor I have use for such things. Come; let us go.”
“Where?” Pic had not once taken his eyes off of the great flint.
“North. Who knows but that the cave and its treasure might not be there?”
“You will see Trog-men too.” Wulli added. “Iknow because I have seen them. They spend most of their time cracking rocks along the river banks.”
“Is it so?” Pic glanced tenderly at the great blade and pondered. Perhaps these northern flint-workers knew the secret of double-flaking and fine chipping like that shown in his newly-discovered prize. Such knowledge were well worth the seeking. His skill in making turtle-backs—flaked round on one surface; flat and smooth on the other—now seemed to him but feeble and wasted effort. As for the gem he held, it was the tiny chipping along the margins which brought them to such keen straight edges, that aroused his greatest interest and speculation. The tiny chipping! That was the substance of the whole matter. To learn how such work was done, was a possibility too strong to resist.
“I will go with you;” this with the air of one whose determination is made, once and for all. “One who lives with beasts must cease to be a man,” he said to himself. “It is broken—the last tie which bound me to men.” He glanced at the half-buried corpse; then realizing that his task was uncompleted, he re-entered the grotto and once more began piling the dirt over the body. When the grave was half-filled he stopped.
“I have stolen my father’s last flint. He shall have mine instead;” and, forthwith, his own ax lay beside the dead man.
“Why do you do that?” inquired the Mammoth who had been quick to see.
“He might need it,” Pic answered. “At least his shadow might need it.”
“Shadow? Oomp! He would need food even more.”
“True enough,” Pic admitted. “I had not thought of that.” He crawled on hands and knees to the rear of the cave and groped about in the darkness. In a few moments he returned carrying a long ill-smelling object—the almost putrid limb of a wild-ox. Its odor sickened him. “Poor stuff but it must do for the want of something better,” was his only comment as the two animals shrank back in disgust. He dropped it into the grave. There seemed nothing more to be done, so he covered all with dirt, stamping it firmly down and piling more rocks over the head and feet. This finished, he crawled to the cave-mouth and emerged into the open with eyes blinking at the blinding light.
“All is done,” he said. “And now for the country of the flint-workers.”
“And the cave with its buried treasure. Do not forget that,” Wulli added. “It must be found.”
Nothing more was said. The trio descended the slope and followed the winding base of the hill along the same route as that by which Hairi andWulli had first come. As they reached the bend which veered their course to the north, the Ape Boy who was last in line, stopped short. As the others plodded on, he turned for a last look at the distant grotto. His right hand gripping the prized flint-blade was raised high above his head in farewell to the dead Cave Man.
“Rest while your shadow guards you,” he said in a solemn voice. “The night has come; your day is ended.” The uplifted arm fell to his side. He faced about and in a moment had vanished around the bend, leaving the last tie which bound him to humanity lying buried in the floor of the cave.
Some forty thousand years ago plus or minus a few odd centuries, years, months, weeks and days, a strange group might have been seen wending its way northward through the very heart of France. It was the Ape Boy and his two animal friends, the Hairy Mammoth Elephant and Woolly Rhinoceros. The two shaggy beasts lumbered on side by side, the former towering twice above the height of his smaller companion. On the Mammoth’s neck settled deeply in the depression between head and shoulders, sat Pic with ax held across his thighs and his hyena robe trailing behind him in the breeze.
Hairi a beast of burden? How hath the mighty fallen! We must go back a bit to learn why.
When the duet became a trio—Ape Boy, Mammoth and Rhinoceros—and the party left the Grotto of Sha Pell to journey northward, Spring was already far advanced. Warm weather was something of a hardship to Hairi and Wulli, all bundled up as they were in their shaggy overcoats,to say nothing of thick woolen underwear concealed beneath. And so they made all haste to reach a more congenial climate. In spite of their vast bodies and stumpy legs, both could travel fast; but the need of food and rest had some voice as to the speed at which they travelled. They were tremendous eaters, but unfortunately the high rocky country provided poor feeding-grounds.
Their favorite foods were scarce, the grass-tufts few. Their northern march was a constant turning this way and that in search of edibles which were snatched up greedily wherever found. On the rough ground, Pic had the better of his comrades. No rock was too high, no ravine too deep to bar his way. His step was sure, his head clear and he found little trouble in making rapid progress over obstacles which caused the others endless annoyance and delay. Up hill, down dale, through tangled forest undergrowth and over fallen trees, the Ape Boy led the other two a merry dance until the party approached the Loire River. Here the tables were turned. The ground which they had covered was a gradual descent from forested highlands to comparatively level lowlands as the land-surface dipped down to the northwest. On the high, rough country, the Mammoth and Rhinoceros had been at a disadvantage but in the broad level region of theLoire, food was abundant and everything promised a speedy journey.
