“My name is Gonch,” said the man rubbing his sore head. “The cave-beasts are my enemies. I have not yet washed from my body the taint of their killing. One panther more; what does it matter?”
Those about him lifted their eyebrows and stared at him who made so light of his prowess.
“Killer of flesh-eating beasts? That is good,” said a man, “but he has not yet told us why he comes here.”
“Who are you to question a chief?” retorted Gonch scornfully. “I will answer to only one; him I have come to see.”
“Who is that?” asked the man abashed by the stranger’s authoritative tone.
“The Mammoth Man.” Gonch gazed from one huntsman to another, to see the effect of this. All faces were now turned toward the boy.
“I can take you to him,” said the latter. “When you are able to walk, we will go.”
“Where?” asked Gonch.
The lad pointed up the bank to where a line of cliffs extended far into the valley. “He lives there; I live there too. We can go together.”