Once clear of the Rock-shelter and its sleeping inmates, Pic cast about him for the best route to complete his escape. The meadows lay before him to the north and east—broad and free of all obstacles; therefore the easiest way. He started toward them but as he emerged from the cliff shadows and stood a conspicuous object in the brilliant moonlight, he stopped.

“They will soon learn of my escape,” he thought. “I can be seen and followed across the meadow.” No, the easiest route was not the best. He glanced up at the cliff behind him. It could be scaled—by such as he. The plateau with its rocks and underbrush was a labyrinth where he could hide with little fear of being discovered. At the worst, his pursuers would be obliged to separate into groups of two or three to ferret him out and he could then deal with them separately. Even a dozen half-starved men would find him no easy prey, armed as he was with the blade of Ach Eul.

He retraced his steps to the shadow of the rock-wall and glided along its base to a point where the[193] cliff arose almost straight upward and without overhang. Here he climbed. At such work, Pic excelled. His flexible hands and feet took advantage of every break in the limestone to anchor him firmly while he pulled himself upwards with his muscular arms and shoulders. He was a human fly crawling up an almost perpendicular wall. A single slip of hand or feet, even a mis-shift of balance, would have sent him crashing to the ground below. A stone dislodged and tumbling noisily down would have betrayed him in an instant. But his head was clear, his heart strong and his iron muscles stood him in good stead. With jaws clenched on the haft of his ax, he forged steadily upward without a mishap and reached the summit.

In a moment, he had scrambled to safety and was peering over the edge to learn what might be going on in the camp below. No sound nor movement there gave indication that his flight was known. He turned away and made off through the underbrush until he was beyond sight or hearing of the cliffs and therefore reasonably secure. His enemies might now awake and follow, for all he cared. Merely to make certain, he continued his way leisurely for some distance, then mounted a rock-pulpit which afforded him a commanding view of the surrounding country. Here he lay down to secure a few moments rest.

[194]

It seemed as though he had no more than closed his eyes and drifted into dreamland when he awoke. A faint glow in the eastern sky showed that day was breaking and that the night had reached its close. In the distance from whence he had come, sounded a faint hum—a low, almost inaudible droning as of angry bees. It might be the cries of wild beasts; but the sound came from the direction of the Ferrassie shelter.

Pic yawned, stretched his limbs and chuckled softly to himself. Yes, the Cave-men were wide awake now. They must know by this time that their captive had made his escape. Little good would such knowledge do them. It was amusing to consider that they were probably dashing over the meadows, never dreaming that their prisoner had chosen so cleverly to throw them off the scent.

He was safe. His enemies must find other means to break their fast. There were other means, he suddenly remembered. His blood chilled at the thought. The old hag had threatened and the time had come when she might make her threat good. If the prisoner escaped, his jailer would be held responsible and be compelled to take his place. Pic’s forehead wrinkled in perplexity. Cave-men were not cannibals by nature but they must eat the food nearest their hands or starve. A young woman’s flesh was far preferable to that of a muscular man.[195] The more Pic considered the matter, the more dissatisfaction he felt with his own present security. His enemies would waste little time pursuing him, as long as his hostage remained in their power. The girl was theirs and would answer the purpose even better than he. It was all very disconcerting, this turn of affairs, just when he was congratulating himself that he had managed so well. He paced up and down among the rocks like a caged lion, biting his lips and beating his hands together.

The girl would be killed and eaten by her people, simply because she had permitted him to escape and herself remain behind. She alone could take his place in the morning’s festivities. This last notion was the one which so disturbed his peace of mind; and yet he rebelled at the very idea. Why should this girl cause him so much concern, simply because she had prolonged his useless life at the expense of her own?

“Ugh,” he growled. “She must either starve or be eaten and have to die in either case, so why not let her perish and save the others, just as she has saved me.”

In spite of this apparently sound logic, Pic failed to convince himself of its justice. Then, too, the girl had smiled upon him, he suddenly remembered. It was but the faintest glimmer of a friendly greeting—but she had smiled.

[196]

With a yell that could have been heard for miles, he leaped down from the rock-pulpit and went bounding off through brake and thicket, over rock and fallen tree, with the speed of the wind. The sharp rocks and thorns tore his limbs, the vines and branches overhead bruised his head and shoulders; but he heeded none of them. As he sped over the rock-strewn plateau, the one thought in his mind was: would he reach the Ferrassie shelter before it was too late? Dazed, bleeding and so exhausted he could hardly stand, at last he burst into the open and halted on the edge of the cliff overlooking the meadow and Mousterian camp below.

The Cave-folk were all gathered about the butcher-block. Kneeling before it, with head bent low, was a slim figure, the sight of which together with the dark form of a man standing over her with upraised ax, made Pic’s blood run cold.

Putting hands to his mouth, he uttered a piercing cry that carried clear and strong to the group below. All looked up quickly and saw him as he stood outlined against the blue sky. A chorus of wild, unearthly yells arose:

“The Ape Boy; there he stands! Death to him!” And high and shrill above the tumult, rang out the screams of the old hag:

“After him, every one of you if you would live[197] to see the next sunrise. Seize and bring him to the block.”

The Cave-men answered with savage yells and raced to the cliff. In a moment they were swarming upward like a pack of famine-maddened wolves. They held their weapons between closed jaws, leaving their limbs free to cling and climb. High above them, Pic leaned over the edge with arms held out imploringly.

“Faster, faster, clumsy dolts,” he urged the panting men. “Will you lag or must I throw down your next meal upon your heads?”

All paused amazed. They had expected him to turn and flee or at least make some effort to defend himself. He surprised them by doing neither. He had chosen his fate and was prepared to die as he had lived—with a smile upon his lips; and then a strange thing happened.

While Pic was watching the Cave-men swarming up the cliff, he failed to observe a figure approaching from behind him—a four-legged animal with shaggy hide and short, curling horns. This creature was glaring at the man. Its feet were pawing the ground. The shouts and cries infuriated it. They sounded like a challenge to battle.

The animal was a wisent or bison, a lov............