Part 4

“I am asleep,” he thought. “What I now see is but a dream.” The Mammoth had by this time freed his front limbs and was resting with his feet and elbows on the pit-edge. Meanwhile the Rhinoceros maintained the tension on his partner’s trunk, hanging on as determinedly as a bull-dog. Having rested, the Mammoth now concentrated every ounce of his strength for the final heave. The Rhinoceros, too, put on more power until his friend’s nose-spout stretched almost to the breaking point.

The Mammoth’s hindquarters slowly emerged from the engulfing slime. The soft ooze slobbered and sighed as the rear pillar limbs drew clear, and the next moment both beasts stood shoulder to shoulder, stamping and snorting with rage.

They sniffed vigorously, but the wind told no tales, for it blew from them—the wrong way. Lucky Gonch! The time had not yet come for him to be impaled upon the horn of a rhinoceros or crushed beneath an elephant’s ponderous feet. The breeze was his friend and the eyesight of his enemies was comparatively poor. He made himself as small as possible and lay motionless behind the stone, entirely unconscious that the grunts and squeals he heard were animal conversation.

“He must have gone away,” said Wulli. “I can neither see nor smell him.”

“To smell him is to know him,” the Mammoth grumbled. “Never have I known a man to bear such an odor.”

“It is that of a hyena,” said the Rhinoceros.

“Let us find and punish him.” The huge Elephant ground his teeth as he said this. Although slow to anger, he could neither forgive nor forget.

Gonch peered cautiously over the stone. The two beasts were walking away side by side.

“A happy ending to an unpleasant dream,” he thought as he watched the pair disappearing behind rocks and trees. He raised himself into a crouching position just as a big-eared head arose with him from the grass, about ten paces distant. It was a maneless head with repulsive features and slopping jaws. It grinned horribly at the man, and yet made no move to attack him. “One would think the beast my friend,” thought Gonch as he stood erect with ax held ready to defend himself.

“A hyena, but never have I seen such a big one. The Mammoth has cheated us both,” he said aloud to the beast. “We must wait and hope for the chance that may come again.”

The Hyena licked his muzzle and leered at the man, then turned and walked slowly away. A sloping back and bushy tail trailed behind the huge head. Such trust in human nature was astounding. The Muskman might have glided stealthily after and slain the brute before it could turn and defend itself. He was standing motionless, watching the gray back melt away in the meadow grass, when he heard sounds in the opposite direction. The bushes waved and crackled, and he made out a human form coming through them and rapidly toward him.

Gonch dropped flat in the grass and lay still. The crackling sounds and he who made them came nearer. The Muskman could now see his face. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. In a moment he was on his feet and advancing to meet the newcomer. It was the boy Kutnar.

IX

At sight of the approaching Muskman, Kutnar shouted a glad “Hi-yo!” and ran forward to meet him.

“You are too young to be traveling about alone,” said Gonch when the pair came together.

The boy pouted. “Do not worry. I can take care of myself.” He now bore an ax in addition to the sling and stone-pouch which he always carried. “I have not been alone long,” he added. “Wulli was with me. He strayed off somewhere, and I was just looking for him.”

“Wulli?”

“Yes, the Woolly Rhinoceros. That is the name we know him by. The Mammoth is Hairi.”

“They both passed me some time ago,” said the Muskman. “They were strolling side by side up the valley.” For obvious reasons he made no mention of the slough and what had occurred there. The part he had played had best be known to nobody but himself.

“Good,” said the boy, much relieved. “I heard squeals and thought that one of them might be in trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Gonch assured him. “They seemed quite happy and contented as they went away together. Strange why they should choose each other for companions. Are the two such good friends?”

“The best of friends,” Kutnar replied. “They would fight and die for each other. Any man or beast who attacks one of them has to fight both. It was the Mammoth who first said, ‘Friends should ever help each other.’ He says it and does it, too; so does the Rhinoceros.”

“Ugh!” Gonch began to feel hot and uncomfortable. It had suddenly occurred to him that Pic would soon learn from his friend the Mammoth of what had happened in the slough. He would not forget to tell of the man who had attacked him when he was unable to defend himself. Soon the whole valley would be in an uproar. Gonch shuddered as he thought of what Pic would do to him, if ever he was caught.

“Your father is much interested in the Hairy Elephant,” said Gonch. “I understand that he permits no one to hunt him. Would the latter go to him if any man were bold enough to harm the beast?”

“Perhaps; perhaps not,” replied the youth. “He and Wulli are sometimes queer about such matters. Like as not they would keep quiet and punish the offender themselves. Wulli in particular is inclined that way. However, you never can tell. Only this morning a rock, the Tilting Stone, fell from the cliff and barely missed destroying both animals. I doubt if my father yet knows of this.”

“And there would be only the rock to punish if he did know of it,” said Gonch.

“Also him who pushed it down,” the boy added.

“How?” the Muskman was in a cold sweat. “Who pushed it down?”

“A hyena,” the lad replied. “At first I thought it was a man.”

