Gonch acquired more experience of the Mammoth Man’s peculiar whims,
other than his friendship for the Hairy Mammoth and Woolly Rhinoceros.
He gained this when he and Kutnar went down into the valley together and
mingled with the Mousterian cave-men. The game laws or ban on needless
slaughter of which Pic had spoken, Gonch had hitherto considered as the
fancy of a disordered mind. Now to his astonishment, he found them not
only a reality but scrupulously observed by one and all, although he saw
no sign of the authority that enforced them. The Mousterians killed no
more than sufficient for their wants and what they did kill was used to
the best advantage. Nothing was wasted. The flesh served as food and the
hides were set aside to be used as clothing during the cold season. Even
the limb bones were split open for the juicy marrow they contained.
It was a strange community, this valley of the Vézère; too peaceful to
suit Gonch. The cave-men themselves rarely fought or killed each other.
Naturally this put a premium on human flesh, another drawback from the
Muskman’s point of view; and he blamed it all on the mad Mammoth Man who
should have attended strictly to his flint-working instead of imbuing the
whole community with his crazy notions.
Gonch learned something more that surprised him and this concerned
Kutnar. The latter spent most of his time with the men, an unusual
proceeding, for boys were usually left with the women when the men went
forth on hunting or other expeditions. Kutnar, however, seemed to enjoy
special privileges. He was a strong, active lad, but a boy nevertheless
and Gonch marvelled that men would tolerate his taking part in their
affairs. It must be that as son of the master flint-worker, he was an
extraordinarily privileged youth. Then, too, he went about unarmed; so it
appeared, for he bore nothing but his pouch of pebbles and the rawhide
thong wound about his waist. The hunters were walking across the meadow
when a hare sprang up beneath their feet, bounded away several rods and
then sat bolt upright. At a signal from the leader of the band, all
stopped. The man beckoned to Kutnar. “Your turn now,” and then as the boy
came forward, all stood at attention, apparently much interested in what
was about to happen.
While Gonch looked curiously on, wondering what new and strange spectacle
was to be presented, Kutnar unwound the thong from his waist and held
it dangling with the two ends in his right hand. Taking a pebble from
his pouch he set it in the rawhide’s hanging fold; then with a whispered
“Stand clear” he whirled thong and pebble several times about his
shoulders and let fly. So swiftly sped the stone that no eye could follow
it. Gonch could not observe that anything in particular had happened
until one of the hunters ran forward and picked up the hare, no longer
sitting upright but kicking its last upon the green meadow grass.
“A chance shot,” thought Gonch who by this time had arrived at some
understanding of this new method of stone-throwing. Nevertheless the
sling was a novelty and the lad had displayed much skill in its use.
Gonch went closer to examine it. Stones were usually hurled from the hand
or by a throwing-stick, never from a strip of hide.
“Fling-string,” he muttered scornfully. “It was a lucky cast. The stone
might fly anywhere except to the mark meant for it.”
But Gonch was mistaken. What Kutnar had done, he could do again, not once
but many times. Half a dozen more hares and several rabbits fell before
his unerring aim and then the hunters returned homeward with their bag,
for the game-laws applied to all animals, small as well as large and
what they or rather Kutnar had killed was sufficient for their immediate
needs. On the way back, Gonch’s opinion of Kutnar and his sling had
undergone a profound change. It was a boy’s weapon but one which a grown
man could respect. The youth’s skill with it was beyond the stretch of
one’s imagination. “The lad is a marvel,” thought Gonch. “He has killed
enough food for a dozen men,” and he had a wholesome respect after that,
not only for the fling-string as he called it, but the arm and eye that
could send the pebble so straight and swiftly to its mark.
But the most amazing thing of all, he was to discover when he found how
intimate Kutnar was with the friendly Mammoth and Rhinoceros. He heard
Kutnar one day jabbering away to the two, apparently in response to their
squeals and grunts.
“Why do you make those noises?” asked Gonch.
“Wulli and Hairi don’t know the man-language but I know theirs. My father
taught it to me and we can understand each other perfectly,” explained
the boy.
