George Langford

The days passed. They grew into weeks, months, and meanwhile the Rock of Moustier remained bare and deserted. The visits of the Mammoth and Rhinoceros grew less and less frequent until finally they ceased altogether. Apparently the Ape Bay had left his home never to return.

It was the Irish Elk who one day came dashing up to inform Hairi and Wulli of his narrow escape from a pack of cave-beasts who had sprung out upon him as he journeyed through the hill country. They were gathered in front of a grotto. A man was standing in the entrance fighting them off with a stone tied to a stick. He was standing behind a pile of something which gave off thick white clouds. The mention of white clouds set the Mammoth and Rhinoceros to thinking. They knew of but one who fought that way. As they glanced at each other, the same thought was in the minds of both.

“Whenever you are ready,” said Wulli and so off they went. The hill country lay to the east. It was after a long walk that, at a signal from the Mammoth, both stopped to listen. In the distance sounded a confused babel of howls and roars.

“Cave-beasts,” muttered Hairi and they moved on again. The sounds grew louder and more distinct—barks and roars of beasts among which a peculiar hoarse cry could be plainly heard. A hill rose up before them. A path wound and disappeared around its base. The two friends followed this and on rounding the hill, were confronted by a remarkable scene.

The path led to a grotto in the hillside. In front of the grotto, tiny smoke-wreaths arose from a fire’s last smouldering embers. Behind the heap of ashes, crouched a man almost in the cave-entrance, whirling a flint-ax above his head and shouting at the top of his lungs. Before him glided Grun Waugh, the Hyena and other beasts of prey awaiting their chance to spring. The Cave Man’s fierce attitude alone held them at bay, now that they had lost all fear of the rapidly fading fire. His manner was no less animal-like than that of the savage beasts gathered about him. His bared teeth, blazing eyes and furious howls were enough to make even the Cave Lion hold back dismayed. Deprived of the protection of his fast-dying fire, he raged and tore in such wild frenzy that none dared rush in and grapple with a creature so furious and desperate.

For an instant, the Mammoth and Rhinoceros looked on dismayed by the terrible sight. But there was no mistaking that squat, powerful frame nor the face even when distorted by fiendish rage. The mad fury was their former acquaintance, Pic the Ape Boy of Moustier.

It took the two friends but a moment to see how matters stood. The Ape Boy was in trouble—fighting for his life and in great need of their assistance. Side by side, they bore down upon the group; not in a blind charge but grimly determined and keeping close watch as they advanced.

The Hyena was the first to observe their approach. Skulking behind the others as was his custom and interested only in seeing that his line of retreat was kept open, he espied the oncoming pair and gave the alarm. With a howl of terror, he dashed off in the opposite direction and thus gave warning to his companions.

The Cave Beasts faced about like a flash. In their blind rage at finding themselves interfered with, matters looked dark for a moment. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros came grimly on, shoulder to shoulder like a pair of trained gladiators. Except for the Hyena now rapidly disappearing, the Cave Beasts, in their turn held firm.

But Hairi and Wulli were not to be denied. They meant business; not the wild hit-or-miss variety but the plain step-up-and-have-it-out kind. Even Grun Waugh found himself unequal to such a cold-blooded way of doing things. He stepped back. This was the signal for a general retirement. His companions abandoned their attack upon the Ape Boy and retreated along the hillside, followed by the Lion who never ceased snarling with baffled hate at being thus forced to give ground. At last with a parting screech he turned tail and crawled rapidly away after his more timid companions. As he disappeared in the thicket, Hairi called a halt:

“Enough; we may fall into an ambush and spoil all.”

So the pair turned back to the Ape Boy who was staring at them almost overcome with astonishment.

“Whoow!—where did you come from?” he finally managed to stammer.

“We came to see what all the noise meant,” Hairi replied. “Oomp! It is well for you, we did.”

“You arrived at just the right time,” said Pic. “A little later and you would have found Grun Waugh gnawing my bones.”

“Why did you leave us on the Rock without saying a word?” Hairi grumbled. “You have given us much worry and trouble.”