But now an unforeseen complication arose; Pic was too slow. He could not walk as fast as the others, simply because his heels were much too short; also each big toe stood apart from its mates and lacked stiffness. Soft, flexible feet were well suited for climbing and clambering about in rough, broken country;—among cliffs, ravines, rocks and tangled undergrowth—but in the open they were at a disadvantage. With his short heels and soft feet, Pic promised to become a burden to his friends, through no real fault of his own.
“Where is Pic? Stopping to crack rocks, I suppose,” grumbled the Mammoth, as for the fifth time he halted and observed the one in question lagging far in the rear. Pic was shuffling along at his best gait with knees half bent and head held forward, making hard work of the little he accomplished and tiring fast with the doing of it.
Hairi and Wulli ground their teeth and stamped impatiently until the laggard finally caught up. He halted before them, squatted on heels and haunches and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked warm, tired and discouraged, knowing well that the best he could do was poor enough. His comrades’ remarks were little calculated to give him comfort.
“You must walk faster,” Hairi scolded. “If you cannot do better than that, I will soon have to carry you.”
“Carry me?” Pic looked up quickly at the great giant towering over him; at the Elephant’s head-peak and mighty shoulder-hump and the deep depression where neck joined body. His face brightened. He rose to his feet and stepped to the Mammoth’s side.
“Yes, it might be done if you will. Raise your foreleg.” He laid his hand on the great right wrist which rose above the level of his own knees.
“Fancy my taking orders from small creatures,” Hairi thought to himself; but he raised his foreleg obediently and stood waiting, curious to see what would happen next. The Ape Boy climbed upon the outstretched limb and reaching on high with his hands, secured a firm grip on the Mammoth’s ear. “Now your trunk,” he commanded. “Help me to climb up.”
Hairi’s trunk curled around sideways and raised the other with scarce an effort. With this assistance Pic scrambled up. Before the astonished Mammoth realized what had happened, his neck bore a rider and for the first time in his life, the head of a living creature towered above his own.
“I am so small, you can easily carry me,” a voicesounded from behind his ears. “Now you may go on as fast as you please.”
Before many hours, the Mammoth had become accustomed to his rider and in that time the wisdom of the new arrangement became apparent to all. From his elevated position, Pic was enabled to inform his friends regarding the nature of the country ahead and call their attention to various interesting things among which they passed. Then too, he selected the best routes and chose the safest fords when crossing streams. In these and many other ways, he relieved his friends of many perplexing problems. In short, he had become the eyes and brains of the party.
Northern France was beginning to prepare itself for a season of warm breezes and sunny skies when our three tourists crossed the Loire River and entered the more rolling country beyond. And yet none but hardy forms of green growth dared show themselves; for the ice-fields yet hung threateningly to the north, casting their sombre shadows over Western Europe. Only scattered clumps and single trees—dwarf birch, fir, spruce and arctic willow strewn sparingly along streams and hillside—marked once-forested regions. Coarse grass and sedge formed but a threadbare carpet on meadow and pasture land. And yet this semi-bleak waste abounded with animal life,—hardy forms in keepingwith the grass, brush and trees. There were wild horses, stilt-legged bison with shaggy heads and shoulders, long-horned cattle and lesser creatures of the open pasture lands; stags, roe-deer and Irish Elk of hill and glade; and least numerous but most menacing, prowling wolves and hyenas which crawled and skulked from sight, awaiting their chance to secure any tender colt, calf or fawn or even grown animal that strayed from the protection of its fellows.
Horse, bison, ox and all stopped work—feeding, playing, sleeping—to inspect the strangers coming from the south. As the latter drew nearer, all eyes, ears and noses were gradually drawn to the Mammoth or rather to something upon his neck which looked and smelled like a Trog-man, but of course must be something else. Men and beasts did nothing but quarrel with one another as a rule. No elephant ever travelled about with a man upon his neck; such a thing was unheard of in the animal world.
But for all that, something of the kind was happening under their very noses; so the horses, bison, oxen and everything else crowded as closely as they dared along the line of march, leaving a wide lane through which the strangers might pass without interruption.
Hairi could not conceal his satisfaction at thispublicity so suddenly thrust upon him. He held his head high and swept on at his most majestic gait while the spectators stared and admired and wished they were as big and grand-looking. The Ape Boy caught the spirit of his noble steed and bore himself right royally, with ax held over one shoulder, like a ruler parading before his vassals.
