Og—Son of Fire

The bats were like great black-robed spirits that flitted softly about, or hung from convenient crevices and glared at them with eyes that showed green fire in the darkness. Some of the largest of them, as if resentful of this invasion, even swooped toward them and clicked long and ugly teeth, and uttered shrill squeaks. Mostly they made for Og, singling him out no doubt because of the flickering torch he held. They did not know what this sparkling thing was and they dived at it repeatedly until Og, with a yell of triumph that echoed and reechoed from wall to wall of the cavern, brought one of them down with a lightning-like swing of his stone hammer and crushed out its life before it could struggle up from the stone floor. After that the great black bats soared and swooped at a safer distance.

Og threw off the fear of the great cavern first and while the tree folk huddled in a mass in the center of the cave and clung to each other for protection, staring about them fearfully, the hairy boy with his torch and the wolf cubs at his heels, began to explore the great room.

It was soon apparent to him that the cave was the center of a number of small caves that seemed to reach out in all directions, like legs from the body of a giant spider. Og wondered where these other caves led to, and as he came to the entrance of each of them he stopped and peered into them, but even he was not bold enough to attempt to explore them.

Presently he came to one about the entrance of which there lingered a dreadful, sickening odor that suddenly filled Og’s soul with terror, and made the wolf cubs growl, while the hair on their shoulders bristled and their tails, instead of stiffening with the desire to fight, dropped between their legs. Og was on the point of running away, but, with an effort, he mastered himself and, hiding behind a cone-shaped stalagmite, he peered into the black entrance, holding his torch so that it would send its light rays as far as possible down the passage.

He could see nothing, but on the cool draught that came down the passage way he got a stronger scent of the dreadful odor. It was familiar. He had smelled it before and it had terrorized him then, yet for the moment he could not identify it. What could it be? He asked the question over and over again. Then he stopped to listen. Down the passageway came a peculiar scraping sound, as if some long slender body were dragging its full length along the rock floor. Suddenly Og knew what the hideous thing was, and he went cold as he realized the menace that was approaching. It was a python; a giant snake, ancestor of the present day constrictor of the southern jungles. It had been driven by the forest fire to take refuge in a cavern in the mountains, and as Og and the tree people had wandered down one of the passages to the great central cavern, it was doing likewise.

Og could hardly repress a cry of fear as he realized that all too soon the great reptile would slide its terrible length into the central cavern. Then woe to him and the tree people. These ape men were the natural prey of the python, who would lie in wait among the matted branches of the forest and throw coils about the unfortunate tree man who ventured near his lair. When the python found this huddled mass of ape folk in the central cavern, Og knew that the result would be terrible to witness. He turned away from his hiding place to hurry back to spread a warning. But even as he left the shelter of the cone-like stalagmite a great, ugly, flat head, with cold green eyes, terrifically powerful jaws and a darting tongue, appeared in the entrance of the cavern, and a moment later the giant python began to slide its great shining body into the central cave, working its serpentine way among the stalagmites swiftly and softly, save for the peculiar scraping sound that its heavy body made as it slid its length across the limestone floor.

The hairy boy had hardly time to dodge behind another sheltering pinnacle when the huge serpent raised its head and shining neck aloft and glared about the cavern. Og knew instantly that the snake had discovered the tree folk, for like a flash its head came down, then with surprising speed it began to slip across the cavern, sliding so close to the hiding Og that he could have touched the shining coils as they glided by.

Og, valiant despite his own fears, wanted to rush forward and warn the tree folk, scatter them, and tell them to take refuge wherever they could, but the great snake had glided between and cut him off from them.

On moved the big snake, and Og, cold with fear himself, hardly knew what to do. For a moment he was afraid to cry out for fear the serpent would turn on him. But only for a moment did the cowardice overcome him. Disregarding danger to himself he voiced a ringing shout of warning and with stone hammer in one hand and torch in the other, he dashed headlong across the cave, trying his best to turn the huge snake’s attention from the tree folk long enough for them to get away.

