After allowing Wulli ample time to decoy the hyenas a safe distance from their stronghold, Pic left the Mammoth to his own devices and set about to carry out his portion of the programme.
He reached the foot of the slope, ascended part way and paused. No dark forms appeared to mock him with their hideous laughter; so he went on until he reached the cave. No sound issued from within; only foul odors which in themselves were enough to repel any less determined invader than he. The hyenas were gone and now he had the place all to himself. So far, so good; he stepped inside.
The darkness was almost impenetrable so he was obliged to depend upon his sense of touch, groping about the floor with his hands and feet. Bones, bones, everywhere; but no stone. He searched about the entrance, then along the side-walls and finally the rear of the cave, carefully covering every inch of space; but without success. He repeated this performance; going over the ground a second time with the utmost care. Failure again; the stone[228] was nowhere to be found nor the treasure which must be lying beneath it.
Pic’s patience was ebbing fast. He had begun this adventure in high spirits but as his quest yet remained barren of results, he grew fearful that it must soon end in total failure.
“My father would not have lied to me,” he strove to reassure himself. “Perhaps the stone has been accidentally removed. The treasure if it lies buried here, must be somewhere near the entrance.”
This last thought aroused his fading hopes and he resumed his search along new lines, chopping the dirt floor with his ax until not a spot near the cave-mouth remained untouched. His efforts were of no avail. Neither stone nor treasure came to light. This was the wrong cave.
Nothing remained to be done but leave and rejoin the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. It suddenly occurred to him that it was high time he was so doing. Night was drawing to a close and the hyenas would soon return. He stepped to the cave-mouth, then as quickly stepped back again at sight of some animals coming up the valley. His foot encountered an obstacle. His ax flew from his hand and he fell heavily upon its upturned edge.
A sharp pain shot through the rear of his thigh where the keen flint had inflicted a deep gash. He[229] was up again in a moment, clutching the wound with one hand to stop the flow of blood. His injury although painful was not disabling. The hyenas were returning and it was necessary—for his own safety—that he be not caught intruding in their den.
He descended the slope with all possible haste, leaving a trail of blood-stains on the rocks behind him. He arrived at the foot of the slope none too soon. The hyenas were but a few paces distant. They came on growling and sniffing the air. Pic raised his ax and prepared to defend himself; whereupon they held back and showed no intention of proceeding further.
Pic retreated a step; the hyenas followed. He took several more steps and the foul beasts kept pace with him; halting when he halted; advancing as he retreated, threatening but ever hesitating to close in. None of them showed any interest in the cave. Not one climbed up the slope. It might be time to go home; but they were hungry. They smelled blood in the air and on the ground. Pic’s wound was not a dangerous one, but it gave promise; the odor of blood was alluring and so the hyenas followed. The Rhinoceros had proven a grievous disappointment; but now the scent of an injured man filled them with renewed hope.
Pic’s position was becoming decidedly unpleasant.[230] He was being hounded by a pack of ferocious brutes who dared not attack him openly but who were prepared to take advantage of any opportunity offered them. He made off up the valley and the hyenas trailed behind at a respectful distance.
Their uncanny attention and particularly their persistence filled him with growing alarm. He was beginning to feel weary and faint; but to lie down; to lose his senses even for a few moments, meant death. His enemies were now gradually closing in; behind and on both sides. If they kept on, he would soon be completely surrounded. He must seek refuge among the rocks, in a cave or some place where he could defend himself without danger of attack from the rear. He scanned the cliffs—and there before him loomed a great rock which thrust its rugged flanks far into the valley. His heart quickened with renewed hope. It was the Rock of Moustier.
“Once I reach the grotto, I can make a stand against these beasts,” he encouraged himself; “unless”—and his spirits fell again like lead—“the Lion is there.”
However he must take his chance on that score. Things could not long continue as they were. A night of fruitless tramping up and down the valley was rapidly driving his enemies to desperation.[231] Hyenas might be patient but even their patience could not forever endure the protests of empty stomachs. They quickened their pace and pressed on more closely. Some of them grew bold enough to walk ahead of him on either side.
The party drew up before the base of Moustier. Pic took a deep breath, grit his teeth and began the ascent. The hyenas hesitated, then followed after him. As he neared the middle terrace and came within sight of the grotto, he paused. For him, this was the turning-point—a situation fraught with fearful consequence. If the Lion were at home, he was lost—caught between two fires and hopelessly overmatched; but if the cave were unoccupied, he could make his stand in the entrance and fight off those who trailed behind him. All depended upon whether the grotto was or was not now occupied by its fierce tenant.
While he hesitated, one of his trackers, a huge beast with a ghoul-grinning face, lunged forward and snapped at his wounded limb, so closely that Pic felt the brute’s hot fetid breath. He turned like a flash just as the hyena sprang upon him a second time. A quick swing-back; and the blade of Ach Eul descended in a wide arc with all the power of arm and shoulder behind it. A terrible howl and the brute fell crashing down the slope with half of the flint buried in his skull. The other half and[232] handle yet remained in Pic’s grasp; but the blade of Ach Eul was lost forever—shattered, destroyed by the violence of the blow.
Its owner gazed at the broken ax in dismay. He stood defenceless—armed only with a flimsy stick. Discarding his now useless weapon, he seized a jagged rock and raised it above his head, just as the other hyenas turned tail and scrambled down the steep slope after their stricken comrade. In a few moments, Pic heard them growling and snarling horribly as they fought and struggled over the dead body. Then sounded the ripping and tearing of flesh, followed by a more subdued clatter as of snapping and slopping jaws.
Pic was left alone. Below him, his enemies were devouring the one of their n............