Several days journey in this regal splendor brought the party to the border of a vast, shallow depression scooped as it were from the earth. Its sides were coated with patches of loam and sand becoming deeper towards the bottom as though giant hands had washed therein and left their grime. It was like a saucer—a mighty basin too broad for mortal eye to span—bounded by a rim of encircling hills which dipped lower and lower as they swept in two wide arcs to the northwest. Thus the saucer stood not squarely on its broad base but tipped as though to empty itself of a river winding through it from the southeast. After passing a small island which reposed at the bottom of the saucer, the river swung from northwest to southwest, then turned back and forth upon itself thus forming a rude inverted letter S.
Far to the southeast, a tributary joined the larger stream. Low hills and pastures, sloping towards the valley through which the central river flowed; scattered shade-trees dotting the westernlowlands; scrub and brush adorning the eastern heights;—such was the Paris Basin, the Seine River winding through it and the Marne tributary flowing from the east.
Slopes, river banks and even the river surface itself were dotted and blotched with living forms, single and in groups, some motionless, others shifting restlessly about; sleeping, lunching or besporting themselves as wild animals do when in the midst of congenial surroundings.
A herd of horses was gliding swiftly along the southern slopes overlooking the valley—sorrels, bays, chestnuts, with manes and tails streaming behind them—all uniting to form a single moving mass of color. Groups of long-horned cattle lined the river-banks farther below, standing high and dry, wading in the water or swimming with all but their heads submerged.
To the west, a score of bison grazed beneath the scattered shade-trees. Others lay on the grass near by, chewing their cuds and gazing dreamily into space. A tiny calf consisting of a small piece of body mounted on four stilts, ran here and there calling “Ma-ma” and causing no disturbance but its own noise. By some peculiar combination of sight, smell and sound whereby cows and calves find each other without mistakes, the bawling infant soon discovered the object of its search and itstroubles ended with a draught of home-brewed nectar, of which the fond mother carried an abundant supply. Meanwhile the bull bison leader found nothing to do but loll about awaiting the day’s end and whatever the morrow might bring. But with all his cud-chewing and seeming laziness, he kept one eye upon a burly brown bear who in the distance was poking the stones and rotten logs about with his big paws in search of grubs and things that bears like when honey is scarce and the berries are still green.
In spite of their apparent lack of interest in any but their own affairs, bison, horse, ox, bear and all frequently turned their noses windward to sniff the air as though suspicious of its tainted odor. Grass-eaters, even hunting-animals never trusted blood-thirsty creatures that roved in packs—wolves, hyenas and more particularly, other strange beings beyond the pale who walked on their hind legs and fought with sticks and stones.
As the three travellers glided down the Basin slope and neared a more abrupt descent to the river, Pic espied a group of figures on the bank below him, near where the river made its first sharp turn from south to north. He said nothing of this discovery for fear of alarming his companions; but already the Mammoth had begun to show signs of uneasiness. His trunk had caught a strange scentbelow him. With each step, his pace slackened. The Rhinoceros shared his comrade’s increasing concern. His ears were held pricked forward to catch the sound of that which he smelled but could not see.
Suddenly, two of the distant figures jumped up. A shout; and every figure stood erect. A score of wondering faces stared up at the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. A second shout followed. The figures—faces and all—dropped to the ground and lay still.
At the first shout, Hairi gave a great bound which almost unseated his rider; at the second, he stopped abruptly, only to move forward again as Pic patted his cheek and spoke reassuring words to coax him on. Nearer and nearer, they approached the prostrate figures, not one of which moved or made a sound. When but a dozen paces distant, the Mammoth stopped and refused to advance another step. He hung back on the shelving bank, beneath which he could see dark figures kneeling with their faces in the dust. His nose told him that these were Trog-men, a fact concerning which his eyes and ears now felt some doubts, for the prone forms neither moved nor made a sound. When eyes, ears and nose failed to agree on things, those things had best be avoided.
To Pic, sitting astride the Mammoth’s neck, thesight of the prone figures was astounding. Men either fought or fled in the face of danger but never did they pretend to be asleep or dead. Why did they act so? He saw a score of human beings grovelling in the dust. About them lay piles of cream colored lumps, also hammer-stones and axes scattered in confusion. He suspected treachery; but if this were an ambuscade, one more remarkable he had never encountered.
“Can these really be men?” he asked himself. “So silent and still all; lying upon their faces. What does it mean?”
As if in reply, one of the figures stirred. A grizzled grey head raised itself. A pair of deep-set eyes peered up furtively at the towering Mammoth. Hairi threw his trunk aloft and settled back. The Rhinoceros squared his legs. The Ape Boy looked down. He saw the face of an old man with heavy brows, sloping forehead and massive chinless jaws. The eyes shone like those of a fanatic—of one inspired.
