“Do the dead live again?” asked the amazed chieftain. “Or do I see before me, one greater than the mighty Mammoth?”
Pic merely grinned. “The Mammoth? Agh; no matter. I drove him and the other beast away. But enough of them. Tell your men to step back. I have something which you alone should see.”
The chieftain shouted a command and in a moment his followers were hustling back to their business about the dead buck.
Pic squatted upon his haunches and took a deep breath. He held a packet of rabbit-skin in his hand.
“Since leaving you, my days were spent alone upon the Rock,” he began.
“Alone? Why?” the chieftain demanded.
“I was—um-m—sick.” Pic suddenly remembered the half-healed wound in his thigh. He did look a bit thin and haggard. Hard work and light eating had left their marks.
“Bah!” The chieftain was again gazing dreamily at the water. His brows were contracted in deep thought. He seemed to have forgotten the other’s presence.
“While I was—um—sick,” Pic began, “I spent my time making something for you to see.” He glanced at the Cave-men who were now engaged in skinning the dead buck, then held out the packet of rabbit fur. The chieftain took a quick sidelong glance, then looked away.