Amid all this excitement and confusion, none thought of Pic. Food, food was the one thing in their minds and naught else mattered. Here it was and plenty of it, suddenly come between them and starvation.
The limbs and body were now dismembered; the head and offal alone remained. The old hag dashed to the fire, waving the bison’s heart sucked dry and bearing the imprints of her teeth. One of the men sprang to the shaggy head and pried open the mouth.
“Stand back,” thundered a voice. “The tongue is mine,” and there stood Pic with ax held threateningly across his shoulder. The man fell to his knees and stretched out his arms.
“Killer of the Bison!” he shrieked in a frenzy of joy. “Tamer of Lions!” his fellows added their exultant yells. “The tongue belongs to him. Out with it. May the sun ever shine upon him who has this day saved us from death.”
In a twinkle, Pic had become the man of the hour. By those who would have rent him asunder, he now was acclaimed. The tongue was torn from the bison head and presented to him, after which the mob hurried to the fire to sear the meat as fast as it could be cut up and passed on from the butcher-block.
Gradually the shouts and yells became hushed as the Cave-men huddled about the now roaring blaze. While some dashed hither and thither like mad things, hunting for wooden poles or spits, others wasted no time but held the gory chunks over the flames in their bare hands. A few, less fortunatein finding space for themselves about the fire and impatient of delay, squatted on the outside of the group and ate their morsels raw.
The sombre gloom of the camp which had been so suddenly transformed into a bedlam of joy, was again changed to a seething ferment of sizzling, steaming, crackling flesh and slobbering jaws while the smell of blood and seared meat filled the air and rose to heaven through an inferno of black smoke and grease-fed flames.
While the Men of Ferrassie were thus enjoying themselves, gathered about the fire, feasting and revelling, Pic sought her who had saved him and who in her turn had so miraculously escaped death on the butcher-block. While her people hacked and tore the dead bison, she stood aloof and took no part. As they streamed to the great stone with their gory trophies, she stepped back and watched the cutting and pounding with hungry eyes. The last shreds were stripped from the carcass and the men were crowding about the fire, leaving her unnoticed when suddenly a broad, thick-set figure appeared at her side.
“The tongue; see; I have saved it for you. Take and eat, it is yours.”
It was Pic who spoke. He held the reeking morsel in his outstretched hands. The girl eyed itlongingly, then glanced towards the fire and hesitated.
“I must wait,” she said timidly. “The men have not yet finished. You see there is no place for me.”
Without a word, Pic turned and forced his way into the group, thrusting the greedy feasters roughly aside to make room. A chorus of wild yells greeted his arrival: “Killer of the Bison! Lion Tamer! Stand back and let him roast his fare.”
Those nearest Pic made way while he held the great tongue over the flames until it was well seared. This operation being completed, he left his place by the fire and strode to the butcher-block. With the blade of his ax, he chopped the tongue in two.
“Sit down,” he said. The girl came forward obediently and seated herself upon the great stone. At a sign from Pic, she seized one of the severed morsels and set upon it with her sharp teeth, all the time moaning softly as she ate.
Pic sat down beside her and looked on. When her most pressing hunger-pangs were satisfied, she stopped suddenly and peered up into his face. “You do not eat. None will dispute your share. You threw the Bison down,” and she smiled upon him.
Pic smiled in return. “But I am not hungry,” he replied. This was a fib, for he had fasted sincethe previous midday and felt hollow to his toes. The girl was not so easily deceived.
“There is plenty; we can both eat,” she said; whereupon he awaited no second invitation but pitched in with a vim on that half of the tongue which as yet remained untouched. From then on, the two were silent except for the noises that cave-folk were wont to make when rending and chewing their food. For lack of words and empty mouths to speak them, they watched each other from the corners of their eyes.
And thus the last were served. Past winter horrors—cold, hunger and disease—were one and all forgotten, for the Ape Boy had suddenly come upon the Men of Ferrassie with food hurled from the sky. The Rock-shelter was now become a horn of plenty where starving men might laugh at death and gorge themselves to a surfeit after their long fast.
Now that Pic was returned to the fold and his position established among the Men of Ferrassie, he gave himself up to all the activities of Mousterian life. With his advent, began a period of successful hunting. Rarely did the hunters return to the rock-shelter empty-handed. What with their never-depleted larder, the Cave-folk became strong of heart and body; the burly chieftain grew burlier and the girl rounded out like a plump partridge. To her Pic devoted such of his time as was not required for his hunting; and thus he cemented their closer acquaintance. For more than a fortnight, Pic gave himself up heart and soul to his new life until another chapter suddenly unfolded itself. One morning he and the men of Ferrassie were creeping along the river bank in search of game when he caught sight of two great creatures coming towards him. He sprang to his feet and waved his arms. At this, the pair came to a sudden halt. For a moment they stood staring at him in wonder, then came galloping along with loud squeals and bellows.
