Again he attempted to stand but the hands still held him fast. The man who had first spoken, shook his ax and snarled angrily:
“You lie; the Cave Lion lives there as we all know.” He threw back his arms and displayed a hideous breast-scar not entirely healed. “Behold his work! The bones of him who fared worse are scattered upon the ledge;” and he made a horrid grimace as though not at all pleased at the recollection.
Pic saw and hesitated. In the face of such evidence, it seemed a waste of words to parley with his captors; nevertheless he made the attempt.
“Grun Waugh may be there now,” he snarled; “but the cave is mine. Loosen my hands, so that I may visit the Rock and drive the beast from his den.”
At this brazen insolence, every face became a picture of amazement, changing to furious rage as its significance dawned upon all. The fierce looks and growls of the Cave-men boded ill for Pic who now realized that his words were neither wise nor well-chosen. He glanced curiously from one to another. In them, he recognized human beings of his own tribe; natives of the lower Vézère Valley, the same as he. He noted their hollow eyes, sunken cheeks and emaciated forms. He had seen such things before; the results of cold, hunger and disease and a spring season of fruitless hunting. Famine had hardened every ridge and furrow and made hideous the features of these famished men. To them, strangers were unwelcome at best; but the sight of the newcomer’s well-rounded figure was more than these hungry mortals could endure. One of the band bent down and smote Pic’s cheek with his open palm.
“So we have a lion-tamer come amongst us,” he sneered. “We, your good friends will accompany you to the Rock and learn how cave-lions are managed.”
“To the Rock with him,” cried a voice. “The braggart shall furnish sport for us and the Lion both, provided the beast is at home and ready for another meal.”
Pic was jerked roughly to his feet—a vigorous young giant standing amidst an emaciated horde. His ax—which until this moment had escaped the notice of his captors—was now exposed to view. The man who had struck him, bent low to secure the weapon. As his eyes caught the great blade’s lustrous gleam, he jumped back with an astonished yell:
“The flint! Arrah! Come all and see.”