This event was signalized by the arrival of Zunzun the Marvel-Worker. While the returned huntsmen sprawled in ungainly attitudes about the fire or crouched upon their haunches with heads bent motionless above their knees, a flutter of excitement stirred the farther recesses of the cavern, and a squat, sinewy form slowly emerged. At first sight there was nothing to distinguish the newcomer from his kinsmen, except that his stoop was extreme even among this race of stooping men—he bent forward like an anthropoid ape, with long arms dangling before him from sloping shoulders. But as he shambled into the firelight, one might have observed another point of distinction; for while his massive face and gorilla-like features were not less bestial than those of his fellows, his black shaggy mane was interspersed and mellowed by hairs of gray. For Zunzun was quite old—he had more years, some said, than the month had days—and it was rumored that his memory reached back to the time when the eldest among his living tribesmen was a babe suckling its mother's breast.
As he approached, the onlookers automatically ceased their chattering; and in unconscious unison they all sat up, with eyes fastened upon him.
When within a few paces of the fire, Zunzun paused, flung his hands upward, and launched forth upon a prayer to the fire-god. In deep, bellowing tones, which resounded uncannily through those dim rocky corridors, he begged the spirit of the flames to take care of his people and protect them from wild beasts and the storm-wind. And the blazes, which flashed and crackled gustily, seemed to be signaling an encouraging reply; the flickering sparks gaily spoke a bright message; and the glowing faces of the people, obscurely seen in that smoky gloom, were overspread with a light and a fervor like that of worshipers in a temple.
On and on Zunzun rambled, on and on in tones constantly more charged with emotion; and he told the fire-god of all that his people had suffered, and how they languished and grew thin in the long months of winter, and how they craved a warmth and plenty they had never found, and how they always begged the god of the sunshine to beam upon them with more light and heat—but how the god of the sunshine had never heard.
Before Zunzun had finished, his gleaming black eyes had grown soft and moist, and his plea was no longer a solitary one, but rather was spoken in chorus. At first singly, and then in groups, his hearers joined him, all shouting their appeal to the fire-god, and all taking care to shout their loudest, so that the god must pause and listen. For a while—so intense was the fervor of the people—one could have heard nothing but a din of discordant screams and yells, in which no single word was distinguishable. But after a time, sobered by something domineering in the tones of Zunzun, the straining voices were modulated and blended together, so that they clamored in a sort of rude rhythm, almost a chant of entreaty; and, following the lead of the Marvel-Worker, they chorused: "Hear us, O fire-god, hear us! Light us the way to warmer lands! Fill our days with feasts and make them comfortable! Let your great heat singe and kill our foes, the wolf, the bear, and the wind from the snow-land! Help us, O fire-god, for we are in need of you!"
And after the voices had stormed and pleaded for many minutes, at times wailing in anguish and at times rising to a sobbing crescendo, Zunzun finally snapped into silence—and the tumultuous mob followed his lead, though now many eyes were tear-stained, and many eyes shone with an unwonted brightness.
But grave were the tones of Zunzun as he eloquently beckoned toward the flames, and murmured: "Now surely, my people, the fire-god has heard us. So let us ask him if he is of a mind to do as we wish."
In contrast to the pandemonium of a moment before, an absolute stillness had come over the assemblage. A hundred pairs of black eyes were staring questioningly at Zunzun; a hundred mouths were agape with wonder, but uttered no word. Even Grumgra the Growling Wolf stood as if transfixed, and had nothing to say; even Woonoo the Hot-Blooded and Bru the Scowling-Faced watched meekly as babes and ventured not a grunt, while the awe in their gaze was equal to that in the gaze of a child.
Meanwhile the Marvel-Worker was performing a curious ceremony. Bending down to the ground, he scooped a half-burnt oaken limb out of the flames; then, having beaten out the last trace of fire, he began to examine it with slow and painstaking scrutiny. Just what there was to observe was more than any onlooker could have said, but Zunzun apparently saw plenty to inspect, for he regarded that charred bit of wood with the furrowed brow and intent expression of one who reads some puzzling but important document. And at length—while his fellows still stood gazing at him in silence—he nodded his head as if satisfied, rose slowly to a stooping position, and opened his mouth to speak.
"The fire-god says he is here with us," he declared, reassuringly. "He has heard our plea, and will go with us to help us on our long journey."