“The Mammoth! the Woolly Rhinoceros!” yelled the Cave-men and away they fled like scared rabbits; all but one of them who seemed to have suddenly lost the use of his legs and was perforce compelled to face the two great beasts alone. Along came the pair amid a great rumbling of feet upon the grassy meadow. Squeals, trumpets, bellows and human shouts rang out over the lowlands to the distant heights and echoed back again as the opposing forces clashed and in a moment the duet was become a trio—the Mammoth, the Rhinoceros and the Ape Boy.
Oh, the joy of that reunion! Hairi jumped up and down, his ears flapped like fans and his trunk twined about Pic’s body so tightly that the latter was hard put to keep breath within it. Wulli’s tail rattled vigorously and he bobbed around like a great bewhiskered shuttle as he strove to bestow upon the Ape Boy word and act of heart-felt greeting. The wonder is that Pic survived the twain’s ponderous exuberance but he managed to weather the storm and after pats and hugs of his own he got clear of the tangled mass of tusks, trunk, horn and feet and the two animals quieted down sufficiently to hear how it was, their long-lost companion had so unexpectedly come back to life.
Pic’s story was soon told, he being careful to delete such portions of his adventure with theNeander Giant as might cast a shadow over the present happy reunion. Then it was the turn of the other two to give an account of their doings. Pic’s attention was now centered upon the Mammoth—his neck and shoulders gridded with ragged scars, which latter were discernible beneath thin hair and wool-patches—relics of the Spring shedding.
“Fighting?” he inquired.
The Mammoth looked somewhat crestfallen as he answered:
“Um-m, not exactly,” whereat Wulli’s eyes twinkled, and the Mammoth observing, added:
“Well, we both fared badly, although it all seems comical when once past and done with.” Then in reply to Pic’s puzzled looks, he recounted his part in the mystery:
“We saw you climb down to the cave and enter it but you never came out, although we waited and waited until we were almost starved, for there was almost no food to be found among the rocks. Finally we made up our minds that you were lost to us forever, so we went away. I would have died rather than go alone but Wulli was with me. We went away together.”
His voice trembled. He was silent for a moment gazing at his toes which shone like great door-knobs; then he resumed:
“We rambled this way and that, eating, drinking and sleeping when we had to and not finding much pleasure in it. We poked our noses into all sorts of out-of-the-way places. One of them that I am going to tell about was covered with rocks, single and in mass with scattered patches of trees here and there. Detecting a strange odor coming from behind some of these rocks, we went over to find out what it was.
“On nearing the place from where the odor came, we found ourselves on a ridge with broad stones sticking up edgeways in front of us. It was too high for us to see over but we managed to find a cleft, not large enough to squeeze through although it gave us a glimpse of the party.”
“Party?” asked Pic.
“Yes, a party of flesh-eaters sitting around the half-eaten body of a reindeer. All were females chatting too busily to hear or smell Wulli and myself. They were the Leopard, Panther, Lynx and Bobcat. The Leopard being the largest and fiercest of the four, had the most to say as well as the choicest portions of the feast. Apparently it was she who had killed the reindeer. We heard her remark:
“‘Yes, reindeer meat is very nice—the nicest of small game.’
“‘Small?’ her three companions pricked up theirears. Wulli and I did too. That Leopardess was merely talking for effect.
“‘Yes, small,’ she drawled, ‘although some might say medium-sized. I had in mind the Woolly Rhinoceros, a fairly large animal, ugly and stupid but sweet and tender. Have none of you ever tasted one?’
“You can imagine how vexed Wulli was,” the Mammoth chuckled. “Then we heard the Lynxess say in an awed voice: ‘No, I never ate a Rhino. They are a bit too large for me to manage. Do you select them yourself—live ones?’
“‘Certainly,’ replied the big cat. ‘I eat only food of my own killing. The Rhinoceros is easy compared with the Mammoth. I find the latter much more difficult.’
“It was now Wulli’s turn to be amused,” said the Mammoth. “I thought I would burst with rage when he whispered, ‘Poor little elephant! I wonder how many she eats each day.’
“‘Do you—yourself—kill all of the rhinos and elephants you eat?’ the Bobcattess now asked most humbly.
“‘Of course; do you suppose I swallow them alive?’ the Leopardess snarled, whereupon the Bobcattess said no more. ‘Young ones, no doubt,’ ventured the Pantheress, ‘I—’
“‘Silence,’ the Leopardess screamed in a greatrage. We thought for a moment that she was going to start a fight but just then she saw the top of my head. The rocks did not conceal quite all of me. Without a word of warning to her companions, she crawled away merely saying: ‘Pardon my haste. I had forgotten that Spotty was all alone.’