Gonch gasped and wiped his forehead. “No, your father does not know of this. I was with him on the Rock only a short time ago, and he made no mention of it. Your father and I have grown to be very fond of one another. Only this morning he was showing me how he made his flints.”

“How he finished them?” asked the lad in surprise.

“Yes, with the little tool. Do you know how it is done?”

“Of course, I do,” was the answer. “My father says that I am to become a weapon maker, and so he has taught me how to do the work. Some day I will do as well as he, so he says.”

“Um-m!” The Muskman’s eyes sparkled with a strange light. He had failed miserably and was a fugitive from Pic’s wrath, but now—the possibilities were unlimited. He might escape and succeed both.

“Wonderful boy,” he muttered. “And so you can make the fine blades with the little finishing tool. How surprising. And now I am about to tell you something. If you were not as good a friend of mine as I am yours, I could not bring myself to say it.”

“Agh, but I am your good friend,” Kutnar answered quickly. “You should tell me everything.”

“And you will not repeat what I say?” Gonch asked. “Your father and I must be very careful. Some one might hear of it.”

“Hear of what?” the boy inquired, now beside himself with curiosity. “I will be silent. Tell me.”

Gonch glanced about him. “Sh!” he said, lowering his voice and assuming an air of deep mystery. “We southrons have a new and better way of finishing the flints.”

“A better way?” the boy stared. “Impossible.”

“No, it is true,” Gonch declared impressively. “Your father agrees with me that our method is the best. I am to get it and bring it to him.”

“Get what?”

“The new finishing tool; cannot you understand?” the Muskman grumbled. “You see, I am grateful because you and your father have been very good to me. I am to live the rest of my life here, helping with the weapon-making. And now I must hurry away to get the finishing tool—the wonderful tool that we make our fine blades with. I will be so lonely, going away without you. That will hasten my return.” He embraced the boy and lingered over him. His whole manner was charged with a pathos that astonished even himself; but his affairs were nearing a crisis and the present occasion called for the best he had in him. Then as he hesitated with his heart-breaking farewell, hoping and praying for the fulfillment of his wishes, his heart suddenly sank. Kutnar’s nostrils had caught the offensive beast odor. He detached himself from the other’s arms and turned away his head.

“Is my best friend offended by the smell of my panther and hyena killing?” Gonch asked in a hurt voice. “Perhaps I did but a poor service when once I saved you from death.”

On being thus reminded of his debt, Kutnar experienced a wave of remorse. He clung tightly to his friend and buried his face in his chest. “Agh, you did well,” he whispered earnestly. “What you have done for me makes the odor sweet. I will not have you leave me alone. We will go together.”

“Would that it were possible. I would be so happy with you as my companion. But, you see, I must hurry. I cannot wait while you prepare yourself for the journey.”

The boy looked scornfully at the Muskman’s equipment, which consisted of nothing but an ax. “I am as much prepared as you are,” he said. “We can both go at once.”

Gonch yielded with seeming reluctance, and so they hurried off together, Gonch chatting and pointing out various things of interest, to divert the lad’s mind and prevent its turning too strongly to home and friends. However, Kutnar needed no encouragement. This was his first long trip away from home, but the thought of new adventures and things to see filled him with delight and anticipation. Deep down within his heart was a subdued feeling that he was playing the part of truant and that his father and friends might not like his sudden leave-taking. But he had a good friend with him, and his father would soon understand that the two of them had gone away together, also why and where they had gone. He wished that he might at least say good-by to the Mammoth and Rhinoceros; but there was no time to do this or to see any one, so he put these matters out of his mind and went his way.

The two traveled the balance of that day and far into the night, for Gonch confided that he was anxious to reach his destination and return before the cold weather set in. After a short rest, they were up with the sun and away again.

Gonch was really anxious to get a good, long start; also he feared that already he was being pursued. He had observed two animals—a large and a smaller one—trailing far in his rear and suspected them to be the Mammoth and Rhinoceros.

To throw them off the track, when he and Kutnar came to a river, instead of swimming directly across, they waded down stream for some distance, then landed and resumed the original direction of their journey.

If the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were really following, this ruse must have succeeded; for although Gonch kept a sharp eye on his line of retreat, he saw no more sign of pursuers. All fear of Pic and his friends now vanished, and his thoughts turned to the southland and the Cavern of Castillo.

X

The next morning found Pic squatting beside his fire before the grotto of Moustier. He was engaged in his usual occupation—weapon-making. It had been over twenty-four hours since he last saw Kutnar, but this gave him no particular cause for worry. The boy went to and fro, spending as much of his time in the valley as he did upon the Rock. He had been known to have absented himself from home several days at a time. “I was even more restless than he at his age,” chuckled Pic. “Probably he is off on some lark,” and so he went on with his flint-working. His entire day was spent alone and the night, too. Nothing to worry about seriously, but when morning came and the boy was still absent, Pic began to feel not altogether at his ease.

