How Kutnar descended the precipitous wall of the Scarp, he never knew nor
did he care. A slip of hand or foot would have sent him to his death,
a thing he feared not, for it meant only peace and rest to his aching
heart. His motions were those of one imprudent and entirely heedless of
danger. He lowered his body from one rock projection to another in such
reckless fashion that the wonder is he did not fall. Some good angel
must have been watching over him. His long journey downward was entirely
without mishap and he reached the foot of the Scarp in safety.
Here a tremendous surprise awaited him. Pic’s body had disappeared. In
its stead, a man sat upon the rock-platform with feet dangling over the
edge. His body was bruised and bleeding. His eyes were closed and his
head hung forward upon his chest. Had not the Mammoth’s trunk curled
around his waist, given him support, he must have fallen. But he was
alive for his muscles twitched feebly and he mumbled strange words that
neither Hairi nor Wulli could understand.
For an instant, Kutnar stared open-mouthed unable to realize the great
mercy that some good spirit had reserved as his portion. “Alive!”
he said in a low voice as though fearing to disturb the dead. “I am
dreaming. It cannot be.”
“Alive, yes he is. Oowee, oowee!” squealed the Rhinoceros jumping up and
down with joy. “And now you too are safe.”
Kutnar sprang to his father with a glad cry and threw his arms about him.
Pic opened his eyes. “Kutnar,” he murmured feebly; then his eyes closed
again and he rambled on deliriously about wolves and hyenas and snow
and various other things that had not the remotest connection with the
present occasion. It was a most unintelligible discourse but his audience
listened with rapt attention and beamed happily, for it all meant that
Pic was alive.
Yes he still lived, thanks to his great strength and endurance. But for
them, he could not have survived the terrible battering he had received.
His body was a mass of welts and contusions, the result of merciless
pounding. Scarcely a square inch of it had been spared by the Castillan
clubs. No man could have lived under a third of those blows, had they
been delivered by flint-axes, which cleaved through the flesh and
inflicted ghastly wounds. Pic had demonstrated with his own body that
ineffective weapons made not only poor hunters but poor warriors as well.
However he was not yet out of danger in spite of his having survived the
damage inflicted by his enemies. Bad bruises, loss of blood and resulting
weakness might have finally put an end to him, had it not been for the
care and treatment bestowed upon him by his friends.
Hairi found a spring bubbling from the mountain slope and brought a
trunkful, doling it out to Kutnar who laved his father’s wounds and
cooled his fever. The boy then hurried to the grotto of the underground
vault and returned with Pic’s bearskin robe. The invalid was bundled up
in this and tucked away under the rock-shelter to rest. This done, Kutnar
went off to re-fill his pebble pouch and kill food for Pic so that he
might eat when he had rested and regained his strength. Meanwhile Hairi
and Wulli stood guard. When Kutnar returned, the two beasts descended the
mountain slope to graze and the boy went on duty. Such nursing could not
help but produce results. Pic recovered rapidly and before many days, the
quartette was ready to depart. Still bundled up in his bearskin suit,
Pic was lifted to the Mammoth’s neck and with Kutnar sitting behind to
steady him, they marched down the slope and around the mountain to the
River Pas. They crossed this and went north along the right bank until
they came in sight of Castillo. A faint haze arising in the distance from
the cave-entrance, showed that it was still the home of men. “What will
they do with Totan and Gonch gone?” said Kutnar, and his father answered,
“Rather what will they do now that they no longer have a boy to feed
them?”
This was the last they saw of the Castillan stronghold, for here they
turned in the direction of the rising sun. A long journey lay before them
but their hearts were light and full of joy of companionship. Kutnar was
found, Pic was himself again and now they were bound for a goal of rest
and contentment—home.