Part 9

“That may strike back if you do not,” something within warned him and he raised his ax once more, only to lose heart when it came to actually dealing the finishing stroke. “He will surely perish of cold if nothing else,” he said finally. “The night will soon come and none can find him before morning.”

That settled it. By morning, Kutnar would be well on his way and among the mountains; then he need worry no more about the Muskman, be he dead or alive.

He left his fallen enemy lying among the bushes, took one more longing look at the broad eastern path and then fled rapidly in the southern direction along the line of the River Pas.

XXI

Gonch was not dead although a few moments more of Kutnar’s throttling grip would have made him so beyond question. Some men are hard to kill. Gonch was of that kind. Even as he lay, to all appearances, stiff and stark, the life-blaze flickered feebly, gathered fresh strength and flared up. His chest heaved, he uttered a deep sigh, then groaned and opened his eyes.

For a moment he was dazed by the position in which he found himself. He lay sprawling in the snow among the bushes, staring at the sky. Far in the distance, he could see the peak of Castillo. The sun setting behind the mountain-top, crowned it with a rubescent halo. The day was nearing its close.

Gonch gnashed his teeth with terrible rage as he remembered why it was he lay there. He, warrior and second man of the Castillan tribe, had been bested by a boy. His humiliation was beyond power to describe. His hate and fury were even worse. He would have given his last drop of life-blood for a chance to grapple again with Kutnar but this opportunity was denied him, for the lad was gone.

Gonch recovered by degrees. He lifted his head and shoulders, supporting himself in a couchant position upon his elbows. There he rested for a time gathering renewed vigor from the fresh air with which he now filled his lungs. He raised himself to a sitting position. The wind sweeping down upon him from the northeast was biting cold. He shivered. “I will surely die if I stay here much longer,” he thought as he observed the sky’s fading light. He must get back to Castillo somehow and it must be done soon, before sundown. The cave-men might find him, true enough but not before morning. By that time he would be frozen solid and past mentioning. He could almost feel the rending teeth as his mates ripped the flesh from his bones. “Not that—not that!” he whined in an agony of terror. The fear of being eaten gave him strength. He grit his teeth in desperation and was soon crawling through the snow on his hands and knees toward the distant mountain.

It was black dark and the cave-men were snoring out their sleep when the night fire watcher heard cries coming from far down the mountain side. He listened and recognized them as those of a human being, so he went down and found the Muskman crawling upward his laborious way. With the man’s aid, Gonch was brought to the top where he fell exhausted beside the fire. This aroused some of the sleepers and they issued from the cave-entrance to learn what was the matter. At sight of their distressed comrade, they made so much ado that soon the whole tribe was wide awake and stirring. The giant hetman came forth and prodded Gonch with his foot. “You are late,” he grumbled and then looked all about him. “Where is the boy? He went with you. Where is he now?”

“Gone,” the Muskman moaned feebly.

“Gone?” Totan observed his henchman’s torn throat. He howled vindictively as the truth dawned upon him. “And your ax; it too seems to have disappeared. Did boy and ax go together?”

It was in Gonch’s mind to tell a falsehood ascribing his condition to the fury of some fierce beast, but he was too exhausted to think of aught but Kutnar’s escape and the necessity for immediate pursuit. “Yes,” he groaned. “The boy struck me down and escaped. He must be followed and brought back.”

The hetman scowled and grinned with cruel malice. “In good time,” he sneered. “He who allows himself to be mauled by a boy, may not give commands. We are not bats to fly around in the darkness and bump our heads to no purpose. The boy will not have gone far. At the first sign of light, we will feast and be on our way to find him.”

“Feast?” inquired one of the men. “On what?”

“This,” replied the hetman digging his toes into Gonch’s ribs. “He promised to bring us the Mammoth Man and failed. He has lost us our most expert hunter. Empty boasts are fit only to fill empty stomachs. Tell me, hungry men, what is the penalty?”

“Death,” growled a voice.

“Death,” echoed from four-score pairs of lungs, and there ensued a great rattling of clubs. The hetman stilled the tumult with a wave of his hand.

“Tut, tut,” he protested good-naturedly. “The poltroon is all but dead now. In the morning, I will give you a rare treat—fresh meat with the blood still dripping from it. We will roast him alive.”

Gonch heard and sickened with deadly fear, but he retained wit enough to lie quiet and appear as dead as possible. Totan rolled him over with his foot and peered into his face. The face was that of a corpse. It looked as though the hetman’s little joke would be spoiled long before sunrise. He left the body lying there and returned to the cave-entrance. The others followed and soon all were settled down and asleep once more. Apparently Gonch’s lucky star had set for the last time, then something happened to send it soaring to the zenith with renewed brilliancy.