They heard his shout of warning and it spread consternation among them. They saw the peril that was traveling swiftly toward them, but so frightened were they and so slow to act, that the python was full upon them before the great mass scattered and started for one of the many hall-like caves that opened into the cavern. Like a cyclone then the snake descended upon them, literally hurling his long shining body among them. Og saw it all with a shudder.

The shrieks that followed were deafening as they echoed and reechoed against the walls of the cavern, and the writhing of the big snake tossed tree folk right and left as they strove to get out of his way. Coil after coil the snake threw among them and Og knew that the fate of some of his recent companions was sealed.

But when the ape men moved they moved fast. With terrific speed the mass dispersed, and in a twinkling they were all gone, the last of them disappearing through the dark mouth of one of the smaller caves; the last but two, and Og.

These two Og saw struggling in the folds of the great snake. They were big, strong, powerful ape men; some of the warriors that Scar Face had led, yet their struggles were puny indeed against the folds of the big python’s body. They screamed, and thrashed with their arms and bit with vicious teeth, but to no avail. Suddenly the great snake contracted the coils it had looped about them, and Og with a sickening sensation saw the two big ape men go limp. He could hear the dull sound of breaking bones, and when the snake slowly uncoiled they dropped to the floor lifeless and almost without form, so terribly crushed were they.

It was a hideous, terrifying sight, but for some strange reason that Og could not understand it did not frighten him as much as it angered him. A sense of pity for those two poor mutilated forms that a moment before had been alive welled up in him, and he was consumed with hate for the horrible reptile. Indeed, he was moved to attack it and with a war cry ringing on his lips he started to advance upon it. Like a flash the snake turned and faced him, and in the cold, merciless green eyes that Og looked into, the hairy boy saw no hopes for victory. He knew that he was doing a foolish, though valiant thing, and discretion made him stop in his tracks.

The next instant, the snake, with a hiss that was blood chilling, drew back its terrible head and struck at him with lightning swiftness. But as quick as the snake was, Og was quicker. Like a flash he leapt aside, and with a cry of terror he fled across the cavern, not stopping even to look behind him until he had gained the entrance to one of the passage ways out of the cave, into which he plunged, the wolf cubs following him closely.

CHAPTER XV
SMOTHERING DARKNESS

His bravery giving way to wild panic, the hairy boy dashed down the narrow cavern at top speed, dodging in and out among the stalactites but never once stopping until thoroughly exhausted. Then, panting, he came to rest and sat on the cave floor, while the wolf dogs lay down beside him.

They were very quiet for a long time and Og tested the air with his keen nose and listened for the slightest sound coming down the cave, for he was afraid that he might hear the scraping of the big snake pursuing him. All was quiet, and after a time in which he made certain that the reptile was not following him, Og breathed a sigh of relief and rested more comfortably.

The cave into which he had plunged went in an entirely different direction from the one into which the tree folk had disappeared and Og regretted this. Once again he felt that dreadful loneliness stealing upon him. The companionship of the tree folk, even though it had not been as intimate or as congenial as would have been the company of his own kind, had meant a great deal to the hairy boy and he was sorry that they had been separated. In a vague way he wondered what was happening to them. He doubtless would have felt lonelier if not envious had he known that, even as he rested there, the ape men were swarming out of the cavern into which they had plunged and, their recent terrifying experience forgotten, were romping on the side of another mountain that looked out on a new palm-grown valley reaching southward.

Og wondered where the cave he had entered led to, if indeed it led anywhere save into the bowels of the mountain. With his loneliness, a sudden indescribable fear of the dark, damp passage settled down on him. He began to feel as if he were a prisoner doomed to stay there underground with the bats and other loathsome denizens of the caves.

This fear spurred him into action, and although he was still panting with the exertion of the chase, he began a feverish, almost panic-stricken search for a way out of the cave. The darkness was dense and heavy; almost oppressive. To be sure, he still had his flickering torch but the feeble rays of this only served to make the blackness of the cave seem heavier. He began to feel as if this darkness was pressing in upon him, trying to smother him, to bury him alive there under the great mountain that he knew was above him.

