Part 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The beast?”

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

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

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

XIII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XIV