He endeavored to resume his work, but, finding that he was striking the flint-flakes everywhere but the right place, he put aside his hammerstone and armed with a flint-ax, descended into the valley.

Here he was met by a party of Mousterian hunters. All welcomed him and showed no small surprise, for rarely did he take part in their activities unless something unusual was afoot. To his question, “The boy Kutnar; where is he?” none could give a satisfactory reply.

“He may have gone somewhere with the Mammoth and Rhinoceros,” one of the hunters suggested.

“Yes, the three of them must be together,” Pic agreed. “The boy is perfectly safe in the company of two such powerful animals,” and, feeling much comforted, he returned to the Rock and resumed his work. And yet, although inwardly rebuking himself for his needless concern, many times that day he put aside his hammerstone and gazed up and down the valley. When night came he retired later than was his custom, and his rest was broken by many wakeful moments, at which times he would arise and seek the cave-threshold, hoping that the boy had returned. Vain hope, for when morning broke, Kutnar was still absent.

Pic strode to and fro upon the ledge, turning his head this way and that like a caged lion. From his elevated position he could see up and down the valley for many miles. The Mammoth, at least, could be seen if he were anywhere near; but, strain his eyes as he would, Pic caught not a single glimpse of the huge and familiar figure. He did no work that morning, for his anxiety had greatly increased, and he made no further effort to conceal it. “I fear that something is wrong,” he said. “Otherwise Kutnar would have returned long before this.”

Once more he descended to the valley and sought news from his men, but there was none to be had, and his worry thereby increased. The cave-men were beginning to gather about by twos and threes, for word had already passed that their chieftain was greatly concerned because of his son’s continued absence. Soon a crowd of them had assembled, but not one man had any information worth giving.

“He might be with the stranger,” suggested itself to Pic. “The two have been much together.” This thought both angered and alarmed him. He scowled as he asked, “Has any one seen Gonch?”

Nobody had seen him for several days. When last observed he was alone and on his way somewhere down the valley.

“The bird has flown,” thought Pic much relieved. “For a moment I thought—but no, the skulker would not have dared. He values his life too highly;” but even though his fears as to Gonch were quieted, he felt it time to set the machinery in motion for a systematic search.

The cave-men were divided into squads, which scattered in all directions, up, down and across the valley, examining every nook and corner as they went. Pic at the head of one of the squads hurried southwestward along the river bank. Before dividing his men, he said: “The man Gonch is a traitor. If you come upon him, kill him,” whereat all stared in surprise, but hastened to do as bidden without asking questions.

Pic and his band hurried downstream along the right bank of the Vézère. The giant flint-worker led the way, running in and out among the rocks and bushes like a hound following a trail. He held his ax in readiness to strike down man or beast as he led the way fearlessly past ledge and thicket, from which hidden enemies might have sprung upon him. His voice thundered commands, and all hastened to obey. The cave-men were amazed by his fierce energy. He was a being transformed; this strange man, of whom it had been said that he would neither hunt nor fight. They reached the confluence of the Vézère and Dordogne rivers. Suddenly Pic uttered a loud shout as two shaggy heads rose above the river bank. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros were emerging from the water after a swim from the opposite bank. They presented a woe-begone and exhausted appearance, as though their entire night had been spent in traveling without food and rest.

As Pic ran forward to meet them, his followers halted at a respectful distance. The two animals shook the river water out of their coats and then told their story.

The Hyena Man, meaning Gonch, had fled, taking Kutnar with him. He had a peculiar and unpleasant odor, which was fortunate, for it had enabled them to follow his trail without much trouble. His scent was so strong that they could not understand how they had lost it, but anyhow, after crossing a river, they had been unable to find it again. A mean trick had been played upon them, they were positive, but, not knowing just what to do next, they had returned for assistance. Both were agreed that the Hyena Man could no longer be trusted. He had tried to kill the Mammoth when the latter was caught fast in the mud. The big elephant had a bump on his forehead to show for it. He felt much aggrieved at such treatment and intended to trample the Hyena Man to death if ever he caught him, but the wretch had escaped, and, to make matters worse, he had taken Kutnar along with him.

That was all, but quite enough. Pic was furious. He raged like a mad bull. The cave-men crowded about him, shouting and brandishing their weapons. But raging and shouting led to nothing; Pic soon realized that much. Gonch had several days’ start; also he knew just where he was going, which the others did not. He had anticipated pursuit by performing the well-known water trick, thereby throwing the Mammoth and Rhinoceros off his track. Pic became deadly calm. His men were of no use to him now. He could kill Gonch without any one’s assistance, but the trouble was to catch him. Speed was what he desired most. Without it, he could never hope to overtake his enemy. Every moment of delay now counted against him. He raised his hands in despair to the Mammoth. “Friends should ever help each other,” he groaned in beast jargon. “Would that I were a bird to fly or a deer to speed over the meadows like the rushing wind. How can I hope to overtake the traitor and save my boy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

XI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Grun Waugh snorted impatiently.

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

“What?” roared Grun Waugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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