Pic strode to and fro upon the ledge, turning his head this way and that like a caged lion. From his elevated position he could see up and down the valley for many miles. The Mammoth, at least, could be seen if he were anywhere near; but, strain his eyes as he would, Pic caught not a single glimpse of the huge and familiar figure. He did no work that morning, for his anxiety had greatly increased, and he made no further effort to conceal it. “I fear that something is wrong,” he said. “Otherwise Kutnar would have returned long before this.”
Once more he descended to the valley and sought news from his men, but there was none to be had, and his worry thereby increased. The cave-men were beginning to gather about by twos and threes, for word had already passed that their chieftain was greatly concerned because of his son’s continued absence. Soon a crowd of them had assembled, but not one man had any information worth giving.
“He might be with the stranger,” suggested itself to Pic. “The two have been much together.” This thought both angered and alarmed him. He scowled as he asked, “Has any one seen Gonch?”
Nobody had seen him for several days. When last observed he was alone and on his way somewhere down the valley.
“The bird has flown,” thought Pic much relieved. “For a moment I thought—but no, the skulker would not have dared. He values his life too highly;” but even though his fears as to Gonch were quieted, he felt it time to set the machinery in motion for a systematic search.
The cave-men were divided into squads, which scattered in all directions, up, down and across the valley, examining every nook and corner as they went. Pic at the head of one of the squads hurried southwestward along the river bank. Before dividing his men, he said: “The man Gonch is a traitor. If you come upon him, kill him,” whereat all stared in surprise, but hastened to do as bidden without asking questions.
Pic and his band hurried downstream along the right bank of the Vézère. The giant flint-worker led the way, running in and out among the rocks and bushes like a hound following a trail. He held his ax in readiness to strike down man or beast as he led the way fearlessly past ledge and thicket, from which hidden enemies might have sprung upon him. His voice thundered commands, and all hastened to obey. The cave-men were amazed by his fierce energy. He was a being transformed; this strange man, of whom it had been said that he would neither hunt nor fight. They reached the confluence of the Vézère and Dordogne rivers. Suddenly Pic uttered a loud shout as two shaggy heads rose above the river bank. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros were emerging from the water after a swim from the opposite bank. They presented a woe-begone and exhausted appearance, as though their entire night had been spent in traveling without food and rest.
As Pic ran forward to meet them, his followers halted at a respectful distance. The two animals shook the river water out of their coats and then told their story.
The Hyena Man, meaning Gonch, had fled, taking Kutnar with him. He had a peculiar and unpleasant odor, which was fortunate, for it had enabled them to follow his trail without much trouble. His scent was so strong that they could not understand how they had lost it, but anyhow, after crossing a river, they had been unable to find it again. A mean trick had been played upon them, they were positive, but, not knowing just what to do next, they had returned for assistance. Both were agreed that the Hyena Man could no longer be trusted. He had tried to kill the Mammoth when the latter was caught fast in the mud. The big elephant had a bump on his forehead to show for it. He felt much aggrieved at such treatment and intended to trample the Hyena Man to death if ever he caught him, but the wretch had escaped, and, to make matters worse, he had taken Kutnar along with him.
That was all, but quite enough. Pic was furious. He raged like a mad bull. The cave-men crowded about him, shouting and brandishing their weapons. But raging and shouting led to nothing; Pic soon realized that much. Gonch had several days’ start; also he knew just where he was going, which the others did not. He had anticipated pursuit by performing the well-known water trick, thereby throwing the Mammoth and Rhinoceros off his track. Pic became deadly calm. His men were of no use to him now. He could kill Gonch without any one’s assistance, but the trouble was to catch him. Speed was what he desired most. Without it, he could never hope to overtake his enemy. Every moment of delay now counted against him. He raised his hands in despair to the Mammoth. “Friends should ever help each other,” he groaned in beast jargon. “Would that I were a bird to fly or a deer to speed over the meadows like the rushing wind. How can I hope to overtake the traitor and save my boy?”