“By this time, Wulli and I were both very much annoyed. We hurried around the rocks to catch that leopardess and punish her. She sprang into a glade and disappeared. As we followed, her companions scattered in all directions. We had entered the woods and I had just lowered my head to avoid colliding with a stout overhanging branch when something reached down from above and fastened upon my shoulder hump. As I bounded forward from the pain of it, my back was raked from nape to tail. Never was I so enraged as at this unexpected attack. I faced about and saw a lithe cat-like form ascending rapidly into the tree-top. It was the Leopardess and she it was who had clawed my back as I passed beneath the limb upon which she lay; and now I could see her safely beyond my reach and hear her screeching scorn and derision at Wulli and myself. Some strands of my own hair still clung to her waving paw. The sight of them irritated me beyond measure.”
“‘We might hide,’ said Wulli. ‘When the wretchthinks that we have gone, she will come down; then we can catch and chastise her.’
“It takes much scenery to conceal a pair like us. I did not realize this at first. No matter how hard we tried to find cover, that wretched cat could see us and jeered our vain efforts with insulting cat-calls. It was exasperating.
“‘We can hide among the rocks,’ Wulli now suggested. ‘I see a cave; something in it too. I smell it.’
“We approached the mouth of the dark hole. Wulli lowered his head and peered into the darkness. ‘Anybody home?’ he squealed.
“A fluffy little creature resembling an oversized bobcat, came bouncing to the entrance. At sight of us, it stood stock-still, staring at us with big wondering eyes, then turned tail and essayed a hasty retreat to within the sombre recesses. This last move, I prevented by hooking the little roly-poly back with my trunk gently but firmly, whereupon it stuck a stubby paw in one eye and screwed up its face as though about to cry.
“‘Spotty! It is the baby leopard,’ cried Wulli. ‘That is its mother in the tree. She scratched your back.’
“‘Aha!’ I grit my teeth and took a fresh grip on the young one, so tight a hold that Spotty yelled as though he were being killed. Back I marched to the tree waving the young leopard triumphantly on high. To my great chagrin, the perch which had but recently held the mother, was now vacant.”
Hairi and the Cave Leopard
Hairi and the Cave Leopard
“And so she escaped?” Pic inquired.
“Not exactly,” was the grim response. “I was looking about and wondering what to do next when something descended upon my shoulders with terrific force. It was the mother leopard of course. She alighted upon my back and anchored herself with her hooked paws. The matter might have ended then and there, had I but known. You see she merely wanted her cub. My back smarted so that I would have been only too pleased to be rid of both of them. Spotty put in his time scratching and biting my trunk. He got too hot to hold so I dropped him and off he ran.”
“And the mother leopard—what did you do with her?” Pic asked.
“What could I do but run?” replied the Mammoth. “That was the only way I could think of to shake her off. She dug her claws deep into my back to keep from falling and that made me run all the harder. Disgraceful, I must admit, but she was as frightened as I was. Finally I became exhausted. As I slowed up, the Leopardess jumped and ran to cover. I let her severely alone.”
“And Wulli—what was he doing all this time?” Pic demanded.
The Mammoth appeared greatly amused. “Come Wulli, it’s your turn now,” he chuckled. “You might as well confess everything.”
The Rhinoceros was visibly embarrassed. “I wanted to help,” he said, “but the Mammoth ran too fast for me. I hurried after him but soon became so tired that I was about to give up the chase, when Crash! down I tumbled into a deep hole. It was covered with branches so that I could not see it, but they eased my fall and no bones were broken. The hole was too deep for me to climb out of and so there I stayed until darkness came and finally the light again. By that time, I was so cold, tired and hungry I could scarcely stand. I was brooding over my misfortune, when there sounded a low hum as of something stirring outside. The hum became cries, then yells coming nearer and nearer. They were the voices of Trog-men. Help was at hand. I fairly danced with joy.”
“Help indeed; what a disappointment,” Pic murmured consolingly.
“Yes, the Trog-men were coming. I could hear them plainly and I vowed to myself that they would be my good friends henceforth and forever more. I squealed as loudly as I could for fear they might overlook the spot and pass me by. Their voices rang about the pit-mouth. I——”
“Oh guileless one!” Pic exclaimed bitterly. “Hadyou forgotten those who hunted you beyond the great Channel Valley? These men but exulted over their quarry the Woolly Rhinoceros caught in the trap of their own making.”
“I did not know then what I know now,” Wulli resumed. “I never thought of them as enemies. Only friends would be interested in a poor Rhino caught in a deep hole; but when I saw their faces ranged above me, my mistake dawned upon me. Every mouth was wide open with teeth bared. Every hand bore stick or stone. I bowed my head in despair and awaited the end.”
“End?” cried Pic springing to his feet. “You are here and alive. How could there have been an end?”
The Rhinoceros took keen relish in the dramatic effect of his recital. He continued with exasperating deliberation:
“While awaiting the end, I thought over many events of my past life and while thus musing, it suddenly dawned upon me that I was alone. The pit-mouth was vacant; the Trog-men had gone.”
