“Awrk-k-k! do stop calling me a crow,” squawked the Pied Raven. “I am a raven; not a crow. Please remember that.”
“And we are large, not fat; do not forget that,” retorted the Mammoth.
“Where must we go to reach this cave?” Pic inquired. “We cannot go too far out of our way. We must be south before the cold weather comes.”
The Pied Raven pointed his bill eastward. “It may save you time if I go along too,” he said. “I have nothing in particular to do and would help you who have done me a good turn.”
It was finally agreed that the Pied Raven should join the party and all go to where the treasure supposedly lay buried in the cave-floor awaiting their pleasure. None knew where the cave was—none but the Pied Raven. Pic mounted the Mammoth’s neck and the bird perched in front of him on the head-peak. Wulli trotted by the side of his partner. After some discussion—in which the idea was suggested then abandoned of having the Pied Raven ride on Wulli’s nose-horn and thus relieve the Mammoth of a double burden—the expedition set forth.
From Dun Kirk, the trio—now become a quartette—moved eastward over the Flemish sand-dunes and lowlands. Gradually the days and nights grew colder, the country higher and more broken up by rocks, rivers and ravines. Squirrels, woodchucks and all were busy lining their nests and laying up stores for the oncoming winter. The winds blew sharp and bitter and Pic was forced to bury his feet and hands deeply in the Mammoth’s long hair to keep them warm. Without being aware of the fact and caring less, the party passed the Belgian frontier and marched into southern Holland and out again the same day—into western Germany. None bade them halt. No arbitrary boundary lines prevented their travelling without passports or other unheard-of things. Belgium, Holland, Germany and all went to make up one big country—western Europe—where creatures might live and go about just where they pleased.
Guided by the Pied Raven, Pic and his friends arrived at last on the western heights overlooking the Rhine. They descended to the river and crossed. The Mammoth acted as a ferry-boat for Pic and the Pied Raven who climbed to the top of his shoulder hump and had a busy time of it keeping their legs clear of the icy water. The Mammoth and Rhinoceros revelled in breaking up the ice and breasting the cold, swift current. They were powerful swimmers and had all the fun while the other two held their breaths and thanked their lucky stars when safe on solid ground once more.
After crossing the river, the party passed through bedraggled groups of trees, bordering a deep ravine, at whose bottom flowed a stream, the Düssel. As they proceeded along the heights the ravine gradually deepened as the limestone cliffs reared upwards on both sides. The stream narrowed, the walls rose higher and higher and at last the trio stood on the brink of the Neander Gorge itself.
The northern crest on which they were now placed, looked across and upward to the southern line of cliffs, whose summit rose far above the frozen surface of the Düssel. The Pied Raven suddenly emitted his strange rasping cry:
“The cave is before us,” he announced so unexpectedly that his three hearers nearly jumped out of their skins.