The patriarch’s lips moved. “The Man Mammoth!” he muttered in an awed voice, so hushed that it sounded scarcely above a whisper. “He comes to jar the heavens and hurl down fire. Woe to us!” He groaned and covered his face with his hands.
Low howls and white puffs arose from the dust as his companions added their dismal chorus.
“Arrah! What is that you say?” demanded the now thoroughly mystified Pic. “Man Mammoth? Man and Mammoth, you mean. Tell me, Old Grey Head, is this some of your trickery?” He raised his ax on high as he said this and glared fiercely from one figure to another.
Low moans and white puffs again arose from the bank below him. Once more the patriarch uncovered his face and gazed in awe at the Mammoth-head and its human rider.
“What trickery can we poor cave-folk offer to the Man Mammoth who sees and knows all? We but humble ourselves that he may shine upon us and cease to ravage the land with flood and flame.”
“Agh-h,” grunted Pic. He smiled and his eyes twinkled. Now he understood. The Cave-men mistook him for a god because he rode upon the Mammoth’s neck. To them, he and the Elephant were one; part man, part beast—the Man Mammoth, ruler of the sky whose smile was sunshine; lowering clouds, his frown; and storm, his wrath. With thunder and lightning, he vented his rage upon the earth.
“Why do you all herd here above the valley?” Pic asked in a low voice that—to the humble cave-men—fore-shadowed clear sunny skies.
“We came to find and hammer the flints,” replied the patriarch rising to his knees and pointing at the bank above him. “Here lie the finest in the land.”
“Flints?” Pic leaned far over the Mammoth’s neck and looked eagerly at the ground beneath him. He saw yellow lumps, broken flakes and hammer-stones, in profusion. “Whoow-w!” he sucked in his breath and gazed at them in astonishment.
He had intruded upon a colony of flint-workers. These men were merely engaged in procuring one of life’s necessities; means for destroying other lives to preserve their own. The bank was a chalk-ledge overlooking the Seine. It was the center of a thriving industry—a mine and munitions factory combined. It contained wealth more precious than gold or silver; for to these men unfamiliar with metals, flint was the staff of life whereby they were enabled to exist.
There it was in piles freshly extracted from the chalk, awaiting the first manufacturing operation—splitting by the hammer-stone. Many lumps already split, also the wax-like flakes hewn from them, lay strewn upon the ground. Flints! and such wonderful ones too! Pic’s eyes caught the lustre of broken flakes. Was the workmanship as fine as the material itself? He looked at the blade of his own ax and trembled. The secret of itsmaking, might at that very moment be lying at his feet.
“We must know more of this. Why do you stop, clumsy beast”—these last words were addressed to the Mammoth who showed a decided reluctance to move closer.—“Forward. Do you fear a handful of cave-men? Agh! hurry, I say.”
Hairi shook his head from side to side and protested with loud grunts, but ended by descending the bank and striding among the workers and piles of flint. At a signal from his rider, he stopped. Pic peered down between his head and shoulder. His gaze alighted on a hide heaped with broken flakes. The patriarch who had first spoken was kneeling beside it.
“Fling-stones,” Pic exclaimed in tones of withering scorn. “Is this your best work? Stand up, old man and answer before I lose patience and bid the Mammoth crush you where you lie.”
The patriarch scrambled to his feet and stood with head bowed, arms folded across his breast; awed in spirit but heedless of bodily danger. Pic’s heart softened.
“Is this your best work?” he asked, again pointing to the broken flakes. “If so, it ill becomes such fine material to be so butchered. Have you none like this?” He held out his own ax by its long wooden handle so that the other might see.
The old man’s eyes brightened as they caught sight of the wonderful blade. He stepped forward and stood directly beneath the Mammoth’s chin. His arms were outstretched towards the great flint like those of a worshipper before a shrine.
“Marvellous,” he muttered in an awed voice. “Never have I seen so fine a blade. May I touch it, noble master?” His palms trembled as they hovered over the object of his adoration.
“Yes, you may touch it,” replied the Ape Boy with a kindly smile; and for an instant the ax was hidden between the old man’s hands.
“Ah, Blade of Ach Eul!” he murmured devoutly. “None can equal it. Never will the work of us poor cave-folk equal that of the Terrace Men. We strive in vain.”
“Well spoken,” Pic interrupted. “None can equal it. But how was it done?” This question was delivered with such earnestness, the old man trembled.
“Of that I know nothing,” he stammered. “The Terrace Men have passed away and their secret with them.”
“Who were the Terrace Men?” asked Pic. His voice shook even more than that of the patriarch.