“Whoow! how simple,” breathed Pic, settling back upon his haunches. “Gone? What drove them away?”
“I was alone,” Wulli continued. “For a time, all was still; then sounded a dull thump, thump and the breaking of snow-crust. The sounds ceasedabruptly and a great shadow settled over me. I looked up and saw——”
“The Mammoth!” shouted Pic.
“Even so—the Mammoth; and—and that is about all. I was saved. Nothing more of moment happened to us until we came here and met you.”
“But you left yourself in the pit,” Pic remonstrated. “It was too deep for you to climb. How did you get out?”
“The Mammoth; ask him.”
Hairi now took the center of the stage to put the finishing touch on his partner’s thrilling narrative.
“I pulled him out—like this.” Raising his trunk, the huge Elephant curled its flexible tip around the Rhino’s horn. Securing a firm grip, he settled back with his full weight and power. Wulli’s neck elongated like that of a turtle. The Mammoth’s trunk stretched taut like a tow-line. Neck and trunk held fast under the strain and in a moment, the Rhinoceros was being dragged over the ground.
“Pulled him out? You? How wonderful!” Pic was in truth astounded by this remarkable engineering feat. The Mammoth released his hold.
“Yes, I pulled him from the pit. And now, what next? I believe we have told about all there is to tell.”
“All but one thing,” Wulli reminded him. “The cave and—and, you know.”
Hairi flapped his ears and wriggled like a school-girl filled with a secret too big to hold. “There is a mountain near here,” he began in a voice burdened with mystery. “High upon the mountain is a cave; in the cave, is——”
“Treasure,” replied Pic, suddenly stirred by the news. “Where is this cave?”
“Up the river,” answered the Mammoth. “The mountain is too high for either Wulli or me to climb. We need you to help us.”
“Did you see the treasure?”
“No, but we are sure it is there.”
“Ugh!” grunted Pic; but he felt ripe for a lark and so followed his friends without further argument.
The three friends crossed a stream which flowed into the Vézère from the west and continued up the border of the valley, over meadow and rock-land and through almost impenetrable thickets. Finally the Mammoth halted and gazed at the limestone cliffs above his head.
“This is the place,” he said. “If you look closely, you will see a dark hole in the rock.”
Pic looked and saw. His curiosity rose to a high pitch. “Wait here while I climb up,” he directed and then set his ax-handle between his teeth.
“Ha-ha, wa-ho!” laughed a voice from on high.
Hairi and Wulli jumped. Pic gazed along the face of the cliffs.
“What was that? It sounded like a man’s voice. Perhaps a man is in the cave.”
All three held still and listened, but the cry was not repeated.
Pic again made ready to ascend. He gripped his ax between his jaws and started off.
The approach to the cave was but a pile of broken rocks and easily scaled—particularly by one inuredto ascending almost perpendicular walls; and so Pic made rapid headway to the top. As he neared the cave, a foul odor greeted his none too sensitive nostrils. The rocks were strewn with freshly-gnawed bones.
“The owner of that grotto must be a big meat-eater,” he thought as he examined the wreckage. “And such mighty jaws.” Some of the big limb-bones were bitten in two. One in particular, a bison thigh, was minus the lower end. It had been chewed off, as the tooth-marks plainly showed.
“Ha-ha,” the uncanny laugh rang out once more. Pic braced his feet and stood on the defensive. A hideous face leered down upon him from the cave-mouth. Another and yet others crowded forward from behind until a dozen or more big-eared heads were gathered awaiting his coming.
Pic lowered his ax and laughed back: “Ha-ha;” but he was wise and advanced no farther. He knew these creatures well enough and now felt ashamed because they had so startled him. The cave was a den of hyenas; cowards at heart except when at home as now where they were fully prepared to fight any and all intruders.
There was nothing left for Pic but to go back and rejoin his friends. This he proceeded to do without delay. When the Mammoth and Rhinoceros became advised of how matters stood, they were much disturbed.
“Why should a few hyenas frighten you?” Wulli snorted in disgust. “Only yesterday I walked close by a whole pack of them.”
“Were they in their cave?”
“No—out in the meadow eating a dead ox,” replied the Rhinoceros.
“That is different,” said Pic. “Now they are at home. You might go up yourself and drive them out if you can.”
Wulli glanced up the slope and cocked his head thoughtfully. Such a climb would more than tax his fullest powers. “Hyenas never stay at home nights,” the Mammoth now remarked. “If we wait here until dark, they will come out; then you”—looking at Pic—“can climb up and find the treasure.”
This sounded reasonable, so the three waited. The hours dragged slowly by and it seemed as though night would never come; but it did, of course. As the sun finally sank behind the cliffs, Pic and his companions saw dark figures emerge from the cave, one by one, and seat themselves on the rocks about the entrance. The brutes laughed and growled noisily but not a single one of them showed any inclination to descend.
