Five or six hours later, the body of the chieftain was borne to its final rest. In a dark, secluded corner of the cave, not many yards from the scene of the fatal encounter, a little hollow had been hastily scooped out with flint shovels and cleavers; and hither Grumgra's bulky frame was carried on the shoulders of three tribesmen. At his side, according to the age-old custom of the Umbaddu, his club was conveniently placed, along with a variety of flint implements and a handful of fruits and nuts; while his wolfskin robe was wrapped about him, and the circlet of wolf's fangs fastened about his head. Then, convinced that their chieftain would be equipped with everything necessary when the great wind-spirit came to take him away, the people began to pile earth and stones high above the recumbent form.
Owing to the absence of Zunzun the Marvel-Worker, there was none to lead in the prayers; yet a multitude of voices began to pray simultaneously in a babbling confusion, and each in his own way invoked the gods of the cave, the fire, and the air. Loud and ever louder they clamored, each striving to drown out the voice of his neighbor, until the uproar became like a tumult of madmen. But clearly over all, in a wailing crescendo before which the other voices stopped as if abashed, there rang forth the sobs and lamentations of a woman. And more than one man turned to his companions, and murmured: "It is Mog the Long-Faced! It is Grumgra's first woman!"
Long and bitterly Mog cried out, while beating furiously with her fists against the rocks that were piling up upon the chieftain's vanishing form.
And while she screamed and wept, and the familiar, dreaded figure disappeared beneath the heap of stones, a tardy regret seemed to awaken in the minds of the people. It was as if they now realized for the first time that Grumgra was no longer with them—and as if they found the thought too terrible to endure. "What are we to do now?" they moaned, after the sobs of Mog had begun to die down and they had caught their last glimpse of the black hair of the slain one. "What are we to do now? Who is to be our leader? Who is to tell us what to do? Who is to say when we shall go out on the hunt, and how we shall build our fires, and how we shall share our food? Who is to watch over us and care for us in Grumgra's place? Who? Who? Who?"
"Who but Ru the Eagle-Hearted?" came the eager voice of Yonyo. "Who but him with his wonder stick?"
"Ru the Eagle-Hearted will watch over us!" cried a chorus of voices, responsive to the suggestion. "He will be our leader! He will guide us with his wonder stick!"
And since there was no one to venture a word in dissent, Grumgra's successor had apparently been chosen.
It was not long before Ru commenced to exercise the powers of his newly won office. The last stone was barely in place on the grave of Grumgra when he began to assert himself. Striding to the center of the gathering while his people withdrew awestricken before him, he proclaimed: "The Growling Wolf is dead now—so let us forget him. We have a great and terrible work to do! We must make ready to fight the beast-men!"
Here he paused a second, while regarding his tribesmen speculatively. In a moment his eyes fell with a twinkle upon a certain two, and he continued: "Before we go down to drive the beast-men away, we must be sure they cannot come up here to fight us in our cave. Kuff the Bear-Hunter and Woonoo the Hot-Blooded, you go out on the rock in front of the cave and watch to see that the beast-men do not come. And stay there till I tell you to come in."