The Valley of the Vézère was a storm-shelter, a haven of refuge for all animals. Only since the last full moon, had a message come telling of tremendous climatic changes going on in the northern world. A strange piercing chill was creeping slowly southward by way of the Baltic Valley. It brought news of the advancing ice-fields and of bitter winter soon to come. To everything through whose veins ran warm life-blood, it whispered:
“Make way for the Storm Wind, all ye who run, swim or fly. To the Vézère, ye creatures of mountain, forest and plain. Seek shelter where even the storm wrath may not enter. Woe to ye who neither hear nor heed!”
But all heard and heeded and hastened southward while behind them, across hill and dale, over forest and meadow, colossal mountains of ice glided irresistibly onward. The Vézère welcomed the swarms of fugitives within its sanctuary even as the north wind howled at its gates and all western Europe lay prostrate beneath the shadows of the glaciers.
Wherever peaceable creatures thrive, savage beasts will always be found preying upon them; and, sad to relate, the Vézère Valley—haven of refuge for all animals—had its share of those who continually annoyed the true lovers of peace. The Panther, Lynx and Wolf being the first on the ground, found abundant food—for the easy hunting; so easy, that in time, the fact became known throughout the world.
News travels fast among beast-folk; particularly if it is good news. The flesh-eaters of Africa finally became interested in the glowing accounts of opportunities awaiting them to the north and decided to have a look for themselves.
To reach France, it was necessary for them to cross the Mediterranean Sea or make a long journey around it. However, everything was conveniently arranged for them to make the trip without wetting their feet and that, too, by the shortest possible route.
As it chanced, Sicily and Italy were connected to each other and to Africa, thus forming a land bridge over which those who chose could enter southern Europe. The Lion, Leopard, Hyena and others were not long in crossing. Soon they arrived in France where an unpleasant surprise awaited them. The climate was cold and raw. Ice and snow confronted them at every turn. Being southern animals, they found themselves unprepared for such a change. Were it not for the hunting, every one of them would have turned about and gone back home.
But the hunting was excellent; so they stayed. Game was far more plentiful than reports had led them to believe. That being so, the rest soon took care of itself. Their fur and fuzz thickened to shaggy hair and underwool. Caves and rock-shelters gave further protection against the cold. The newcomers finally threw off all home ties and became full-fledged French citizens with new names: the Cave Lion, Cave Leopard and Cave Hyena.
For a time their frequent raids on the cloven-footed animals passed almost unnoticed. The latter had not yet learned to appreciate their danger. Those who fell victims were too dead to tell of their experiences while others fortunate enough to escape, thanked their lucky stars and thought no more about it. They made no concerted effort to protect themselves; and so, for a time, their enemies did about as they pleased.
Game was so plentiful that the cave-beasts grew careless. They threw off the cloak of secrecy and roamed through the Vézère Valley in the full light of day. In the heavy snow-drifts, the Moo Hooes were at a disadvantage as compared with their enemies whose broad soft feet enabled them to travel swiftly over the frozen crust. Seeing themselves threatened with destruction, the grass-eaters finally gathered together to find some way of protecting or ridding themselves of their fierce enemies. This was the occasion of their meeting with the Mammoth and Rhinoceros.