“They will not come down while we remain here,” said Pic as his comrades began to stamp their feet and show other signs of impatience. “They do notneed to see; they smell us. Hyenas have sharper noses than any other animals I know of.”
“Particularly for dead things,” said the Mammoth.
“And sick ones, too,” the Rhinoceros added. “Once when I had a sore on my hind leg, I thought they never would stop following me around; nor did they until I was well again. I have seen droves of them trailing after sick animals that they could have killed without trouble, had they courage and sense enough to do it. One cannot have a tooth-ache but these beasts will soon know of it.”
“If you were only sick now, you might persuade the lot of them to come down and follow you,” said the Mammoth. “How is your health at this moment?”
“Good,” Wulli was obliged to admit. Hairi despaired.
“He might only pretend to be sick,” Pic suggested. “Perhaps the hyenas would not know the difference.”
“I am willing to try anything,” said the Rhinoceros. “What shall I do and how shall I do it?”
In a few moments, Pic mapped out a plan of strategy as follows: He and Hairi would withdraw and hide somewhere within earshot while the Rhinoceros remained where he was. At a pre-arranged signal—the caw of a crow—Wulli was to feign mortal illness. The details and manner of sodoing would be left to him. However it was important that he drag himself down the valley and draw the hyenas after him. In the meantime, Pic would steal back, enter the empty cave and secure the treasure. It sounded simple. All three conspirators were confident of success. Wulli, the star performer was the most impatient to begin.
“Be sure to act as though you were terribly ill,” were Pic’s final instructions. “The sicker you seem, the faster will they follow. Groan, squeal, make all the noise you can; the louder the better. Now if we are all agreeable, let us begin.”
Pic and Hairi thereupon marched off in the darkness making all of the noise they could, so that the hyenas would know of their departure. The Rhinoceros was left behind. After waiting for several minutes,—which seemed to him, hours—the night silence was broken by a distant cry—the caw of a crow. At the sound, Wulli emitted a piercing wail and followed it with loud, deep groans. In a moment, the rocks above him bustled with activity—snarls, growls and the clatter of clawed feet. The hyenas were descending the slope. Pic’s clever scheme was bringing quick returns.
As he saw the dark figures coming towards him, Wulli set himself in motion; staggering, reeling, stumbling along the foot of the cliffs and ever continuing to vent his bodily anguish with piteous groans and squeals.
A mass of dark figures streamed down the slope to the valley and followed after him. Their ears told them that a fat rhinoceros could be had for the taking—a terribly sick rhinoceros or they were very much mistaken. Having no doubts about the matter and not suspecting any double-dealing, they trailed leisurely after him like a flock of sheep. They were in no particular hurry. Judging from the cries they heard, the Rhinoceros would be in proper condition for them within a reasonably short time.
For some distance, the forlorn procession continued in this manner. Only Wulli’s despairing cries broke the stillness of the night. “They surely must be far enough from that cave now,” he said to himself. “Oo-wee; it is about time to stop. I wonder how long I am supposed to entertain these brutes.”
He selected a spot at the base of the cliffs where he could set his back to the rock and have foes to watch on three sides only; then flopped down heavily upon his haunches and groaned. The hyenas squatted in a semi-circle about him. Apparently the artful Wulli now observed them for the first time. “Will any of you help me,” he wailed. “Oo-wee! I am so sick! Cannot you see?”
“Are you too sick to fight?” inquired a sympathetic voice.
“Not quite,” replied the Rhinoceros cautiously. “I can still poke with my horn a bit; but I fear I am going to die. My insides hurt terribly. They have not held food for a week. Please stay with me,” he whined piteously.
A chorus of rude “Ha-has” greeted this touching appeal. “Trust us to stay,” growled one of the brutes nearest him. “We will be with you to the end; then you can be with us.”
At this merry quip, all ha-haed again.
Wulli began to weary of his task. Acting was not his specialty; furthermore he was growing tired and sleepy. He closed his eyes and nodded. The hyenas crowded up closer, thinking their turn was coming, whereupon the Rhinoceros was compelled to bestir himself with his moaning and groaning until they fell back to their proper places.
They were queer, uncanny brutes—these hyenas. Their stock of patience seemed inexhaustible. They could sit around and wait all night if necessary. The idea of attacking a full-grown living rhinoceros was contrary to their training. No hurry at all, but it behooved Wulli to keep things moving.
The Time Came When Wulli Failed to Respond
The Time Came When Wulli Failed to Respond
The hours passed. For the Rhinoceros, they were an eternity of tortuous effort to keep awake and play his part. Time and time again, his eyes closed, his head drooped and the hyenas moved up closer; and each time he came to with a start on sensing the nearness of his ghoulish visitors. Thenhis despairing cries took a fresh spurt and the hyenas backed off, only to return when he again became quiet.
