“Mine is a restless spirit,” he replied. “It has led me through many lands to see strange and wonderful things. I have been told of the Mammoth Man, maker of the finest flint-blades the world has ever seen. Are you he?”
“I am called many names,” said the stalwart flint-worker with a twinkle of his deep-set eyes.
“To some, I am known as Pic, the Weapon Maker; to others—but no matter. One name is as good as another. Yes, I am the Mammoth Man.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and even as he looked kindly upon his visitor, his eyes as much as said: “Can it be possible that mere curiosity has brought you here—to see me?”
Gonch did not notice the look of those eyes; he was watching the man himself. Such evidence of physical health and strength, he had never before observed in a human being. “I can see now why they call him the Mammoth Man,” he thought to himself. “He is a giant among men as is the Hairy Elephant among beasts.” But all he said was:
“I helped your boy. Perhaps for that you can look upon me as a friend.”
Pic’s eyes softened. He looked down at the ground and replied sadly: “Yes, you have done me a great service. Since his mother died, he is all I have.”
“Why not get another?” the Muskman suggested. “Women are plentiful enough. A man like you could have any or all of them.”
Pic scowled and raised his hand in protest. “She is gone,” he muttered hoarsely. “None can take her place; and of this you need say no more.”
Gonch was taken aback by this peculiar display of sentiment. “One woman?” he sniffed: “Ridiculous. The man is a giant but a simpleton for all that. All giants are simpletons.” But now that Pic had declared himself upon the subject of women, Gonch prated of the southland; its fine climate, abundance of game and the strong men who lived there; painting the picture in such brilliant colors that he almost believed in it himself. But in spite of his eloquence, Pic remained unmoved. Whether he believed or not, he showed no more than ordinary interest. There was a note of sarcasm in the flint-worker’s voice as he made brief comment: “If this is so, why do you come here?” to which in spite of his eloquence Gonch could find no ready answer.
The latter took another tack. “Men say that you are a mighty hunter,” he began; “and that you scorn such small game as the ox and bison, reserving your great strength for the Lion and Hairy Elephant.”