Pic at Sha Pell

“He was vexed with Grun Waugh,” Wulli now put in. “Grun Waugh called him an Ape Boy—a little tree-beast without a tail, hiding in a man’s skin.”

For an instant, Pic glared at the Rhinoceros, then replied scornfully:

“Agh-h! I know now what the name means. None but enemies would so speak of me. But not because of that did I leave the Rock. It was to help him of whom the Hyena spoke—an old man living alone, sick and blind, in the grotto of Sha Pell. Cave-men will have none of a leader grown old and feeble. This one, their chief, was cast out to die. He came here and then—I came too. He was very sick. I took care of him. Then the Cave Beasts set upon us and I dared not leave him alone to hunt food and water and gather wood for my fire. This man is my father——”

“Father?—Good!” the Mammoth grunted approvingly. “Friends should ever help each other. But are you sure he was your father? I cannot see how you remembered him. I could not have done it. Perhaps I never had a father. Had you, Wulli?”

The Rhinoceros cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at the ground.

“Father? Oo-wee! I do not remember that I ever had one. I would not know him even if I saw him.”

“But I know mine,” said Pic. “He was my good friend too or I would never have come here to help him.”

“Where is he now?” asked Hairi gazing up and down the hillside.

“In the cave,” said Pic. “None of us can help him now. He is dying.”

Hairi and Wulli stepped to the grotto’s mouth and peered in. For a moment, they could see nothing; but as their eyes became adjusted to the darkness, they made out the form of a man stretched full length upon the floor. A pile of dried grass and leaves supported the head. A tattered fragment of bear-skin partly enveloped the body. The figure was that of an old man aged by disease and the nearness of death. His eyes were closed. Breath came and went in feeble irregular gasps. The wide-open mouth was burned and parched with wasting fever. Although reduced almost to a skeleton, the short, broad frame showed traces of a once gigantic strength. The protruding face, chinless jaws, eyes buried beneath heavy brows which merged into the low sloping forehead, were the same as those of the youth now bending over him.

“You see he is too sick to help himself,” Pic explained. “Once he was the best hunter and warrior in our whole band. But the sickness came upon him and when he was dying, his people—my people—drove him away. I kept the Cave Beasts from him but that was all I could do.”

His two hearers gazed intently into the sufferer’s face. They said nothing, only stared; too awed by the strange scene to speak a single word.

The whole group was like a strange bit of sculpture:—the grotto and its dying occupant; the Ape Boy crouched over the sick man; the two great brutes standing by awed and attentive; every figure motionless and rigid as though cast in bronze.

For a time, all was still and the Cave Man’s feeble gasps could be heard above the low breathing of the three silent spectators. Then the wasted chest heaved and the sick man slowly opened one eye. As it looked upon the Ape Boy’s face, a flash of color lighted the ghastly features and he strove to raise his head. An arm encircled his shoulders, and helped him to rise. He opened his mouth to speak; but the effort was too much and he sank back exhausted.

The Ape Boy’s body was now thrust between him and the light.

“Stand back,” Pic whispered to his companions. “He must not see you. He would be displeased to know that you are with me here.”

Hairi and Wulli retreated several paces. Both obeyed silently and without protest, for reasons they could not understand.

Slowly the blood returned to the sick man’s pallid face. Once more his one good eye opened and gazed at his son. As he struggled to rise, the latter’s powerful arm helped him into a sitting posture.

“I knew it,” the Cave Man muttered. “My boy is no traitor; friend of beasts, enemy of men. You fought the flesh-eaters—for your sick old father. I saw—and you fought well.”

These last words were spoken in a scarcely audible whisper—a last outpouring of fast-failing strength. But with his expiring breath, the dying man’s will-power thrust aside, for a moment, the hand of death and summoned strength for words too weighty to be borne unspoken to the grave.

“Listen,” he gasped. “I am not ungrateful. The treasure—it is yours. High on the mountain side—buried in the cave floor—near the entrance,—beneath a stone.” The voice became stilled, the eyes closed and the body fell back heavily. The Ape Boy bent low with one ear against the shrivelled chest. Eyes and mouth remained staring, wide-open, but the heart beats were stilled forever. Death had finally come to free the Cave Man from his sufferings.