The Giant gulped. Never had he heard the like. Here was a man who chose to debase himself by associating with inferior creatures and was not ashamed to confess it. Preposterous! He found it difficult to hold his temper.
“What matters it if a mammoth and rhinoceros are friends or not?” he growled. “But any man who chooses to associate with them is no better than they—a beast.”
“But I am alone,” said Pic. “That is why I chose the Mammoth and Rhinoceros——”
“Quite right. Men cannot live alone either,” the Giant interrupted. “It destroys something here;” he touched a finger to his forehead—“Return to your own people before it is too late.”
“But I am an outcast, a renegade from my tribe and am not permitted to return,” said Pic, sobered by the other’s earnestness. “I was lonely. I met the Mammoth and Rhinoceros. They were wonderful creatures. We had many adventures. They saved my life and I saved theirs. Men never did as well for each other. I will give up my friends for no man.”
A low rumble sounded in the distance. The Giant looked up with a start and stared across the gorge—at a mass of dark clouds slowly rising above the horizon. His eyes shone with a strange light. He shivered and trembled like a frightened child. Pic began to understand. The Giant was afraid of the thunder-clouds. All men feared thunder and lightning.
“It makes him nervous and ill-tempered,” thought Pic. “When the clouds pass, he will be himself again.”
Suddenly the Giant sprang to his feet and glanced behind him, listening attentively and sniffing as animals do when they strive to catch the scent. His club lay on the cave floor. With the stealth of a panther, he glided to the weapon, seized it and edged nearer to the rear wall. Pic waited in breathless suspense. He could now barely discern the Giant’s dark figure standing with bludgeon held across his shoulders as though awaiting the attack of some unknown enemy.
All was as quiet as death. While Pic looked on, scarcely daring to breathe, he heard a faint scratching sound. It came from the rear wall, low and muffled as though originating in the heart of the rock. Gradually it grew louder, more distinct and with it, the labored breathing of some living thing. The Giant must have heard the sounds but he made no sign, only stood like a stone image with weapon held ready—and waiting. Pic raised his ax and kept his eyes and ears open for something which might break the spell and explain the scene before him.
Suddenly a loud scuffling sounded from the darkness; a fearful snarling and growling and a gaunt, shaggy figure bounded to the entrance. The bludgeon descended with a crash and a great wolf fell sprawling on the ledge. Like a flash, the Giant dropped his club and dashed upon the struggling brute. It snapped and snarled horribly as he seized it by the scruff of the neck with his bare hands. In a twinkle the wretch was raised aloft like a kitten. One mighty heave; and it whirled high into space, then descended with a splash into the river below.