But the time finally came when Wulli failed to respond. His admirers crowded forward, amazed at his wonderful hold on life. His cries were stilled so they hitched up closer, discreetly refraining from any unseemly haste. They could hear his hard breathing and knew him to be still alive although the end must be very near. For such a sick rhinoceros, he had lasted unusually long, they thought; not that they felt impatient; but even a second must not be wasted when once it was time to commence.
One of them—a coarse, unmannered individual without proper hyena training—reached out and tried his jaws on the Rhino’s rump. It was not a real bite—a mere touch of the teeth; but his fellows resented this taking an unfair advantage and growled angrily. Even these sounds failed to arouse Wulli. Things were looking dark for him. Even hyenas had limits. One and all crowded up closely with their noses touching those portions of his body on which they planned to begin operations—and still, he slept on.
Suddenly the hyenas pricked up their ears. The faint crashing of brush and thump of ponderous feet could be heard coming up the valley. All aroseand slunk slowly away in the opposite direction for a score of paces and then sat down again. Their eyes accustomed to the darkness, made out a great, towering figure coming rapidly towards them.
The newcomer was the Mammoth. With his two friends gone about their business and himself wearied by his long wait, he had followed the Rhinoceros and come upon him and the hyenas in the nick of time.
Suddenly he perceived a dark mass, half-seated, half-lying on the ground. His heart almost stopped beating. He recognized his partner’s form and was filled with sinister foreboding. He was in the presence of death. At that moment, Wulli heaved his fat sides, uttered a deep sigh and began to snore. Hairi breathed again. He recognized the symptoms. His friend merely slept.
Having thus assured himself that no harm had come to the Rhinoceros and that he was only exhausted, the Mammoth lay down beside him to secure his own night’s rest. Undecided just what course to pursue and unwilling as yet to give up all hope, the hyenas seated themselves in a semi-circle about the pair and waited.
After allowing Wulli ample time to decoy the hyenas a safe distance from their stronghold, Pic left the Mammoth to his own devices and set about to carry out his portion of the programme.
He reached the foot of the slope, ascended part way and paused. No dark forms appeared to mock him with their hideous laughter; so he went on until he reached the cave. No sound issued from within; only foul odors which in themselves were enough to repel any less determined invader than he. The hyenas were gone and now he had the place all to himself. So far, so good; he stepped inside.
The darkness was almost impenetrable so he was obliged to depend upon his sense of touch, groping about the floor with his hands and feet. Bones, bones, everywhere; but no stone. He searched about the entrance, then along the side-walls and finally the rear of the cave, carefully covering every inch of space; but without success. He repeated this performance; going over the ground a second time with the utmost care. Failure again; the stonewas nowhere to be found nor the treasure which must be lying beneath it.
Pic’s patience was ebbing fast. He had begun this adventure in high spirits but as his quest yet remained barren of results, he grew fearful that it must soon end in total failure.
“My father would not have lied to me,” he strove to reassure himself. “Perhaps the stone has been accidentally removed. The treasure if it lies buried here, must be somewhere near the entrance.”
This last thought aroused his fading hopes and he resumed his search along new lines, chopping the dirt floor with his ax until not a spot near the cave-mouth remained untouched. His efforts were of no avail. Neither stone nor treasure came to light. This was the wrong cave.
Nothing remained to be done but leave and rejoin the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. It suddenly occurred to him that it was high time he was so doing. Night was drawing to a close and the hyenas would soon return. He stepped to the cave-mouth, then as quickly stepped back again at sight of some animals coming up the valley. His foot encountered an obstacle. His ax flew from his hand and he fell heavily upon its upturned edge.
A sharp pain shot through the rear of his thigh where the keen flint had inflicted a deep gash. Hewas up again in a moment, clutching the wound with one hand to stop the flow of blood. His injury although painful was not disabling. The hyenas were returning and it was necessary—for his own safety—that he be not caught intruding in their den.
He descended the slope with all possible haste, leaving a trail of blood-stains on the rocks behind him. He arrived at the foot of the slope none too soon. The hyenas were but a few paces distant. They came on growling and sniffing the air. Pic raised his ax and prepared to defend himself; whereupon they held back and showed no intention of proceeding further.
Pic retreated a step; the hyenas followed. He took several more steps and the foul beasts kept pace with him; halting when he halted; advancing as he retreated, threatening but ever hesitating to close in. None of them showed any interest in the cave. Not one climbed up the slope. It might be time to go home; but they were hungry. They smelled blood in the air and on the ground. Pic’s wound was not a dangerous one, but it gave promise; the odor of blood was alluring and so the hyenas followed. The Rhinoceros had proven a grievous disappointment; but now the scent of an injured man filled them with renewed hope.
