Hairi a beast of burden? How hath the mighty fallen! We must go back a bit to learn why.
When the duet became a trio—Ape Boy, Mammoth and Rhinoceros—and the party left the Grotto of Sha Pell to journey northward, Spring was already far advanced. Warm weather was something of a hardship to Hairi and Wulli, all bundled up as they were in their shaggy overcoats, to say nothing of thick woolen underwear concealed beneath. And so they made all haste to reach a more congenial climate. In spite of their vast bodies and stumpy legs, both could travel fast; but the need of food and rest had some voice as to the speed at which they travelled. They were tremendous eaters, but unfortunately the high rocky country provided poor feeding-grounds.
Their favorite foods were scarce, the grass-tufts few. Their northern march was a constant turning this way and that in search of edibles which were snatched up greedily wherever found. On the rough ground, Pic had the better of his comrades. No rock was too high, no ravine too deep to bar his way. His step was sure, his head clear and he found little trouble in making rapid progress over obstacles which caused the others endless annoyance and delay. Up hill, down dale, through tangled forest undergrowth and over fallen trees, the Ape Boy led the other two a merry dance until the party approached the Loire River. Here the tables were turned. The ground which they had covered was a gradual descent from forested highlands to comparatively level lowlands as the land-surface dipped down to the northwest. On the high, rough country, the Mammoth and Rhinoceros had been at a disadvantage but in the broad level region of the Loire, food was abundant and everything promised a speedy journey.
But now an unforeseen complication arose; Pic was too slow. He could not walk as fast as the others, simply because his heels were much too short; also each big toe stood apart from its mates and lacked stiffness. Soft, flexible feet were well suited for climbing and clambering about in rough, broken country;—among cliffs, ravines, rocks and tangled undergrowth—but in the open they were at a disadvantage. With his short heels and soft feet, Pic promised to become a burden to his friends, through no real fault of his own.
“Where is Pic? Stopping to crack rocks, I suppose,” grumbled the Mammoth, as for the fifth time he halted and observed the one in question lagging far in the rear. Pic was shuffling along at his best gait with knees half bent and head held forward, making hard work of the little he accomplished and tiring fast with the doing of it.
Hairi and Wulli ground their teeth and stamped impatiently until the laggard finally caught up. He halted before them, squatted on heels and haunches and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked warm, tired and discouraged, knowing well that the best he could do was poor enough. His comrades’ remarks were little calculated to give him comfort.
“You must walk faster,” Hairi scolded. “If you cannot do better than that, I will soon have to carry you.”
“Carry me?” Pic looked up quickly at the great giant towering over him; at the Elephant’s head-peak and mighty shoulder-hump and the deep depression where neck joined body. His face brightened. He rose to his feet and stepped to the Mammoth’s side.
“Yes, it might be done if you will. Raise your foreleg.” He laid his hand on the great right wrist which rose above the level of his own knees.