The two animals were quite at home in the valley, for the Mousterian
hunters left them severely alone. It was evident that men and beasts had
arrived at some understanding. They were a strange pair, were the two
beasts, grand surviving relics of an ancient order of things. The Mammoth
was a giant nearly ten feet tall from sole to shoulder hump. He wore a
long-haired overcoat underlain by closely packed wool. The Rhinoceros
was similarly clad. In the matter of clothing they much resembled each
other, also both of them were arctic animals, sometimes called Tundr-folk
because of their homes in the bleak unforested tundras of northern Russia
and Siberia.
Pic the Weapon Maker was usually to be found squatting upon the
cave-threshold, making tools and weapons from the flint his people
brought to him. They also brought food and other necessities and
received finished flint weapons in exchange. Gonch looked upon this
manner of trading as a remarkable arrangement. He could almost see Pic
sitting apart from the other men, on the threshold of Castillo, making
and handing out superb blades while lines of hunters ascended the
mountain side, all laden with freshly-killed game. Totan did not figure
in this day dream, for he had been disposed of and Gonch himself had
taken his place. It was a beautifully drawn picture, all woven about the
Mousterian flint-worker but it contained one jarring note, which dream as
he would, the Muskman could not obliterate. Pic in repose was an angel;
aroused, a demon. That terrible face and the iron grip upon his wrist
were things that Gonch could not forget, try as he would. “We can tie
him up when he has his crazy fits,” he thought and although this seemed
a good way of remedying the difficulty, it did not drive away the dark
cloud entirely.
Gonch saw much of Pic’s weapon-making, but spy as he would, he could not
catch him working with that little tool he had partially observed when
lying by the fire during the occasion of his first visit to Moustier.
Whenever his guest appeared, Pic put away his tool and worked entirely
with the hammerstone, changing to ones of smaller size and less weight
during the progress of the work from the hewn blank to the semi-finished
flake. His skill with the stone-maul was uncanny. Gonch marvelled at
the deft strokes, forever varying in force and direction but each one
striking just right to remove each chip from its place and properly shape
the blade. But none of the weapons he saw made, ever quite reached the
completed stage. Pic jealously guarded the retouching tool from Gonch’s
sight and scheme as the latter would, he could not catch a glimpse of it.
Gonch felt that he was losing rather than gaining ground with the Mammoth
Man. He realized the importance of winning the latter’s confidence and of
being in a position to offer inducements before he could hope to arrange
the long journey to the southland. And so he flattered his host, joked
with him and painted pictures of Castillo in glowing colors; to all of
which Pic would say: “If these things are so, why do you, a southron,
leave them and come here?” or else he would hold his peace and appear
more interested in his flint-hammering than in what the Muskman was
descanting; and finally when he scowled and glared at his guest, Gonch
knew it was time to take himself off.
It was after one of these parleys when he had gone down into the valley,
with bitterness in his heart against all the world in general and the
Mammoth Man in particular, that he scaled the cliffs to the plateau above
in order to be alone and scheme anew. When he reached the upper level,
he snarled angrily for the plateau was as flat and smooth as a board.
Several hundred yards distant, a huge boulder rested at the very edge
of the cliff, so Gonch went to that and sat down with his back to it,
safe from spying and interruption. It trembled as he touched it; a huge
stone of many tons weight and yet it moved with the mere touch of his
shoulders. It had been long since any man dared to go near this eerie
boulder which rocked with the wind. Some said that a giant flesh-eating
beast had long been sealed within it and that it struggled to escape
when the wind blew. So they gave it a wide berth but Gonch, having
neither seen nor heard of it before, considered it a mere rock. Here
was a good place to seclude himself and so he crouched with his back to
it and to the valley below him. He tried to think and plan but with his
slightest motion, the boulder teetered from side to side. It was most
disconcerting; the stone seemed bewitched. He scrambled to his feet and
walked around it wondering how a mere rock could have gotten itself into
such a peculiar predicament.
Nothing but an ordinary stone; of that he soon assured himself. It was so
evenly balanced that he might tip it over and send it crashing down the
cliffs if he chose. He was about to resume his former seat behind it when
he heard sounds in the valley below. He poked his head over the cliff
coping, then as quickly withdrew it to avoid being seen.
Two animals were plodding along the foot of the cliffs. Soon they would
pass directly beneath the man crouching above their heads; also they
would pass beneath the Tilting Stone.
Gonch got upon his hands and knees growling softly like a tiger awaiting
its prey. He had recognized the two animals at a glance. They were the
Mammoth and Woolly Rhinoceros. This was the chance of a lifetime. He a
lone man might slay one or both beasts by the mere touch of his hand.
