“Good! Then I will go,” said Wab; “but look first for me and see that Og is not near. He will not want me to go if he sees me.”
But Gog had already made certain of this and he assured Wab that his son was nowhere near.
Wab, atremble with excitement, took one of Og’s well-shaped stone hammers and a flint knife that his son had made for him, and thus armed he came out of the cave to Gog’s side.
Almost stealthily they stole away from the caves and into the forest, for Gog did not want many of the cave dwellers to see him taking Wab into the forest where the partly blind hunter could so easily be lost.
With Gog leading and Wab following behind, keeping close to the treacherous old chief by watching him as best he could with his dimmed eye and listening with alert ears to his footsteps, the two hairy men progressed with remarkable swiftness through the thick and dark forest. Occasionally Gog grunted directions or fragments of conversation.
“On the plains of the valley, toward the warm lands, I am told are herds of horses. It is many days since I have tasted horse flesh. With the once great hunter, Wab, beside me, it would be pleasant to hunt the horse.”
Wab could not help feeling a sense of pride at being referred to again as the great hunter, yet sober judgment made him reply with caution.
“Do not be misled, Gog. Wab is no longer the great hunter he was when he had two eyes. And remember the horse is swift of foot and keen of vision. Two good men can scarcely expect to be successful in hunting them, so I fear we will stand small chance.”
Gog grunted in disgust.