With the beginning of summer weather, the Mammoth and Rhinoceros forsook the Dordogne region for a cooler climate. Pic had disappeared and they were compelled to leave alone. After a season of aimless wanderings in the North, they returned to their winter quarters in the VÉzÈre Valley, their minds filled with the idea that life minus Pic was incomplete and that they would not go off again without him.

But Pic had vanished and there appeared no clue pointing to where he had gone. Cave-men rarely roamed abroad during the freezing weather but kept to their caves, large numbers of which were to be found in the cliffs which lined the valleys of the VÉzÈre and its tributary streams.

Neither the Mammoth nor Rhinoceros ever entered these dark holes for their own comfort. They cherished a violent dislike for any enclosure suggesting prison walls and therefore, kept in the open country for which—with their weather-proof garments—they were well adapted. But in this particular instance, they made a point of peering into every opening they saw, in order to determine by eye or nostril, what manner of creature was contained therein.

As a rule, the grottoes or shallow caves were occupied by human beings all huddled together, trying to keep warm. The sudden appearance of a mammoth and rhinoceros at the entrances of their dwellings, struck terror in the hearts of the wretched inmates. But the two great beasts were peaceably inclined. Invariably they withdrew as gracefully as possible, after assuring themselves that the one they sought was not among those present. Day after day, week after week, they tramped about through the snow, carefully examining all caves which smelled of smoke—a sign of human occupancy—but none of them harbored their friend, the Ape Boy.

Spring came at last; and still no sign of him. The pair began to feel anxious. They travelled and searched over wide areas of country and meanwhile the slowly rising temperature warned them to begin preparing for a journey to some more congenial climate. “We must soon be departing for the cool country,” said the Mammoth one morning. “It appears as though we would have to leave again without him.”

“We can at least search the valley as we go,” Wulli suggested. “If we fail to find him, we can return and search again before the cool weather sets in.”

So the two cronies proceeded leisurely up the VÉzÈre, examining every nook and cranny as they went. The Cave-men had by this time, abandoned their winter quarters for the rock-shelters and open country. The two animals passed several groups of them but without catching a glimpse of the particular one they sought.

At last the great Rock of Moustier rose before them. They were plodding along its base when the Mammoth came to a sudden halt and glanced above him.

“Here is his old home,” he said. “He may be there now. We can climb up and see.”

The Rhinoceros offered no objections; so the pair ascended to the middle terrace,—not that they expected to find Pic there; but they could take comfort at least in gazing once more upon a spot fraught with so many pleasant associations. Imagine their surprise when as their heads rose to a level with the rock-platform, the first thing they saw was the Ape Boy himself, squatting on the ledge fronting the grotto. He was doing just as he had been doing when the two animals first called upon him—cracking rocks. The ledge was thickly strewn with chips, freshly-broken flakes and lumps of flint. Hairi and Wulli were so overcome by this unexpected sight, they could only stand and stare.

At that moment, Pic glanced up from his work and saw the two heads peeking over the edge of the terrace. His look of sudden surprise changed as quickly to a broad grin which displayed nearly every tooth in his head.

“Where did you two come from?” he asked as the pair clambered up to where he sat. “I have not seen you for a very long time.”

“We are leaving for the cool country,” the Mammoth explained. “You will join us, of course.”

“No, I am not going,” Pic declared. “Why should I? This is my home”; and he pointed to the grotto.

“Not going?” the Mammoth repeated in a hollow voice. “Are we to understand that you refuse to join Wulli and me—your only friends?”

“Agh, it is so,” Pic replied in tones of genuine regret; “But I have much work to do, and—there are other reasons. Things have changed since we were last together. I cannot go with you, nor would I if I could.”

Pic was visibly embarrassed. He kept his eyes on the ground and seemed loth to raise them. Hairi and Wulli looked at each other in amazement. Some strange influence had come over their former companion. His care-free recklessness was gone and he spoke in a way they could not understand.

“It is you who have changed,” said the Mammoth. “Wulli, I, everything else is the same as it has always been. Every hair on my body is as it was; not one more nor less.”

Pic glanced up quickly.

“Well said,” he replied. “I have changed and you have not. Agh, you cannot understand. No longer do I have idle moments. All of my time must now be given to making weapons.”

“What are your other reasons?” asked Wulli. “I do not think much of the first one.”

Pic looked thoughtfully at the pair, then turned and glanced behind him. Then without replying, he arose and strode to the grotto. He disappeared within, but in a moment came out again with a bundle in his arms—a small bundle wrapped in a badger-skin. He bore it with the greatest care, lifting his feet high to avoid stumbling on the uneven rock-floor. Several steps carefully chosen and he stood directly beneath the giant Mammoth’s head.

Hairi and Wulli watched these strange actions in silence. Their attention was centered on the mysterious parcel which Pic carried. It was a round object covered with fuzz, but there appeared to be more of it beneath the badger-hide. The two animals eyed it curiously while Pic looked on, his mouth gradually expanding in a broad grin at their puzzled expressions.

“Is it a pine-cone?” the Mammoth asked.

“Agh! you see only part of it,” Pic chuckled, as he threw back a fold of the badger-skin; “And alive too. Speak softly or you will awaken it.”

“Alive? Then it must be an animal,” the Mammoth whispered; “And something new. I never saw one like it before.”

“Where did you get it?” Wulli asked.

“I have had it for some time,” Pic replied. “You surely must know what it is.”

Both animals took a long, careful look.

“Did it come from this part of the country?” Hairi inquired.

Pic nodded and smiled.

“Wood-chuck.” The Mammoth made this announcement after a moment of deep reflection.

“Not enough hair,” said Wulli. “It is a boar—a young one.”

“A young one did you say?” inquired Pic.

“Yes, a young boar.”