“There are none here to see,” something within him said. “Who will deny
that the rock simply fell? Who can say what caused it to fall? Be a man
and vent your spite on this mad flint-worker.” He growled softly once
more, set his shoulders against the stone and waited.
The thumping of feet sounded almost beneath the Tilting Stone. Gonch
listened intently, timing himself for the fateful moment. The beasts
were walking fast as he could hear but it was not given him to know that
the sounds took time travelling from the foot of the cliffs to where he
crouched. The moment had arrived. He gave one mighty shove. The stone
lost its balance—almost too slowly—then gathering momentum, went tumbling
over the cliff. For an instant, Gonch stood outlined against the sky,
then a shrill cry rang out below and he jumped back just as the boulder
struck bottom with a tremendous crash. He heard squeals and bellows but
he dared not look to see, for that voice—the cry of a human being, had
terrified him. Away he bolted across the plateau and from the cliffs as
fast as his legs would carry him.
[Illustration: THE FALL OF THE TILTING STONE]
Down in the valley, the boy Kutnar was running toward the fallen boulder,
shouting “Hi—yo!” and waving his arms at the Mammoth and Rhinoceros who
were galloping away in a great fright because of the falling stone that
had crashed to the ground so closely behind them. They heard someone
shouting and recognized Kutnar’s voice, so they slowed up and looked
back. All was now quiet and finally by much arm-waving, the lad induced
his two friends to return. This they did very slowly and carefully, not
feeling entirely convinced that all danger had passed. Kutnar was perched
astride of the great boulder that had so nearly destroyed them. He spoke
in the strange tongue that Hairi and Wulli so well knew.
“I saw it falling,” he said as they came up. “I shouted to warn you.”
The snorts, squeals and grunts with which the two animals answered
would have meant nothing to an ordinary man; but Kutnar had no trouble
understanding them.
“A narrow escape,” sighed the Mammoth who was trembling from head to
foot. “It is but a stone but it fell. What caused it to fall? It might
have killed us.”
“It would certainly have killed us, had it dropped upon our backs,” said
the Rhinoceros solemnly. “Never was I so startled. I nearly jumped over
my nose-horn.”
“And I, over my tusks,” the Mammoth added.
Kutnar laughed. “Yes you both jumped like rabbits”; then he looked up
at the cliffs and his face became serious. “The stone did not fall of
itself,” he said, half to himself. “Someone pushed it over. I saw——”
“Someone pushed it?” inquired the Mammoth. He looked thoughtfully at the
great boulder and shivered. It had been a nerve-racking experience. He
hoped he would never have another like it.
“Yes, someone pushed it,” Kutnar repeated.
“Who?”
“I do not know. I saw him but an instant; then he jumped back.”
“It must have been the Cave Lion,” the Mammoth suggested. “He hates us
and only a strong animal could have moved such a big rock.”
“No, it was not the Cave Lion.” Kutnar became silent as he watched the
Rhinoceros who was now sniffing the stone vigorously. Finally Wulli’s
nose settled on one spot and here he made a most thorough investigation.
When this was concluded to his satisfaction, he raised his head and gazed
triumphantly, first at one then the other of his companions.
“I know,” he squealed. “I found where he touched it. My nose never lies.
I know.”
“Who was it?” the Mammoth asked.
“A hyena.”
“A hyena?” the boy laughed. “No, Wulli; you are wrong for once. Smell
again.”
The Rhinoceros took another long careful sniff. Once more he raised his
head and maintained stubbornly: “My nose never lies, I tell you. I know
that smell of him who eats men and bad meat. I say it was a hyena.”
For an instant the boy eyed his companion in doubt. Heretofore Wulli’s
nose had been infallible. It was his eyes versus the Rhino’s nose.
Probably the eyes were mistaken. They had caught only a fleeting glimpse.
He laughed again. A second laugh echoed overhead. The three friends
looked hastily upward and saw a hideous face leering down upon them.
Quick as lightning, Kutnar made ready his sling and hurled a pebble. A
loud yelp and the face disappeared. “Hyena it was,” said the lad. “Wulli
is right; his nose never lies, but had I not seen the beast a second
time, I would have sworn that he who pushed the rock down upon us, was a
man.”