“And so my young men have not returned empty-handed, after all. I had hoped for beef or venison, but I see that they have done even better. Now we can fill our empty stomachs and cheat the hyenas that howl about us.”
“A welcome change from bugs and willow-bark,” said one of the hunters. “Plump and round he is, like a raccoon stuffed with winter fat.”
“Good; very good,” chuckled the old witch. “A present for your dear old mother, eh? Too long have I lain in your filthy cave with nothing but cold air to stir my stomach. But you shall all share alike and I ask nothing—nothing but the heart all warm and bleeding. Quick, bring him to the butcher-block so that he may be dressed and served without delay.”
“What, and bring the lions down upon us?” cried a voice.
All turned towards the speaker, a young woman who had suddenly appeared from behind a bend in the cliff wall. She was gazing curiously at the prisoner. “You know the rule as well as I,” she said boldly even as the old hag glowered savagely upon her.
Grunts of approval sounded on all sides. Pic evinced a sudden interest in the newcomer. He saw before him a mere girl whose wan features and wasted body nevertheless retained much of youthful feminine grace. Her face lacked the great hollows and bone-ridges so marked in the visages of those about her. Pic took in these details at a glance. They pleased him; he smiled. The girl’s face assumed an astonished expression; and then—she smiled too. Pic could not repress the exclamation that arose to his lips. Never before had his peculiarly human and friendly greeting been returned in its own coin. At the sound he made, all turned upon him in surprise, then to the cause of his outburst, only to see the eyes of both lowered meekly to the ground and apparently without interest in the things about them.
The burly chieftain now ended the matter with a wave of his ax.
“The girl is right,” he growled. “The rule stands even though we starve. The day grows short. None shall taint the camp with fresh blood and draw the night-prowling lions and hyenas upon us. Not until the first streak of dawn, can we bring him to the butcher-block and break our long fast.”
As the sunset afterglow faded out of the western sky, the Cave-men sought comfortable positions beneath the shelter and made ready for their night’s rest. The prisoner was forced to lie upon the ground and his captors then arranged themselves about him so that any move on his part would be quickly observed. Pic submitted without a protest—not that he had become resigned to his fate—but he deemed it wise to assume a passive attitude and thereby dull any suspicions that might be entertained of what was passing in his mind. His hands were tied behind him—so tightly that his fingers were numbed and swollen; but his legs remained unbound. None seemed to think it necessary to deprive him of the use of his legs; nor did he feel it his duty to remind them. He heaved a deep sigh, closed his eyes and in a few moments was—to all appearances—sound asleep.
All was now quiet in the camp except for the hard breathing of weary men and the distant cries of night-roving creatures. One of the sleepers stirred and raised himself on one elbow. It was Pic. His chance had come. He gathered his legs under him and crouched low on bent knees. A twig cracked beneath him. A shoulder moved. Its owner’s head arose and sniffed the night air. Without a sound, Pic settled down again upon his face and stomach and lay still. The voice of the old hag now fell like death upon his ears.