One man remained by the fire as a sentinel to watch and feed the blaze. Had the Muskman made an effort to escape, this man if wide awake would have noticed it and given the alarm. However, he fell asleep after a time as was evidenced by his attitude and the sound of his loud breathing.

Gonch may have been more dead than alive, but the fear of what morning meant for him was the best tonic in the world for his ailment. Almost imperceptibly inch by inch he shifted his body away from the fire to the coping of the ledge and lowered himself noiselessly down. Once out of sight of wakeful eyes, he crept around the mountain beyond hearing distance of Castillo and climbed upward. No one would expect him to venture in that direction; therefore he chose to perform the unexpected. Up, up he crawled through the darkness, regardless of the pain and weariness his efforts cost him. Time was precious, for the fire-tender might awake at any moment and give the alarm.

Gonch reached the mountain crest and lay gasping amid piles of rubble and jagged boulders. There were plenty of places to hide and as he was nigh fainting with exhaustion, he chose the remotest recess available and secured himself snugly within it. In a few moments he was sound asleep.

XXII

After disposing of Gonch, Kutnar fled as fast as he could along the Pas. Near the west shore of the river, the ice would bear his weight and so he kept to that in preference to the high bank where his footprints in the snow might be plainly seen. The ice left little or no trail.

He had beaten the Muskman in a fair hand-to-hand combat. The whole pack would soon be after him and yet he felt not at all afraid. Rather his sensations were those of buoyant self-reliance. He had vanquished a full-grown and seasoned warrior; something of an accomplishment for a sixteen year old lad. Such a feat gave him confidence in himself. Kutnar was not yet fully trained to the flint-ax; the sling was his weapon. A stern chase would afford him plenty of chance to use it. He had slain the young Castillan throwing champion with it and might repeat the performance if pressed too closely.

He was free. “Why did I not think to run away before?” he wondered, not realizing that a marked change had come over him and made him in many respects a man.

All this time he was hurrying southward along the Pas. The mountain of Castillo still hovered upon his right flank. He ran abreast of its southern exposure and had turned his head as though to look upon it for the last time before he sped onward, when he caught sight of a dark spot high upon its side. The spot was a cave.

Kutnar stopped and gazed thoughtfully at this cave. It was but a short distance from Castillo and on the same mountain. Its proximity to the stronghold of his enemies was what made him view it with such interest. Who would think of looking for him there? Surely not Totan and his band. They would expect the runaway to flee from them much farther than that. What a lark! His enemies would search far and wide while he whom they sought lay hidden almost within sight of their own haunt. Then, too, he was jaded and needed rest. His previous night had been spent fire-tending and he had passed a strenuous day. All of these considerations tempted him. He left the river and turned to the distant slope treading only on bare ground and stones where possible, so as to leave no snow-tracks. After a long hard climb, he reached his goal and found only a bitter disappointment awaiting him. It was not a real cave but a grotto or shallow nook scooped from the rock. He could see every inch of the interior as he stood at the entrance but no living thing was there. As a hiding place, it had no possibilities. Kutnar now observed a hole in its floor. “A fox’s den,” he thought. “I am glad that the place is of use to someone.” He kneeled over the hole and peered in. A draught of air blew in his face. He coughed and the sound was repeated in a distant echo. This was both surprising and interesting. The hole was barely large enough to admit his body but there might be a larger cavity beneath. Not a fox’s den nor the home of any animal; he learned this by sniffing carefully about the cavity. Where did it lead? He put his feet in the hole and slid half-way in. It was a tube of solid rock. He could feel its sides with his toes but no bottom. He lowered himself further until head and all were in and still he found no place to set his feet. He let himself down another yard and it was just the same. “There must be an end sometime,” he thought as he continued to work his way downward. The descent was a simple matter, for the tube now jogged slightly this way and that, making it easy for him to cling to its sides with his hands and feet. The air was warmer than that outside; although humid and musty, it could be breathed.

The tube began to widen. The slight noise made by his feet sliding over the rock, sounded loud and distinct. The passage gradually angled more to the horizontal. It widened still more and the boy was able to turn and glance behind him. All was dark but in some places the shadows were darker than others. Kutnar heard squeaks and the flapping of bat wings. Evidently the passage-way opened into a large room.

By this time, Kutnar felt keenly elated over his discovery. As a hiding place, the grotto offered great possibilities after all; not the grotto itself but the subterranean vault whose only means of access was the stone tube. The casual observer who could see every corner of the shallow cave, would not think of looking for a cavity beneath. Kutnar decided to stay in the vault for a time to hide and rest. There was the hole in the floor of the grotto however and it would be well to conceal that or someone might learn of the underground room as he had done. He crawled back through the tube the way he had come and stood once more in the open air.

It was now quite dark; the deep twilight preceding dusk, for night had settled over the mountain while Kutnar was exploring the cavity and where it led. There were many rocks piled below the cave-threshold and he hunted about until he found one of the right shape and size. He tried this over the vent and it fitted nicely, effectively concealing the opening in the floor. Anyone standing at the threshold would now gaze upon a bare interior; bare of aught but a single stone.

