“No,” said Pic. “We have no quarrel with them. I would rather see them our good friends.”
“Friends? Oo-wee! Hear that!” Wulli replied as his sharp ears caught the sound of a commotion in the valley below. The three looked down.
In the distance, the Man of Kent stood at the head of his followers, waving his ax aloft and howling defiance at the Ape Boy and his companions. His first astonishment, as he witnessed such an unheard-of intimacy, had given place to furious rage against all three. Not daring to attack such a formidable combination,—Man, Mammoth and Rhinoceros—he proceeded to relieve his injured feelings from a safe distance, with threats and insults, none of which the trio could hear or understand.
“He is a fiend,” thought Pic. “I know that he will never forgive me. War it is from now on.”
The truth of this remark soon became apparent. The Kentish Cave Men grew more hostile each day. Inflamed with a desire for revenge, their fierce leader urged his followers on and the trio found themselves the center of a systematic and relentless persecution. Had it not been for Pic’s constant foresight and vigilance, none of the trio could have escaped destruction. Time and time again, he warned his friends away from hills and crags where enemies lay hidden, awaiting their chance to overwhelm the party with showers of stones and darts. He led them safely clear of traps set near clumps of trees and watercourses where the tread of a heavy foot on vine or stick would have sent a huge log or stone crashing down. In their turn the Men of Kent redoubled their efforts, imbued with a two-fold purpose. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros were not merely objects of their bitter resentment, but also a great waste of fresh meat in their living state; so they persisted with every form of attack their minds could devise; and each time, such attempts were thwarted by the trio’s combined might and resourcefulness.
Pic and his friends chafed restlessly under the constantly increasing pressure to which they were subjected. When men or animals become fully aware that they are being persistently hunted, they grow excessively cautious and timid.
“Would that we could leave here,” said the Mammoth. “These Trog-men give us little time to seek food and rest.”
“Would that they could leave us in peace,” sniffed the aggrieved Wulli. “Why should we be so ill-treated? They will not stand and fight. What can we do?”
“The fault is mine,” Pic said bitterly. “But for me, they would trouble you and Hairi no more”; which was far from true, considering that the Men of Kent looked upon his friends as desirable articles of food. “Why should we stay here and be hunted to death? I have seen all that there is to be seen of these flint-workers. I have found no Terrace Man——”