“Bah!” Pic scowled and bit his lips angrily.

The Rhinoceros shrank back at being thus rebuked. He felt cheap.

“This is a man-child,” snapped Pic, unable to hold his patience a moment longer. “Some day it will grow to be big and strong like me.”

For a moment, Hairi and Wulli were overwhelmed by this astounding bit of news.

“I believe he is right,” the Mammoth whispered to his partner. “Who would have thought of such a thing? Where did you get this—er calf?” he asked Pic.

“Child, you mean,” the latter sternly corrected. “It belongs to me. It is mine.”

“We will not dispute that,” snorted Wulli. “You have it and you may keep it. But where did you get it.”

Pic seemed bewildered for a moment, then chuckled gleefully; “I am its father. You two talk and act as though you had no sense at all.”

The Mammoth breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“And so this is what is holding you back. I feared it was something serious. Let the poor little thing go and come along with us.”

Pic frowned. “No,” he replied. “I would not leave it alone. It would starve to death.”

Hairi pondered. He was not heartless. Young animals soon learned to take care of themselves as far as he knew; however this might be an exceptional case.

“Bring it with you,” he said. “I have no objections. Have you, Wulli?”

The Rhinoceros nodded his approval, after due reflection.

“It will soon be able to run around and look after itself,” he sniffed. “What an odd little thing! Does it ever make a noise or show that it is alive?”

At that moment, the infant yawned and began turning its head this way and that with mouth all puckered up. Hairi and Wulli shuffled closer and held their breaths. The small creature’s forehead wrinkled. It was preparing to exercise its lungs. At these signs of approaching storm, Pic looked anxiously towards the grotto. “It is hungry,” he said.

The infant’s features relaxed at sound of his voice. The deep-set eyes opened. They caught sight of the Mammoth’s gleaming tusks. The eyes opened wider and stared in childish wonder. A tiny hand thrust itself from beneath the badger-skin. It reached upwards towards the giant head; and then—the baby smiled. Hairi trembled from head to foot. In the face of such assurance, he was at a loss how to act.

“What is it doing?” he asked in an awed whisper.

“Your tusks; they please him,” the proud father answered. “He wants to play with them.”

The great Mammoth became deeply impressed. Small animals were usually afraid of him. The idea of playing with such a tiny mite, was most amusing. He lowered his trunk and curled its flexible tip coyly about the baby’s arm—a touch so gentle that it would not have ruffled a beetle’s wing.

As Pic saw his child in the Mammoth’s grasp, he involuntarily shrank back. Hairi released his hold, whereupon the infant raised both arms and squalled loudly. Its fun was spoiled.

“What a queer noise,” the Rhinoceros sniffed. “It yells just like a bobcat.”

At the sound of his voice, the youngster ceased bawling and turned upon him with open mouth and staring eyes. The latter centered themselves upon the shining horn which stood upright on the Rhino’s nose. As Wulli became conscious of the publicity centered upon his own person, he coughed nervously and strove to assume an air of indifference. The big eyes continued to stare. The Rhinoceros smirked, lowered his eyes to the ground and pretended to be deeply absorbed in the movements of a small bug which was scurrying across the rock beneath his chin.

At that moment, a new actor appeared upon the scene—a woman, coming from a cleft in the rock. She wore a short skirt of deer-skin. A clam-shell dangled from a rawhide cord about her neck. At sight of the Mammoth and Rhinoceros, she uttered a cry of fear and retreated a few steps but as she espied Pic with the infant in his arms, she bounded forward again and bared her teeth at the two now thoroughly surprised animals.

“Who is that?” asked Hairi.

“The mother,” Pic replied. “The baby belongs to her.”

“Oo-wee! You said it was yours,” the Rhinoceros sternly corrected. “Which is right?”

“Both. It is hers and mine too. I am the father; she is the mother. We both own it.”

Pic turned to his mate. “These were—are still my friends,” he explained. “Once they saved me from the Cave Lion just as you saved me from the butcher-block.”

But the mother merely stared and made no reply.

“You must understand,” cried Pic, “they are animals—the Mammoth and Rhinoceros—but my friends, your friends, once the best I ever had; and now they must be yours as they are mine. As for the little one, they would not touch a hair of his head.” He stopped and grinned, then handed her the infant and stepped beneath the Mammoth’s mighty chest.

“Quick,” he whispered, “your foreleg; help me to mount your neck.” At this almost forgotten command, Hairi uttered a joyous bellow and assisted his rider to his accustomed seat. For a moment Pic’s face lay buried in the matted locks crowning the great head-peak. One hand stole downward and patted the Mammoth’s cheek.

“Good old friend,” he said in a low voice. “The child; give it to me, and as you would be gentle with me, use tenderly that which is mine.” Then as the woman gazed upward with mingled feelings of awe and fear at the great Mammoth head and its rider, Hairi’s trunk reached forward and curled about the infant like a python’s fold. In a twinkle, the child was plucked from its mother’s arms and whirled aloft. With a loud cry, the poor woman fell upon her knees with face in the dirt as though to shut out the terrible sight; but when she raised her head—lo and behold!—she saw naught of fearful things, merely the faces of her two treasures beaming upon her from on high. The infant was kicking and crowing with delight and Pic’s grin threatened to engulf his own ears.

Thus assured, the anxious mother gained hope and courage and smiled weakly in response. A radiant warmth of joyous understanding swept over the little gathering.

“Why not all of us go away just as we are?” Hairi suggested. “The Trog-woman can ride on Wulli’s neck.”

“You are wasting breath,” snorted the Rhinoceros. “He has chosen his home and will not leave it until once more the cold winds come. When the woman has strayed away and the calf has learned to shift for itself, he will join us; but not now.”

Plucked From Its Mother’s Arms and Whirled Aloft