The Journey Across the Pyrenees
XVII
Winter had descended upon the mountains and valleys of northern Spain. Snow covered the slopes and lowlands. High above the ice-bound surface of the River Pas, opened the Cavern of Castillo, near whose entrance, Totan and his band were gathered about a roaring fire. Skin garments now relieved their summer nakedness. These were no more than untrimmed hides fastened about their bodies, hair outward. They were much frayed and blotched with bare patches which gave them an extremely shabby appearance. These garments had seen more than one winter season, for hides were scarce. The hunting had grown worse and worse and many a hide had been chewed and swallowed for the small nourishment it contained. The Men of Castillo in their penury were driven to eating the very clothes off their backs for the want of something better. Even the hyenas had packed up and gone away from a country that offered such poor pickings. Nobody regretted their absence. There was no need for scavengers or undertakers. The Men of Castillo attended to such matters, themselves. Whenever a man died, his companions made the funeral arrangements their duty and an occasion for general rejoicing, using the corpse itself as material for the funeral feast.
At times, parties of men would detach themselves from the fire and sally forth in search of game. Rarely did they come back with anything worth eating. The little they did kill was poor enough and they ate it then and there. Not infrequently, a band would return numbering one or two less than when it set forth. At such times, those returning would appear well-fed and contented and would curl up by the fire to rest and aid their digestion. It was a case of each man for himself. He who hungered, must go forth and hunt his food. If he perished from weakness or exposure or was slain by wild beasts, his troubles were ended and his companions devoured what was left of him.
Totan and a dozen of his followers had but recently returned to Castillo from one of these hunting-trips. They and the rest of the band were now gazing down the mountain side at two men near its base who were slowly ascending. Even at that distance, Totan recognized one of the newcomers. “Gonch!” he exclaimed in surprise. “I thought him dead long before this. And who is it that I see with him? It must be the Mammoth Man, maker of wonderful flints.”
When the pair had completed two-thirds of the ascent, their forms and features could be easily distinguished by those watching from above. All recognized Gonch. The one with him was but a boy. A murmur of voices broke the stillness. Totan scowled and gnashed his teeth until his jaws cracked. “I fear that our comrade will be disappointed with the welcome we give him,” he growled. “It will be a warm one.” He looked knowingly at the fire as he said this, meanwhile licking his lips and grinning like a hyena.
Gonch arrived at the end of his long climb and stepped upon the cave-threshold. The boy Kutnar stood behind him. No shouts nor other noisy welcome greeted his appearance. He brought no food and his companion was a boy—not a man as might have been expected.
Such a reception was no more nor less than Gonch had anticipated and he was prepared for it. Neither his wit nor courage had deserted him and he now saw the need of both.