Pic’s position was becoming decidedly unpleasant.He was being hounded by a pack of ferocious brutes who dared not attack him openly but who were prepared to take advantage of any opportunity offered them. He made off up the valley and the hyenas trailed behind at a respectful distance.
Their uncanny attention and particularly their persistence filled him with growing alarm. He was beginning to feel weary and faint; but to lie down; to lose his senses even for a few moments, meant death. His enemies were now gradually closing in; behind and on both sides. If they kept on, he would soon be completely surrounded. He must seek refuge among the rocks, in a cave or some place where he could defend himself without danger of attack from the rear. He scanned the cliffs—and there before him loomed a great rock which thrust its rugged flanks far into the valley. His heart quickened with renewed hope. It was the Rock of Moustier.
“Once I reach the grotto, I can make a stand against these beasts,” he encouraged himself; “unless”—and his spirits fell again like lead—“the Lion is there.”
However he must take his chance on that score. Things could not long continue as they were. A night of fruitless tramping up and down the valley was rapidly driving his enemies to desperation.Hyenas might be patient but even their patience could not forever endure the protests of empty stomachs. They quickened their pace and pressed on more closely. Some of them grew bold enough to walk ahead of him on either side.
The party drew up before the base of Moustier. Pic took a deep breath, grit his teeth and began the ascent. The hyenas hesitated, then followed after him. As he neared the middle terrace and came within sight of the grotto, he paused. For him, this was the turning-point—a situation fraught with fearful consequence. If the Lion were at home, he was lost—caught between two fires and hopelessly overmatched; but if the cave were unoccupied, he could make his stand in the entrance and fight off those who trailed behind him. All depended upon whether the grotto was or was not now occupied by its fierce tenant.
While he hesitated, one of his trackers, a huge beast with a ghoul-grinning face, lunged forward and snapped at his wounded limb, so closely that Pic felt the brute’s hot fetid breath. He turned like a flash just as the hyena sprang upon him a second time. A quick swing-back; and the blade of Ach Eul descended in a wide arc with all the power of arm and shoulder behind it. A terrible howl and the brute fell crashing down the slope with half of the flint buried in his skull. The other half andhandle yet remained in Pic’s grasp; but the blade of Ach Eul was lost forever—shattered, destroyed by the violence of the blow.
Its owner gazed at the broken ax in dismay. He stood defenceless—armed only with a flimsy stick. Discarding his now useless weapon, he seized a jagged rock and raised it above his head, just as the other hyenas turned tail and scrambled down the steep slope after their stricken comrade. In a few moments, Pic heard them growling and snarling horribly as they fought and struggled over the dead body. Then sounded the ripping and tearing of flesh, followed by a more subdued clatter as of snapping and slopping jaws.
Pic was left alone. Below him, his enemies were devouring the one of their number he had slain. Now for the Cave Lion. With the rock still raised above his head, he took a last step upward and stood upon the platform fronting the grotto. No response came from within—no low growls nor angry snarls. He could see beyond the entrance and make out the interior, free of dark form and fiery eyes. The Lion was not inside. Pic glanced fearfully about him, then glided to the cave-mouth. It exuded no foul odor common to dens habitated by beasts of prey. The place was untenanted; and from all appearances it had been so for a considerable time.
Pic breathed more freely. Nothing was to be feared at the moment from the Lion. After assuring himself on that point, he stole across the rock-platform and peered down at the hideous group below. Already the dead hyena was but a framework of white bones and his fellows were straggling away down the valley. He returned to the cave and stepped boldly within.
Apparently the Lion had abandoned his winter quarters at the approach of Spring. His nest remained as he left it—a broad, shallow depression scooped from the floor. The brute had clawed out the dirt to the bare rock leaving the debris piled around the sides, thus forming a crater or enclosed receptacle shaped to his curled form. Its sides were covered with spiders’ webs and fungus growth. A single mushroom sprouted from the bottom—from the rock laid bare by the Lion’s claws. Pic looked curiously at this mushroom which could sprout from the hard limestone. He sank to his knees and bent low to examine it.
The stone from which it grew was not limestone but granite—a material foreign to the surrounding rock—of substance unlike that composing the cave-walls and roof; furthermore, the mushroom grew not from the stone but from a crack extended around it. The crack was filled with dirt and the mushroom sprang from the dirt.
Pic gazed thoughtfully at the mushroom, the dirt-filled crack and the granite stone. How did these three come there? Answer: because of the stone itself and no other reason; because of a stone in the floor—near the entrance—of a cave—on a mountain.
Pic trembled as this chain of circumstances ran through his mind. He reached down with shaking hand and scraped out the dirt which filled the encircling crack.
In a short time he had deepened it sufficiently to insert his fingers. One mighty heave—the stone yielded and came free. He raised it from the depression and tossed it to one side.
The hollow in which the stone had lain embedded, was filled with dirt. Pic set about to remove this by loosening and scraping it out with his fingers. While so doing, his knuckles encountered something hard and sharp. He pried the dirt from around the object, plucked it forth and held it to the light.
