Kutnar, Son of Pic

by George Langford

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.