He started forward again, hurrying down the cave as fast as he could. Sometimes it narrowed down to openings so small that Og was almost afraid to try to crawl through them, and each time the boy wondered whether he had come to a blind end of the labyrinth of underground passages. But always these narrow passages widened out again, though some of them were at times so narrow that he could hardly force his body through them without scraping hair, and even skin, from hips and shoulders.

On and on he traveled. Time seemed long to Og down there in the blackness and now and then he despaired at ever getting out again. Yet he kept on courageously. He must find a way out. He must get into the sunshine once more. He could not go on forever wandering about down there in the blackness.

Vague fears began to obsess him; needless fears brought on by the oppressiveness of the blackness. What if another earthquake should occur? What if the cave walls should give way and the great mountain above him should sag downward? What if one of these huge pendant stalactites should drop upon him and pin him down to hold him a prisoner there in the cave until he died of hunger or thirst? Thoughts of hunger and thirst made him both hungry and thirsty. Og’s nerves were fast going to pieces under the strain. He plunged madly on, half frantic now in an insane desire to find the exit to the cave, and he worked himself into a state of almost complete collapse.

But just when he had reached utter despair, something happened that helped him to master himself and find his poise and lost courage once more. The narrow cave suddenly widened out a little more than usual and as Og stepped into the small room-like vault in the rocks, an odor that was most disgusting assailed his nostrils. By the light of the torch he beheld bones scattered about the floor of the cavern, bones of all shapes and sizes, some partly gnawed and some with shreds of decomposed meat still clinging to them. It was the den of some animal that Og had blundered into, and his nose told him that it was the den of a great cave tiger.

For a moment Og was petrified with fear. But presently he beheld huddled in a far corner the shapes of two cub tigers, dead now and rotting.

Og could see that they had been dead for some time and his brain quickened by fear and all that he had recently gone through told him that these were cubs of the female tiger he had slain weeks before. They had starved to death there in the cave when their mother did not return.

Og smiled grimly, for he was glad to rid the world of the whelp of this ferocious cat. But he smiled, too, because he realized that all his recent panic had been groundless. From the den he could look down along the passageway ahead of him and see, not far off, a shaft of soft, warm light that he knew was sunlight. The exit to the cave was close at hand.

The hairy boy did not linger. He made for the entrance and presently he and the wolf dogs found themselves on a ledge overlooking a valley that extended away northward. And as he stood there, below him Og beheld a figure moving; a man, and one of his own kind.

Og gave a loud halloo, and waved his smoking fire torch toward him. The hairy man in the valley looked up at him thoroughly startled, then as he saw Og move to climb down from the shelf into the valley, he gave a cry of fear and dashed off toward some cliffs on the other side of the valley. Og paused and with disappointment on his face, watched him go. Then the hairy boy beheld the cliffs toward which the man was running and his heart gave a great bound. The cliffs were pockmarked with holes that Og knew were the cave dwellings of the hairy men. And at the alarm cry of the running hairy man, heads appeared at many of these holes and looked out across the valley, while from various points in the woods, other hairy men and women appeared and ran scrambling up the cliff to dodge into their home caves for protection.

Og descended into the valley as swiftly as he could. The tiger had worn a narrow, but well defined trail from his den into the forest on the valley bottom, and Og had little difficulty in following it. Presently he was running through the forest, with the wolf dogs romping after him. It was a long way across the valley but the hairy boy was so eager to reach the colony of hairy men that he never noticed the distance. He plunged forward recklessly, making a great noise, and occasionally shouting in pure joy at having found his own people once more.

After a time he arrived at the foot of the cliff. Here, at the base of the almost perpendicular wall, was a great rock-strewn flat, where the hairy folk doubtless worked and played. Above in the cliffs were a number of holes and crevices, from which looked many curious faces. Og stood below and shouted upward:

“Hallo. I am returned. The son of Wab has come back. I am Og now. I have won my name.”