The object was a large flint-blade, flaked and chipped with edges so straight and keen, Pic could only stare and marvel. His experienced eye noted not the large flaking but the fine marginal chipping which gave the flint its finely-finished lines. It was a counterpart—a duplicate of his own ax so recently destroyed—the blade of Ach Eul.
Pic’s breath came loud and fast. The hot bloodmounted to his temples. He set the flint carefully down beside him and turned once more to the hollow from whence it came. The dirt was soft and easily removed with his fingers. The ground beneath where the stone had lain, was a cavity filled with loose earth—and other objects as he discovered when once the loose material was removed.
The objects were flints—similar in form and finish to the first. The cavity was filled with them. He brought them forth one by one until he had secured more than could be counted upon the fingers of his two hands. Further search disclosed the cavity’s hard bottom but no more flints; nothing but a piece of bone.
“Part of the Cave Lion’s fare,” thought Pic. “It shows his tooth-marks and where he has licked it clean and smooth.” He was about to cast it aside, then checked the impulse and set it on the rock beside him where it soon passed from his thoughts. He turned again to the flints. The treasure of Moustier was now in his possession.
And it was indeed a treasure which had long lain buried in the floor of the grotto. Pic made a grimace as he thought of how many times he had stood, squatted, reclined over the very spot where it lay concealed. The stone—the guiding mark—had become buried in some unaccountable manner, thereby throwing him off the scent. It was butnatural, he reflected, that Moustier—his father’s former home—should have been the cave which concealed the treasure; but who would have thought that the stone itself as well as the treasure might be hidden from sight?
Pic chuckled softly as he meditated over the element of chance that had brought about his good-fortune. But for the Cave Lion, he might have vainly hunted the world over until his dying day. He could thank Grun Waugh for this one thing, if nothing else. The treasure had been laid bare—or rather the stone which covered it—by a scratch of his big paw.
Pic gathered up the flints and carried them to the ledge outside. Here he squatted to feast his eyes on a dozen or more of the finest blades ever seen by mortal man—great almond-shaped flints, the size and form of his own hand—a sight to make the hunter and warrior’s heart beat fast with wonder at their great size and beautiful finish. The treasure of Moustier was priceless and beyond compare.
His first excitement having passed, Pic devoted himself to a more detailed inspection of the flints. They were all very much alike—great hand-axes; pointed and edged on one end; blunt on the other to accommodate the grip of the hand. They differed little from each other, in size, form, manner of chipping and even the material from which theywere made. All bore the same evidence of retouch—the tiny chipping which made the margins so straight and keen. In them was none of the rude flaking and that, only on one side as characterized the wavy, irregular edges of Mousterian blades.
Wonderful indeed! Nothing could be more wonderful; but strange to say Pic turned from them and gazed wistfully at the sky. He sighed. The treasure of Moustier was incomparable with anything in all the world; but its owner now found himself a victim of baffled hope and bitter disappointment.
Why? Simply because they taught him nothing. A knowledge of the art itself and not the finished product was what he sought.
“How were they made?” had been and yet was the question uppermost in his mind; but on this point, the cold lustrous flints remained pitilessly silent. Pic was undisputed master of the treasure; but as far as the manner of its making was concerned, he knew no more now than he did before.
Pic continued gazing wistfully at the sky. He was thinking of former days; of his search for the Terrace Man which had availed him nothing; of the treasure which after repeated failure, he had now so unexpectedly discovered. The latter pertained to that which he sought above all things—a knowledge of the art whereby men formerly retouched their hammered flakes. But the flints themselves taught him nothing. The knowledge which had seemed almost within his grasp, had now slipped as it were, through his fingers, leaving him as far from his goal as ever. He picked up one of the blades with his left hand.
“This work was not done entirely with the hammer-stone” he reflected bitterly. “Some other means was used to strike off these tiny chips. What it was, I would give my life to know.”
He was about to lay the flint down with its fellows when his eyes fell upon the piece of bone lying upon the rock where he had placed it. Strange, that such a trifling object should intrude itself upon him at this moment. He picked it up and examined it.
The bone was polished and notched on one end. It was strangely hard and heavy. The notched end in particular seemed most peculiar. Pic regarded it curiously.
“That mark was not made by a lion’s tooth,” he reasoned. “The bone has been neither roughly scratched nor chewed, nor would the brute’s tongue have smoothed it down so nicely.”
His thoughts were now centered upon the bone fragment. He had forgotten the flints entirely.
The bone was in his right hand; the blade which he had been examining, still remained in his left. More by accident than design, he set the notched end of the bone against one edge of the flint and pressed strongly downward. A tiny chip flew off. More astounding things may have happened in the world but not to the Ape Boy of Moustier. A look of bewilderment spread over his face. He pressed again with the same result.