The Valley of the VÉzÈre was a storm-shelter, a haven of refuge for all animals. Only since the last full moon, had a message come telling of tremendous climatic changes going on in the northern world. A strange piercing chill was creeping slowly southward by way of the Baltic Valley. It brought news of the advancing ice-fields and of bitter winter soon to come. To everything through whose veins ran warm life-blood, it whispered:

“Make way for the Storm Wind, all ye who run, swim or fly. To the VÉzÈre, ye creatures of mountain, forest and plain. Seek shelter where even the storm wrath may not enter. Woe to ye who neither hear nor heed!”

But all heard and heeded and hastened southward while behind them, across hill and dale, over forest and meadow, colossal mountains of ice glided irresistibly onward. The VÉzÈre welcomed the swarms of fugitives within its sanctuary even as the north wind howled at its gates and all western Europe lay prostrate beneath the shadows of the glaciers.

Wherever peaceable creatures thrive, savage beasts will always be found preying upon them; and, sad to relate, the VÉzÈre Valley—haven of refuge for all animals—had its share of those who continually annoyed the true lovers of peace. The Panther, Lynx and Wolf being the first on the ground, found abundant food—for the easy hunting; so easy, that in time, the fact became known throughout the world.

News travels fast among beast-folk; particularly if it is good news. The flesh-eaters of Africa finally became interested in the glowing accounts of opportunities awaiting them to the north and decided to have a look for themselves.

To reach France, it was necessary for them to cross the Mediterranean Sea or make a long journey around it. However, everything was conveniently arranged for them to make the trip without wetting their feet and that, too, by the shortest possible route.

As it chanced, Sicily and Italy were connected to each other and to Africa, thus forming a land bridge over which those who chose could enter southern Europe. The Lion, Leopard, Hyena and others were not long in crossing. Soon they arrived in France where an unpleasant surprise awaited them. The climate was cold and raw. Ice and snow confronted them at every turn. Being southern animals, they found themselves unprepared for such a change. Were it not for the hunting, every one of them would have turned about and gone back home.

But the hunting was excellent; so they stayed. Game was far more plentiful than reports had led them to believe. That being so, the rest soon took care of itself. Their fur and fuzz thickened to shaggy hair and underwool. Caves and rock-shelters gave further protection against the cold. The newcomers finally threw off all home ties and became full-fledged French citizens with new names: the Cave Lion, Cave Leopard and Cave Hyena.

For a time their frequent raids on the cloven-footed animals passed almost unnoticed. The latter had not yet learned to appreciate their danger. Those who fell victims were too dead to tell of their experiences while others fortunate enough to escape, thanked their lucky stars and thought no more about it. They made no concerted effort to protect themselves; and so, for a time, their enemies did about as they pleased.

Game was so plentiful that the cave-beasts grew careless. They threw off the cloak of secrecy and roamed through the VÉzÈre Valley in the full light of day. In the heavy snow-drifts, the Moo Hooes were at a disadvantage as compared with their enemies whose broad soft feet enabled them to travel swiftly over the frozen crust. Seeing themselves threatened with destruction, the grass-eaters finally gathered together to find some way of protecting or ridding themselves of their fierce enemies. This was the occasion of their meeting with the Mammoth and Rhinoceros.

The Cave Lion, being the strongest and fiercest of the flesh-eaters, was the cloven-footed animals’ most dreaded foe. Every grass-eater in the valley had now learned to fear Grun Waugh above all creatures. As the Bison spoke his name, Hairi and Wulli looked inquiringly at each other. The former heaved a deep sigh and nodded gravely. The eyes of the Rhinoceros glistened and his lips set tightly together in a thin straight line.

“If you will, so do I,” he said to the Mammoth. “Our main task will be to make him stand and fight. He would never dare face both of us.”

“Drive him from his den, if you cannot kill him,” the Bison interrupted. “We do not ask more.” He suspected that Wulli was seeking an excuse to avoid the danger.

“Where is his den?” asked the Rhinoceros. “How can we find him?”

“No trouble about that. His home is high upon the big Rock.” The Bison nodded in the direction of a rugged promontory, the Rock of Moustier which jutted far into the valley, almost to the VÉzÈre River. Its bare walls rose precipitously in limestone layers or ledges piled one upon another, to a broad table-like summit capped with snow. Facing the river, a steep slope composed of crumbled rock, formed the sole means of reaching the upper level from the valley beneath.

“Grun Waugh lives mid-way to the top,” the Bison explained. “The ground slopes up to his den. The den is his home.”

“Let us be off,” urged Wulli. “While we talk and do nothing, the Cave Lion may leave his hole and then we will be hard put to find him.”

To this Hairi agreed after a moment’s thought, so the pair marched off across the snow-covered meadow to the river. On reaching it, Hairi held back for an instant, then took a deep breath and set one foot upon the ice to test its strength. It creaked and trembled. The Mammoth retreated a step, raised his head and looked about him. The Rhinoceros hesitated not a moment but strode on ahead at his best gait. The air was cold, the ice proportionately thick and so he crossed in safety. Not until he reached the other bank and was pausing to catch his breath, did he realize that he was alone. With a surprised snort he turned and looked behind him.

About half-way between the two banks, Hairi was crawling along at a snail’s pace. His eyes never left the ice on which he trod. His footsteps rivalled the Panther’s stealthy tread. Had he been walking a tight-rope he could not have glided onward with more infinite pains.

To the Mammoth who had a healthy horror of mire, ice or any other support that threatened to give way beneath his weight, this was the most terrifying part of the whole adventure. To help matters, he held his breath and kept the fewest possible number of feet on the ice at any one time, all of which required his undivided attention. Meanwhile the Rhinoceros could only stand and stare, even after Hairi’s journey finally ended in a frantic leap to solid ground with half a dozen lumbering hops added to make sure.

“Stir yourself, Wulli,” bellowed a voice. “Why do you stand like a dumb Moo Hoo when there is work to be done?”

The Rhinoceros aroused himself and whirled about, too confused to express his thoughts with fitting words. He trotted behind his friend, sullen and thoughtful; and so in silence they approached the great Rock which thrust itself into the valley from the more distant heights like a rugged outpost placed there to guard the river and lowlands.

“This is the place,” said the Mammoth. “Now we must look around for Grun Waugh.”

“We can look when we get there,” Wulli sniffed and he scrambled boldly up the slope. Hairi followed. No more words were wasted. Their breath was needed for the steep climb. Higher and higher rose their huge bodies until they neared the foot of a more abrupt although short ascent; the middle terrace. This latter was topped by a broad rock-platform which projected from the towering back-wall. A few more steps and the Mammoth’s eyes were above the level of this platform.

“Take care, no noise,” he whispered suddenly. “Grun Waugh is not here. Another has taken his place.”

“Who?”

“Not so loud, I tell you. It is one of the Cave-folk; the kind that has no tail and walks around on its hind legs.”

“Bear?”

“No, no; come and see for yourself.”

The Rhinoceros advanced several steps which brought his eyes above the level of the ledge. He took a long, careful look, then turned to the Mammoth and said in a low voice trembling with disappointment:

“Trog-man; oo-oo-oo! Grun Waugh gone and all we have done goes for nothing. What shall we do?”

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