But in answer came a chorus of shouts of derision, and from several doorways stones came pelting down, and Og was forced to duck and dodge as the ugly missiles whizzed by.

“Stop, stop. You are my people. I am the son of Wab. Wab, the mighty hunter. Where is he?” cried Og, from behind a boulder whence he had dodged to avoid further stones that were hurled at him.

The hairy boy was startled to receive an answer from close at hand.

“I am here, O stranger. I, Wab, once the mighty hunter. I am here ready and waiting for you, O, stranger. If you are death come take me. I am no longer of use to any one. I, the mighty hunter, am blind and an outcast.”

The voice came from behind a nearby boulder and, looking, Og beheld the crouching form of a powerful man across whose face were many scars, one of which had wiped out both of his eyes. It was as if a great claw-armored paw had at some time raked him and all but torn his face away. Yet despite this disfigurement Og recognized him as Wab, the mighty hunter, and his father.

“Father, I have returned. It is your son,” cried the hairy boy, running to his side.

“No. Not my son. My son perished in the great fire that drove us from our homes many moons ago. You are Death. I know. I heard the others shouting that you were coming from the den of the tiger, with a tiger skin over your shoulders, and a wand of mysterious power in your hand; a wand from which fire and smoke flashed. I know you. You are Death. Not my kin but kin of the cave tiger, whose claw marks I bear on my face. The tiger sent you to avenge the blows of my stone hammer. She feared to come back herself even though she knew I was blind. She feared me and she sent you instead. But I am ready to go with you, Death. I am an outcast among my people. I am blind and helpless and therefore useless. I cannot get my own food and no one has time to get it for me. They throw me scraps and bones to gnaw upon sometimes. They help me up to my miserable little cave sometimes. But when they are in a hurry and run to save their own precious lives, they forget me and leave me here, a blind man, to scramble up the cliffs as best I can or to remain here and be killed.

“They left me to-day when they ran from you in dread. They left me here. I sought to hide myself behind this stone. But when you called Wab, I knew that you were Death and I knew you had come for me. So I am ready to go. Take me.”

Og was kneeling beside the man now. “No, no,” he cried, “I am Life, not Death, for you, my father. I have slain the tiger that has crippled you so. I come with a mysterious wand, true. It is a wand of fire. I have conquered the Fire Demon. I can make him come from stone and do my bidding. He guards me against the chill of night. He dispels the blackness. He keeps me safe from the sabre-toothed one and all other animals. I have tamed the wolf dog too. They are my companions now. I have won me a name. I am Og, your son Og, and I have come back to protect you, to care for you, to hunt for you, and to fight for a place in the sun for you. It is well.”

“It is well. If this be true then I am happy. If you are my son, you have been reborn to me. You have been reborn from the fire. Og, Son of Fire, are you, and my son, too. And now if this be true help me, my son, up the cliff to my miserable cave, where we may talk together.”

And Og reached a strong arm under that of his father, once the mighty hunter, Wab, and together they climbed the narrow trail up the cliff. And the wolf dogs followed slowly after.

CHAPTER XVI
WAB IS CARED FOR

Many heads bobbed out of cliff-side doorways and many curious and suspicious pairs of eyes watched Og and his father Wab climb the narrow and winding trail up the cliff’s face to the miserable, dingy little cave that had been allotted to the blind man, because he was unable to fight for a bigger and better one. Strange grunting calls were passed from one doorway to another too and Og understood them all. He knew too that those who called were worried and frightened; indeed he could see the troubled expressions on some of the faces and he noted with interest that many trembled, and each cave mouth as he passed grew empty, the inmates taking to the farthest and darkest corners for they feared him and his fire brand, and his tiger skin that he had draped boastfully over his shoulders until it hung like a cape with the long tail dragging on the ground behind him.

It was like a triumphal procession for Og and he felt proud and elated over the whole affair. He was a man. He was a great man. He was important. Even Gog, the grizzled old leader, shrank from him with a grunt and his children scuttled into the cave like rabbits as he passed. Gog’s wife, too, whimpered and clung to her husband.

