While he hesitated, one of his trackers, a huge beast with a ghoul-grinning face, lunged forward and snapped at his wounded limb, so closely that Pic felt the brute’s hot fetid breath. He turned like a flash just as the hyena sprang upon him a second time. A quick swing-back; and the blade of Ach Eul descended in a wide arc with all the power of arm and shoulder behind it. A terrible howl and the brute fell crashing down the slope with half of the flint buried in his skull. The other half and handle yet remained in Pic’s grasp; but the blade of Ach Eul was lost forever—shattered, destroyed by the violence of the blow.
Its owner gazed at the broken ax in dismay. He stood defenceless—armed only with a flimsy stick. Discarding his now useless weapon, he seized a jagged rock and raised it above his head, just as the other hyenas turned tail and scrambled down the steep slope after their stricken comrade. In a few moments, Pic heard them growling and snarling horribly as they fought and struggled over the dead body. Then sounded the ripping and tearing of flesh, followed by a more subdued clatter as of snapping and slopping jaws.
Pic was left alone. Below him, his enemies were devouring the one of their number he had slain. Now for the Cave Lion. With the rock still raised above his head, he took a last step upward and stood upon the platform fronting the grotto. No response came from within—no low growls nor angry snarls. He could see beyond the entrance and make out the interior, free of dark form and fiery eyes. The Lion was not inside. Pic glanced fearfully about him, then glided to the cave-mouth. It exuded no foul odor common to dens habitated by beasts of prey. The place was untenanted; and from all appearances it had been so for a considerable time.
Pic breathed more freely. Nothing was to be feared at the moment from the Lion. After assuring himself on that point, he stole across the rock-platform and peered down at the hideous group below. Already the dead hyena was but a framework of white bones and his fellows were straggling away down the valley. He returned to the cave and stepped boldly within.
Apparently the Lion had abandoned his winter quarters at the approach of Spring. His nest remained as he left it—a broad, shallow depression scooped from the floor. The brute had clawed out the dirt to the bare rock leaving the debris piled around the sides, thus forming a crater or enclosed receptacle shaped to his curled form. Its sides were covered with spiders’ webs and fungus growth. A single mushroom sprouted from the bottom—from the rock laid bare by the Lion’s claws. Pic looked curiously at this mushroom which could sprout from the hard limestone. He sank to his knees and bent low to examine it.
The stone from which it grew was not limestone but granite—a material foreign to the surrounding rock—of substance unlike that composing the cave-walls and roof; furthermore, the mushroom grew not from the stone but from a crack extended around it. The crack was filled with dirt and the mushroom sprang from the dirt.
Pic gazed thoughtfully at the mushroom, the dirt-filled crack and the granite stone. How did these three come there? Answer: because of the stone itself and no other reason; because of a stone in the floor—near the entrance—of a cave—on a mountain.
Pic trembled as this chain of circumstances ran through his mind. He reached down with shaking hand and scraped out the dirt which filled the encircling crack.