“Ha-a-a, yum!” Kutnar yawned loudly and stretched his limbs. Now that the day’s excitement was over and he had time for relaxation, a wave of drowsiness swept over him. He would sleep in the grotto, trusting to his sixth or slumber guarding sense to warn him of imminent danger. As a last resort, he could lower his body into the tube, set the stone above his head and hide as long as he pleased in the vault beneath.

He was preparing to lie down upon the floor of the grotto when he heard something that brought him to his feet in quick time. He tiptoed to the threshold and saw a dark figure ascending the slope. The figure was coming toward him. It moved in an erect position but it seemed too large and clumsy to be a man. It came nearer and although but an ebon patch on a sable background, Kutnar recognized it as a bear and a large one. What brought the creature there? Either the grotto was its permanent home or it was seeking merely a night’s lodging. Kutnar could not now safely vacate the premises, even had he chosen to do so. He tiptoed back to the grotto and moved the stone aside from the cavity, then lowered his body down, holding the stone in both hands high above his head as he descended. Arms and hands sank from sight and the stone settled over the hole. To all appearances, the grotto was now vacant.

Kutnar continued his downward journey until he reached the large room. Here he sat listening but could hear no sounds to indicate what might be transpiring above. Had the bear come and gone or was he now lying upon the floor of the grotto making ready to sleep? Kutnar thought it unnecessary for him to go up and find out. There was his own night’s rest to consider, so he lay down and pillowed his head upon his arm. He fell asleep without knowing when but awoke sooner than he would have wished because of the damp mustiness which oppressed his lungs. Fresh air, that was what he wanted, so he sought the passage-way and wriggled through it as noiselessly as a snake. On arriving at the top, he sought and found the stone and thrust it aside, inch by inch. After staying there for some time with his face as close to the opening as he dared, refreshing himself with deep breaths of outside air, he reset the stone and returned to finish his nap. He repeated this performance several times, not without considerable risk, for the bear was asleep in the cave-entrance as he knew from the sound of its breathing. “Even a cave-beast and a man can get along together sleeping in the same den,” he chuckled as he made his fourth upward trip. As he neared the outlet of the tube, he saw faint rays of light and knew that morning was near at hand. When he had moved the stone partly aside, he set his ear at the opening but heard no sounds. It would seem that his visitor had awakened and taken his leave. However, there was only one way to be sure of this. That was to see it with his own eyes. Slowly, noiselessly he shifted the stone farther and farther away until the opening was entirely clear, then his head arose almost imperceptibly through the tube and above the level of the cave-floor, giving him a view of the entrance and the grey world beyond.

XXIII

The valley of the Ebro may have been perfectly satisfactory to the Mammoth and Rhinoceros but as regards climate, it did not suit Pic, for he possessed no hide garment to cover his nakedness. Winter was in full swing and the cold wind so chilled his body that he was driven to descend from the Mammoth’s neck and walk to keep warm. Pic was not a fast walker and the snowdrifts made it worse. It was an unfortunate situation for it reduced very considerably the distance which the trio might have traveled in a day. Then more snow fell and the drifts became so deep that Pic could scarcely make any progress at all. It was not surprising that he tired rapidly and was soon compelled to remount the Mammoth’s neck. This rested him and enabled the party to proceed at a fast gait but it was not long before the cold wind whistling about his ears, drove him to the ground again. There, as before, he floundered through the drifts and soon exhausted himself. All the time, he scolded and fretted because he and his associates were not making more progress. Hairi and Wulli considered his irritation uncalled for. It was his fault not theirs that they failed to do better. “You ought to grow more hair,” grumbled the Mammoth and this made Pic so peevish, he would not speak to his friends for a time. The two animals in their turn, now became moody and irritable. Taken altogether they and Pic were not getting along very well and felt all the more vexed with each other for that very reason.

Then came a gale sweeping down upon them from the west to make matters worse. The wind blew clouds of fine snow-dust into their faces, lodging and accumulating there until the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were disguised in great white masks. This did not bother them in the least. Having no vanity as to their personal appearance and being warmly clad, they felt quite cozy and comfortable.

Pic’s case was different. The storm multiplied his worry and discomfort. The wind numbed his body. He was almost smothered and blinded by the fine sleet which drove into his mouth and eyes. Once more he slid down from the Mammoth’s neck and labored forward on foot. Finally he stopped. “I can go no farther,” he said. “Without warmth and rest, I will die. I fear that you must leave me.”

Both animals halted. The situation had grown acute. “Die? Leave you?” said the Mammoth. “We will wait while you warm and rest yourself.”

Pic made a wry face. “More easily said than done. Even a hare would find no shelter here.”

