Kutnar, Son of Pic. George Langford
slopes to where he had first entered the water. Here the trail was lost and for a time the fierce beasts were at fault running up and down near the water’s edge and occasionally stopping to look across the river; but finally all waded in and the flotilla of heads came sailing across the stream. Gonch stood motionless in the water awaiting them, holding his ax in his jaws and with a stone snatched from the river bottom, held in either hand. As the pack came within throwing range, they were greeted with a volley of stones, one following another as fast as Gonch could pluck them from the river-bed. This was more than his assailants had bargained for. Many of the missiles reached their marks and the howls changed to yelps of pain. The wolves of the mountain slopes were a poor lot compared with their giant cousins, the Cave and Timber variety, or the Muskman would probably have been obliged to finally decide the issue at close quarters with the flint-ax. However, in the present circumstances, this proved unnecessary. His enemies, although having stomach for food, had little for fighting and were only too glad to swim back the way they had come as soon as they found themselves getting the worst of it.
Gonch and the Wolves
Finding himself in no further immediate danger, Gonch climbed the bank, recovered his spear and hide and then resumed his journey. Near the eastern terminus of the Cantabrians, a region of rocks and ravines, he was obliged to pass through the lion country. This was by far the most difficult and most dangerous portion of his journey. It would appear that the good fortune he had experienced thus far was about to desert him, for just when he needed his wits and strength most, an attack of mountain influenza sapped his vitality and almost destroyed his power of scent. He strove to continue but finding the task too great while the malady was upon him, he climbed to the loftiest and most inaccessible rocks he could find, there to lie in his hide-wrappings in a torment of pain and burning fever.
For two long nights and days, he lay there while great shaggy lions glided in and out among the rocks and underbrush, snarling and growling and frequently emitting thunderous roars, for in some way it had become known to them that a puny Trog-man had dared intrude upon their domains. During the second night of his sickness, Gonch’s fever left him and he became conscious of what was going on about him. Above his head was the dark blue sky and a full moon flooding the country with its jejune light. Below him, the rocks cast deep shadows one upon another. Then appeared other shadows which moved to the accompaniment of low snuffling growls and he discerned four figures crawling at the foot of the very rocks among whose tops he lay hidden. Even one lion would have found Gonch easy prey, but here were four with many others no doubt not far distant.
Fortunately none of the animals ascended to where the Muskman had taken refuge. Perhaps his scent had grown cold or perhaps his trackers felt a certain timidity about rushing too blindly upon one whose very boldness suggested unknown power to defend himself. When the daylight came, they went away, thus enabling the Muskman to drag himself down to where a tiny stream of water spouted from the rocks. He cooled his parched lips and aching head and this gave him strength enough to kill a rabbit by the well-aimed blow of a stone pitched by his hand. The food gave him further strength and after climbing back to his nest and securing a refreshing sleep, he was enabled to proceed upon his way.
He encountered lions and panthers before he reached the level country but he managed to escape them all. He survived hunger and cold. Storm, torrent, avalanche; all swept above and around him leaving him unscathed. It now seemed as though some kind fate had chosen to watch over this evil man; evil because he had never known good and whose bold purpose would never have been undertaken had it not promised to result in his own selfish advancement. He arrived safely at the western terminus of the Pyrenees mountains and avoided the difficulties of their passage by deviating northward to the shores of the Gascon Gulf then eastward once more into the lowlands of southwestern France. This latter was a soggy region watered by many creeks and larger streams whose origin might have been traced to the northern slopes of the Pyrenees. Gonch had a hard time of it getting past all this; wading, swimming and dragging his mud-laden feet through bogs and sloughs. After crossing the Garonne River, the worst of his journey was over, for between it and the Dordogne, lay much of his favorite rugged country; broad table-lands, cliffs and ravines, frequently broken by dense brakes and groups of forest trees. When finally the Dordogne River was passed, he adopted extra precautions and took more pains to conceal himself, for now all signs pointed to the proximity of human beings.
A mile or more upstream from where he had crossed the Dordogne, the river was joined by one of its northern tributaries, the Vézère. The latter meandered through a deep rock-channel with stately cliff’s and fertile meadows alternating along its banks. The cliffs in many places extended almost to the river margin; in others, they lay far back. The valley between them was but a wide ditch cut through a limestone plateau with a river winding through it from side to side. “A river winds through a broad valley between walls of stone”; Gonch suddenly recalled the stranger’s words. He glowed with the excitement of discovery and gazed eagerly at the distant cliffs which as much as said:
“This is man’s country; probably the home of him you have come to see.” Soon he observed a faint haze ascending above the rocks and so he proceeded in that direction, following the right bank of the Vézère or rather the border of the plateau which overlooked it. Finally his nose caught whiffs of smoke and he saw white wreaths ascending above the cliffs ahead of him. Throwing himself flat on his chest and stomach, he wriggled his way to the edge of the plateau and peered over.
To his disappointment, he saw nothing, for the rock-wall leaned outward and he could only guess what might be beneath. However, there was a deep rift in the plateau. It was near at hand and led down almost to the valley, so he dropped into that and made his way to the outlet. From there, twenty feet above the ground crouching low so as to escape being seen, he had a clear view of what was transpiring in the valley below.
III
The overhanging cliff was a rock-shelter and a score or more men were sitting around a fire at its base. The fire presented a most cheering aspect. Gonch could almost feel its warmth and taste the burning flesh whose inviting aroma now filled his nostrils. Neither fire nor cooked meat had been his portion for a long time. The men of the rock-shelter were enjoying themselves thoroughly, talking and making strange faces at one another. Hyenas and wolves laughed when engaged in unusual acts of cruelty. Gonch had often done likewise but in his grimaces was none of the good-feeling that lighted the features of those he now saw. They were hunters gathered about the fire and searing the flesh of the game they had recently killed; all strong fine-looking young men, warming and enjoying themselves. Each man’s weapons lay close beside him upon the ground. The Muskman’s eyes sparkled as he espied the lustrous flint gleaming from every long shaft and handle. “I have reached my goal at last,” he chuckled softly. “This is the domain of the Mammoth Man.”
One of the band now detached himself from his fellows and descended the river bank to drink. He was a young man, an unusually young one to be consorting with hunters and warriors. He was on hands and knees bending over the water when something stirred in the bushes above him. Some beast lay concealed close to where the young man or boy was slaking his thirst. Gradually its head and back rose above the green foliage, as a large panther preparing to spring.
The big cat was in the very act of launching itself upon the lad when a loud yell made it pause. The next moment, a man with uplifted ax bounded down the rock-wall and dashed upon the beast. A terrific commotion ensued as the cave-men seized their weapons and leaped to their feet shouting and yelling. They saw the newcomer charge into the bushes. A giant cat’s head and shoulders rose up to meet him and in a jiffy, man and panther were struggling to the death.
The stranger struck one blow. He could not determine its effect nor strike a second, for the beast was upon him. A dozen warriors rushed to his aid. Something crashed down upon his head and when he came to, he was lying upon the ground while somebody wiped his face with a bunch of leaves. The leaves were wet and red. Men’s faces were