Og could not help but grunt ominously and scowl as he passed the doorway of the old chief, for he remembered, as did many others, unwarranted cuffs and kicks that the savage old man had dealt out because of his strength and his position in the tribe. Gog, still the valiant old fighter that he had always been, scowled and growled in return and muttered ugly things under his breath, but still he shrank from this hairy one who was clothed in the skin of Sabre Tooth and carried a mysterious and fearful wand of fire.

When Og and Wab reached the crevice in the cliff that the blind hunter called home Og looked about with a frown on his face.

“So this is all that Wab, the mighty hunter, has to live in; Wab, my father, the man who gave his eyes to the Tiger to protect others. It shall not be so. I, Og, Son of Fire, speak.” (Og’s chest puffed out slightly and he swaggered his shoulders just a little as he proclaimed the last.)

“It is mean enough as a cave,” spoke Wab, “but who am I now that I should have better quarters? I am of less use than a woman. I cannot hunt. I am blind. I am a handicap to the tribe. Soon I must die unless——”

“Die? Never while I am by your side,” stormed Og.

“You will bring me food, then, O Son of Fire?”

“Yes, and food such as you have never eaten, O my Father. Food from the Fire. Food that is tender and brown and pleasant to the taste. Food that the Fire Demon has laid his hands on.”

Wab shivered and looked frightened.

“Nay, such food is only for those who have been reborn of fire. It frightens me. I cannot want to eat it. Bring me only bloody food that drips. Such as I used to eat much of when still my eyes were whole. And bring it soon. For many daylights and many nights I have not tasted food that drips. I, Wab, have crawled around on fours like a rat seeking scraps that others have thrown to me, old scraps that have laid in the sun till they smell and bear maggots, old bones that have been sucked and gnawed clean. Such has been my food until now my strength is the strength of a baby. Soon I must die. When I live in night always then I must crawl off among the rocks and stop trying to live.”

“Then you can see a little?” cried Og, peering into the old man’s face.

“Yes, I see as at nightfall with this one eye. I can see the sun, and trees, and rocks dimly. I can see you as a shadow. But this fearsome wand you carry, that I heard others chatter about when you came, I can see. It licks out like the tongue of a serpent. It has a terrible breath, and a stench more than that of the creeping animal. It frightens me.”

“Fear it not, my Father. It is my servant; my weapon; my friend. I am glad that you can see its licking tongues for then you will soon know it better. Behold, I will make it warm you. It will fill this miserable cave with its breath and you will like it. You will sit in it and nod as you do in the sunlight. Then, while you nod, I will find food for us both and we will eat together and be happy. And after that a great cave, a cave that fits both Wab and Og and his Fire, and hairy men shall speak of us in whispers and fear us when we roar.”

Saying this, Og began to gather together wood and soon in the doorway of the cave a fine fire was crackling while Wab the hunter crouched in the corner and listened to the crackling sound, and smelled the smoke, and saw faintly the licking tongues, and tried to be brave in spite of his natural fear.

CHAPTER XVII
THE FIRE LIGHTER

True to his word Og found a cave that was big and roomy. It was not an easy task, for most of the pleasant caves had been taken. So too had all the caves that were deemed safe, for the hairy men liked caves that were well up from the valley bottom so that prowling beasts could not enter unawares. Traditional caution made Og realize that this was the best kind of abode, too, and he was sorely tempted to use the awe in which he was held to good advantage and crowd out some family that had an unusually desirable cave. That was how it was done among hairy folk. The strongest and most ferocious men occupied the best caves. Og particularly liked the fine, big, roomy cave that Gog possessed, and he was of a mind to walk into it with a fire brand in either hand and demand it.

But with all his confidence there was something that made him hesitate. Perhaps it was the vivid recollections that he retained of the old leader at his best, or worst. He was a savage old brute, strong, ugly, treacherous and merciless, yet withal brave as a tiger. Og knew that although Gog stood in awe of his fire weapons the old warrior would fight for his cave home until he no longer had strength to lift his bone-crushing stone hammer. And Og, as courageous as he was, had no stomach for a fight of that sort, especially one of his own provoking, for instinctively he knew that right was on the side of the defender; and Og had somehow sensed that without right to fortify courage he could not fight with valiance.