“But the mountains,” Hairi suggested. “There must be a hole in them somewhere.”

Up to this time, the party had seen no caves. Pic would have spent every night in one, were there caves to be had. So far he had not noticed one; and many miles had by this time been traveled along the southern flank of the Cantabrian range. Hairi was right. Lucky for Pic, his good-fortune had not entirely deserted him, for as he looked toward the mountain through the blinding snow-dust, he saw a dark spot high upon its side. One glimpse was enough; the dark spot was a cave and he joyfully made known the news to his companions.

All smiled once more. It was agreed that their onward march would be halted temporarily, giving Pic a chance to take refuge in the cave and rest until the storm was over. Meanwhile, the two animals would wait in the lee of a rock-shelter which could be seen a half mile or so beyond the cave. When the weather cleared, Pic would rejoin his friends and they would continue as before. With this understanding, they separated. Pic made for the mountain side, while Hairi and Wulli moved off toward the rock-shelter.

Pic climbed up to the cave, but before intruding he made a careful preliminary inspection. Possession was nine points of law in such cases; the tenth point was getting possession. “Cave-jumping” was an offense meriting capital punishment. There could be no mercy shown one who attempted to deprive another of his home. This applied to men’s dealings with beasts as well as with each other. Men and beasts both fancied the same sort of dwelling, and in the winter time particularly there was constant rivalry between them for the possession of desirable caves. Some were more desirable than others, being furnished with more than one entrance or having advantages of plumbing and ventilation; such as cool drinking water trickling through the ceiling, or openings in the roof to permit the escape of smoke and foul air. Most of them had thresholds or sun-rooms, where the tenant might loll outside and enjoy natural light and warmth. Neither man nor flesh-eating beasts knew how to build houses, and so they made use of the best that Nature gave them.

Pic knew he had no business in that cave if some one were already there, but his needs were great and he intended to occupy it no matter who disputed him. He stepped boldly within.

Although vacant, the place did not lack an owner. It bore a pungent animal odor and that odor was fairly fresh. The occupant had been there recently and gone away. “Probably I will have gone away, too, by the time he returns,” thought Pic. The storm was already abating and it would not be long before he could resume his journey. Before selecting a comfortable spot to lie down and rest, he set about to learn what variety of animal he might have to deal with, should it return. His nose informed him that the odor was not that of a lion or any other cat-like animal. That was good, for they were his most formidable enemies. Wolf or hyena? No; then it must be a bear. Yes, it was a bear! Now his anxiety was relieved. Such animals varied greatly in size and fierceness, but most of them were comparatively harmless if let alone.

Pic lay down in the cave-entrance where wind and sleet could not reach him and laughed at the storm outside. He could see the broad snow-covered expanse of country below him. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros had disappeared. A large boulder hung at the verge of the cave-threshold and obstructed his view in that direction. It also prevented his seeing what might be coming toward him up the mountain side. Not until he heard the crunch, crunch of something breaking through the snow-crust, did he realize that he was about to have a visitor. He sprang to his feet, glided to the boulder and peered over, then dropped behind it again for fear of being observed.

A burly animal was ascending to the cave. It was heavily furred and round like a big ball. A bear; Pic had interpreted the odor rightly, but he had not bargained for one as large as this. It was neither the black nor brown species, but a huge brute that no man, however strong and brave, would care to meddle with—the giant Cave Bear.

The beast came lumbering up the steep mountain side, occasionally stopping to gaze westward. At such times it growled. Probably it had seen the Mammoth and Rhinoceros pass by and decided that its den needed watching.

Pic gripped his ax tightly, for he knew this was an occasion to try any bear’s temper. The one coming toward him appeared big enough to do anything. He would put up a good fight without question, in the defense of his home. The man looked at his ax-blade and shook his head. Even its keen edge would find difficulty in reaching a vital spot through that heavy fur. One blow, possibly two, were all he could expect to deliver before the huge beast would close in. Once those mighty paws were around his body it would go hard with him.

The beast halted directly beneath the boulder behind which the man lay hidden. Should anything disturb that boulder and cause it to fall, so much the worse for Mr. Bear. Pic braced his feet against the projections of the ledge surface behind him and set his shoulders against the stone. One mighty heave loosened it from its setting. The Cave Bear looked up and growled. The motion of the stone and the slight noise above aroused his suspicions. Pic put forth every ounce of his great strength in a second effort. The boulder swayed, then toppled over. The beast saw it coming and made a frantic attempt to save himself. Too late! The huge stone descended upon him with a crash and the two went rolling and tumbling together down the mountain side, with Pic bounding after them, ax in hand, to deal the finishing blow.

But there was no need to complete the damage that the stone had begun. When Pic arrived at the foot of the declivity he found a perfectly dead bear. The crushing weight of the boulder and the long battering journey down the steep incline had made an end of the beast for all time.