Читать книгу Kutnar, Son of Pic - George Langford - Страница 5

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The overhanging cliff was a rock-shelter and a score or more men were sitting around a fire at its base. The fire presented a most cheering aspect. Gonch could almost feel its warmth and taste the burning flesh whose inviting aroma now filled his nostrils. Neither fire nor cooked meat had been his portion for a long time. The men of the rock-shelter were enjoying themselves thoroughly, talking and making strange faces at one another. Hyenas and wolves laughed when engaged in unusual acts of cruelty. Gonch had often done likewise but in his grimaces was none of the good-feeling that lighted the features of those he now saw. They were hunters gathered about the fire and searing the flesh of the game they had recently killed; all strong fine-looking young men, warming and enjoying themselves. Each man’s weapons lay close beside him upon the ground. The Muskman’s eyes sparkled as he espied the lustrous flint gleaming from every long shaft and handle. “I have reached my goal at last,” he chuckled softly. “This is the domain of the Mammoth Man.”

One of the band now detached himself from his fellows and descended the river bank to drink. He was a young man, an unusually young one to be consorting with hunters and warriors. He was on hands and knees bending over the water when something stirred in the bushes above him. Some beast lay concealed close to where the young man or boy was slaking his thirst. Gradually its head and back rose above the green foliage, as a large panther preparing to spring.

The big cat was in the very act of launching itself upon the lad when a loud yell made it pause. The next moment, a man with uplifted ax bounded down the rock-wall and dashed upon the beast. A terrific commotion ensued as the cave-men seized their weapons and leaped to their feet shouting and yelling. They saw the newcomer charge into the bushes. A giant cat’s head and shoulders rose up to meet him and in a jiffy, man and panther were struggling to the death.

The stranger struck one blow. He could not determine its effect nor strike a second, for the beast was upon him. A dozen warriors rushed to his aid. Something crashed down upon his head and when he came to, he was lying upon the ground while somebody wiped his face with a bunch of leaves. The leaves were wet and red. Men’s faces were bending over him. The hunters were jabbering and pointing at the body of a large feline stretched motionless beside him. “The beast would have slain you but for him,” said a voice.

“Yes, I know,” said another—the boy who wiped the face of the stricken man. “Who is he?”

“He came from the sky,” spoke up a third. “I saw him flying through the air. A stranger and yet his ax-blade is the same as ours.”

The stranger was by this time sufficiently recovered to sit up. The cave-men crowded about him.

“Who are you? From where did you come?” asked one.

“He smells like a cave-beast,” said another. “Perhaps he came here to hunt.”

“To hunt panthers,” the boy laughed. “A queer odor but what of that? He saved me from death.”

He was a sturdy lad of about sixteen years, clean-cut and well-muscled. He wore a strip of rawhide wound several times about his waist. A skin-pouch filled with large pebbles hung from his shoulder.

“My name is Gonch,” said the man rubbing his sore head. “The cave-beasts are my enemies. I have not yet washed from my body the taint of their killing. One panther more; what does it matter?”

Those about him lifted their eyebrows and stared at him who made so light of his prowess.

“Killer of flesh-eating beasts? That is good,” said a man, “but he has not yet told us why he comes here.”

“Who are you to question a chief?” retorted Gonch scornfully. “I will answer to only one; him I have come to see.”

“Who is that?” asked the man abashed by the stranger’s authoritative tone.

“The Mammoth Man.” Gonch gazed from one huntsman to another, to see the effect of this. All faces were now turned toward the boy.

“I can take you to him,” said the latter. “When you are able to walk, we will go.”

“Where?” asked Gonch.

The lad pointed up the bank to where a line of cliffs extended far into the valley. “He lives there; I live there too. We can go together.”

“Who are you?”

“Kutnar,” replied the boy. His face expanded in a broad grin. “I can show you where you wish to go as well as anybody, for I am the son of the Mammoth Man.”