And so he put aside his covetous desires and searched longer for a home cave. There were several spacious holes in the cliff down near the valley floor. All were big and roomy, yet not too big for comfort; but all had broad doorways, which Og knew was not desirable, for the bigger the doorway the larger the prowler that could enter.

But he found one that was so desirable; so handy to the spring of water from which the hairy men drank, so near the swiftly flowing mountain torrent that ran through the valley, and so near the council rock and the flat, well-tramped stretch of earth where the hairy people’s children played when danger was not near, that he felt a desire to take possession of it despite the fact that it had a huge doorway through which even a hairy mammoth could conveniently enter. That was the reason why it was not already occupied.

Finally, after much hard thinking which gave him a headache, he decided; and, carrying his stone hammers, his knife and his tiger skin down to it, he spread the great skin on the floor and returned to the cave higher up the cliff to help Wab down.

When he led the blind man into the cave and explained to him what cave it was and where it was located, Wab shook his head and smiled sadly.

“Og, where is your caution? This is the great cave, shunned by all the hairy people. No one would think to try to live here. When we came here first it was used as a council cave. We gathered here for council sometimes, but the great cave tiger crept up the valley one day, saw us all inside, and rushed in among us. He killed two and dragged them away before we could climb the cliffs to safety. And so we never even used it for a council cave again. It has a doorway so big that it will let all the night monsters in.”

“I have thought of that,” said Og; “but we have a door guard that they cannot pass. See, I will build a big fire here. That is protection. No one will dare pass it, not even Sabre Tooth were he still hunting the valley.”

“Ah, perhaps,” said the hunter doubtfully, but he sat down on the tiger skin and watched Og build his fire.

Others watched him, too. The whole tribe was amazed at Og’s daring. They chattered and shook their heads and made humorous faces at each other which was their way of saying that Og was either a fool or more powerful than any among them.

But they soon found that the last was the truth, for Og made his home in the big cave and burned his fire steadily night and day, Wab heaping wood upon it while his son was off in the forest hunting by himself or with the others, for the hairy men hunted in gangs more often than they wandered into the forest alone. And while he lived there in the old council cave, three times a great leopard visited the cliffs and stole women and children from the caves, yet though his cave was the easiest to approach, it was never visited, and the hairy folk knew that it was all because of Og’s fire.

Once too, Og, busy among the rocks, as he forever seemed to be when not off hunting, was surprised by the appearance of a woolly rhinoceros, a great, shaggy monster with tiny, wicked, bloodshot eyes and two great horns that grew out of his nose. The beast came upon Og quite unexpectedly while he was chipping away at a stone with another stone, in full sight of all the cliff dwellers. The first that he knew of the beast’s presence was when he was startled by a harsh, grunting snort and a thunderous stamping of feet. Og looked up to see the great animal staring at him and shaking his head menacingly.

With a cry of warning that sent the cliff people scattering and scrambling up toward their caves, Og dropped his stones and turned and fled as swiftly as his legs could carry him. The rhinoceros with a snort of rage charged after him, galloping over the ground with such heavy strides that Og could almost feel the earth tremble.

Og, the fear of death on his face, raced headlong toward his big cave, and the woolly one came after him so swiftly that it seemed as if it were only a matter of a few more steps before he would hook that vicious double horn into Og’s back and toss him skyward and trample his remains among the rocks when he fell.

But Og reached his cave first and with a yell of triumph leaped over the fire that was blazing in the doorway, then, turning, he hurled defiance at the woolly one. The rhinoceros plunged on until he saw the fire; then, with a frightened snort and much sliding and scrambling, he stopped short not more than his own length away from the blazing fagots. For a moment he stood there irresolute, red-eyed with rage, yet not daring to advance a step farther. And as he stood there Og seized one burning stick after another and hurled them against his bulging flanks until he turned tail and went squealing away, very much like an overgrown pig.

