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.”
[Illustration: PLUCKED FROM ITS MOTHER’S ARMS AND WHIRLED ALOFT]
Pic heard; and in his eyes glittered a strange light which the Rhinoceros
would not have understood, even had he seen. Wulli erred, otherwise he
would not have been a Rhinoceros. In a moment, Pic had lowered the infant
into its mother’s outstretched arms and was descending to the ground.
“Now you know why I cannot go with you,” he said to the two animals.
“This is my home, my family and the work I like best. But when you
return, here you will find me, not merely after the one change of
season—but always; and always will you be my good friends and welcome.
Here I must stay and although we must part for the time being, it is
farewell until we meet again.”
Hairi made as though to remonstrate but there was something in Pic’s
voice and manner that made him and the Rhinoceros hold their peace
and say no more. He bowed his head and strode to the edge of the
rock-platform, followed closely by his woolly associate. Before beginning
the descent, both turned and looked back to where Pic still stood with
arm pointing up the valley.
“Farewell until we meet again,” three voices murmured in solemn chorus,
and then the two animals carefully descended the slope and set off side
by side across the meadows. The great lumbering strides of the Mammoth
contrasted strangely with the bobbing trot of his smaller companion.
Suddenly as though actuated by a common impulse, both halted and gazed
back long and earnestly at the now distant heights of Moustier.
Two figures, so close together that they resembled one dark speck, stood
outlined against the sky. One of them raised and waved an arm, which from
afar resembled a thin, black thread. A faint cry reached the ears of the
pair below. The Mammoth raised his trunk and trumpeted a shrill response;
then wheeled and resumed his way.
For him and Wulli, life was too filled with the joys of nature to be more
than temporarily disturbed by passing regrets. “Until we meet again” ran
through his brain; for now he knew that the triple alliance remained
unshaken and that time would again see united, the Ape Boy, the Mammoth
and the Woolly Rhinoceros.