“A hide; one, two, three,” the Mousterian leader held up one finger after another but without increasing the other’s interest a single whit. “Here is an odd fellow,” he thought to himself. “Nothing appears to please him. He is our best warrior and may well give me the worst of it if I fight him for the flint.” He wrinkled his brows, much perplexed. He could make one more offer, such as it was and if that failed, a combat was unavoidable, for he was determined to keep the blade now that it was in his possession.
“The flint I must have,” he growled. “I will offer you something else—a woman.”
The youth’s manner changed in a flash. He raised his head and squared his shoulders. “Agreed; the flint is yours. I take the girl—she who so narrowly escaped death on the butcher block.”
The Mousterian leader was astounded. He had not expected such quick and ready response. He now recalled Pic’s interest in the young woman and already repented his offer. “Oho,” he thought; “What a calf I was;” and his face assumed such a cunning expression, Pic saw in a moment that he had overplayed his hand.
“Ugh! Not so fast,” he remonstrated; “The girl is my daughter and the daughter of a chief cannot be had for nothing. One flint is not enough.”
Pic’s eyes opened wide; then scowled angrily. He unfolded the packet once more. The chieftain’s face brightened. He was gazing upon a second superb flint—a tool for scraping and dressing hides. Although differing in design, it was as fine in form and finish as the first. It was on his lips to say “Agreed,” and close the deal at once but he checked himself just in time. The packet—as he observed—was not yet empty.
“No; not even the two are enough,” he growled. Pic unrolled the packet the third time, then held the rabbit-skin dangling from his fingers to show that his limit was reached. The last flint—an ax-blade with edges hewn straight and keen—was a marvellous creation. As in a dream, the chieftain stared and wondered, while Pic strove to drive home his bargain.
“The knife, scraper, ax; all are yours,” he said determinedly. “I take the girl. Quick, your answer. If they are not enough, I will make them so and with my bare hands”; and he squared back with his arms outstretched as though prepared to fly at the other’s throat.
A great commotion ensued among those gathered about the dead buck. The Cave-men dropped their work and came crowding around the pair. A contest between two such skilled warriors would be worth going far to see.