For moments which seemed hours, Pic remained silent, staring at the ground; and in those few moments, his remembrance of past events drifted slowly back; his alliance with the Mammoth and Rhinoceros, his travels and adventures with those wonderful beasts and the various incidents leading up to his mishap in the Giant’s stronghold.

He had been very ill, his mind a blank and his body all but consumed by wasting fever. Now he was on the mend, his brain cleared; but the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were gone—forever.

“You spoke of the Mammoth and Rhinoceros.” The Giant was regarding him with amazement. “Those two are animals, not men. No man has animals for his friends. You do not remember. Your head is not yet well.”

“You are mistaken,” Pic replied with an earnestness that impressed the other deeply. “All is well here;” he pointed to his forehead. “I have been very ill, I know. Once I remembered nothing; but now everything is clear. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros were my friends,—the best I ever had—but[158] now they have gone away; where, nobody knows.”

The Giant gulped. Never had he heard the like. Here was a man who chose to debase himself by associating with inferior creatures and was not ashamed to confess it. Preposterous! He found it difficult to hold his temper.

“What matters it if a mammoth and rhinoceros are friends or not?” he growled. “But any man who chooses to associate with them is no better than they—a beast.”

“But I am alone,” said Pic. “That is why I chose the Mammoth and Rhinoceros——”

“Quite right. Men cannot live alone either,” the Giant interrupted. “It destroys something here;” he touched a finger to his forehead—“Return to your own people before it is too late.”

“But I am an outcast, a renegade from my tribe and am not permitted to return,” said Pic, sobered by the other’s earnestness. “I was lonely. I met the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. They were wonderful creatures. We had many adventures. They saved my life and I saved theirs. Men never did as well for each other. I will give up my friends for no man.”

A low rumble sounded in the distance. The Giant looked up with a start and stared across the gorge—at a mass of dark clouds slowly rising[159] above the horizon. His eyes shone with a strange light. He shivered and trembled like a frightened child. Pic began to understand. The Giant was afraid of the thunder-clouds. All men feared thunder and lightning.

“It makes him nervous and ill-tempered,” thought Pic. “When the clouds pass, he will be himself again.”

Suddenly the Giant sprang to his feet and glanced behind him, listening attentively and sniffing as animals do when they strive to catch the scent. His club lay on the cave floor. With the stealth of a panther, he glided to the weapon, seized it and edged nearer to the rear wall. Pic waited in breathless suspense. He could now barely discern the Giant’s dark figure standing with bludgeon held across his shoulders as though awaiting the attack of some unknown enemy.

All was as quiet as death. While Pic looked on, scarcely daring to breathe, he heard a faint scratching sound. It came from the rear wall, low and muffled as though originating in the heart of the rock. Gradually it grew louder, more distinct and with it, the labored breathing of some living thing. The Giant must have heard the sounds but he made no sign, only stood like a stone image with weapon held ready—and waiting. Pic raised his ax and kept his eyes and ears open for something which[160] might break the spell and explain the scene before him.

Suddenly a loud scuffling sounded from the darkness; a fearful snarling and growling and a gaunt, shaggy figure bounded to the entrance. The bludgeon descended with a crash and a great wolf fell sprawling on the ledge. Like a flash, the Giant dropped his club and dashed upon the struggling brute. It snapped and snarled horribly as he seized it by the scruff of the neck with his bare hands. In a twinkle the wretch was raised aloft like a kitten. One mighty heave; and it whirled high into space, then descended with a splash into the river below.

“A wonderful toss,” muttered Pic as the brute went spinning aloft; and he gazed in awe upon the Giant who now stood watching him with arms folded across his broad chest.

“Cave-wolf?” asked Pic. It seemed an absurd question, but he could think of nothing else to say.

“Ugh; a cave-wolf,” growled the other. “I heard him coming and was prepared to strike. Thus I kill all who intrude in my cave.” He glared at Pic so savagely, the youth shrank back alarmed; and yet his fear failed to silence the question that arose involuntarily to his lips:

“The wolf came from the cave. How did he get in?”

Without replying the Giant abruptly left the[161] cave and began to ascend the cliffs where, on one side of the cave-mouth, the steep wall was broken by corners and crevices. This was the Giant’s stairway, his means of ascending from the grotto to the plateau above.

Pic followed and looked on while his surly host clambered up the rock-ladder and disappeared over the top. Once alone, he squatted upon the cave threshold to think over the recent happenings and make his plans.

“I will leave with the next sunrise,” he determined; and as he made this decision, he remembered the Giant’s warning: “Return to your people before it is too late.” He felt lonely and now that the Mammoth and Rhinoceros were gone he longed for a glimpse of his home on the Rock of Moustier. “Perhaps you and your people have misunderstood each other,” a low voice within him said; but the truth was he felt homesick and now longed for human companionship. The Giant’s latest mood inspired his mistrust. In his weakened condition, Pic fully realized his own helplessness, even when armed with his wonderful flint-ax, the blade of Ach Eul.

As he looked upon it, he felt that it had brought him nothing but trouble. His search had ended in failure. True, he had at last found a Terrace Man, only to learn that the latter knew nothing of what[162] he sought—the art of retouching hammered flakes. That art would never again see the light and with that hope gone, his ambition was gone with it. His efforts at flint-making would end now and for all time. He would return to his people—to be a hunter and warrior and live as a man should. The finger of scorn would no longer point at him, the Ape Boy—the little beast without a tail, hiding in a man’s skin. He would be known as Pic, leader of men, enemy of beasts; the Mammoth and Woolly Rhinoceros alone excepted. He glowed, he smiled; for on the morrow he would be on his way—back to his people and the Valley of the Vézère.

A dull, rumbling noise overhead disturbed Pic’s reverie. He looked up startled and saw that the sky had become heavily overcast. Black, threatening clouds were slowly closing the last gap of blue in the southwest quarter. He arose to his feet and entered the cave to find refuge from the storm-clouds that threatened at any moment to pour down their wrath upon his head.

The rumbling sounded again. It was as though some savage beast were growling in the sky. Pic peered into the darkness of the cavern. The wolf had sprung from there—from where? Pic had never examined the cave interior. His whole interest had been in sunshine and fresh air. But the wolf had come from it and others might do the same.[163] For some unknown reason, the Giant had resented any questioning on the subject. The mystery could be investigated during his absence—now.

After a moment’s wait to accustom his eyes to the darkness, Pic groped his way to the rear wall. As his hands glided along the clammy rock, it suddenly sank into empty space; a large hole partly covered with a limestone slab and large enough to admit a man’s head and shoulders. He was about to examine further when he heard a low scraping noise—rustling—as of something moving in the heart of t............