Then it was that the hairy folk knew the power of Og’s weapons. They understood too why he and his father were not afraid to live in the big cave with the wide doorway. And they were all properly impressed. They could see that he had a powerful ally in the Fire Demon, and many of them feared him more and avoided him all they could.

But there were others—thinkers, perhaps—who did not avoid him. Instead they curried friendship with him by bringing him meat and pretty stones. They sought every opportunity to visit his cave if only to chatter with him or with his father, Wab. And always they sat within the circle of heat cast by the fire and reveled in its warmth. They enjoyed this basking, and they enjoyed watching the flickering tongues of flames—at a safe distance, of course. They delighted, too, in watching Og or Wab as they worked about the fire, feeding it or cooking their meat over it.

Perhaps this last operation interested them the most, for always while Og was cooking a delicious, appetizing odor that made one’s mouth water emanated from the big doorway. And the visitor could not help but think that Og feasted on food of the gods. Many of them brought fresh meat and gave it to him just to be able to smell the appetizing aroma that it gave off as he cooked it. And Wab, as he witnessed this and ate of the choice gifts to his son, could not help but think back on former days when they had cast him out and thrown him polished bones and decayed scraps. And as he thought he could not help but marvel at the greatness of his son.

There were some among these visitors who became really friendly with Og. He liked them and encouraged their friendship and gave them scraps of cooked meat so that they could enjoy his feasting with him. For some reason Og found a keen delight in doing this and he always watched the expressions with interest when they pulled apart the steaming morsels with their fingers and teeth and tasted the flavor that the fire had given the meat. Every one of his visitors enjoyed the taste of cooked meat and they all told of the delight among their friends until it was not long before Og was besought by scores to cook meat for them so that they too could try the pleasure of this new-found delight.

Their number grew and grew and Og did the best that he could to favor all of them, but he noticed with interest that never once did Gog appear at the fire. The old leader was often to be seen stalking by when others were gathered about his cave door, but he pretended not to take notice of Og and his fire.

The hairy boy soon guessed that the old savage was jealous of his power and his popularity and it was not long before he knew that he had guessed right, for through his friends Og heard of the talk that Gog was making among the hairy people. It was talk that even worried Og a little for the old leader whispered that Og was in league with evil monsters and the dead. Og did not know just what he meant but the suggestion had a sinister sound. So far the hairy folk had not progressed far enough up the scale of intelligence to even think of witchcraft and secret alliances with the spirit world. But they did know that death was a sinister thing and that one who had died passed through an experience that was beyond their comprehension and very uncanny. For a living being to be allied with those who were dead was a fearsome thing even to think about. And most of the hairy people remembered that he had been left behind when the tribe had fled from the wrath of the volcano. Perhaps he had been dead and had come back from the dead world again.

Some of Og’s friends dropped away from him when Gog began to make such talk. But others of stouter heart, who had eaten much of Og’s cooked meat and had been closer to him, remained loyal and denied Og’s fellowship with the dead. And they were the stronger and more intelligent men of the tribe. Indeed they perceived that Og had a great deal that was good about him and they understood too that his control over the Fire Monster could bring much good to the clan if only Og could be persuaded to be even more generous than he had been.

They talked thus among themselves, and they talked so much that soon their talk took on the nature of a clan council and they gathered about the council rock, squatted in a big circle while first one and then another stood upon the rock and talked to the rest; talked and told them how good Og was and what a great benefit to the tribe he possessed in his control of fire. They told of the cooked meat over and over again, and they told of how the great leopard had left Og’s cave unmolested, and how Og with his fire brands had driven off the woolly rhinoceros. Again and again they told these things for that was the only way they knew of arguing their case and carrying home their point to the listeners squatted in a circle about the great rock.

Og did not gather at the council. He noted too that Gog was not there either. But both watched the proceedings from their cave doorways; Gog with much jealous grunting and angry, guttural sounds to his wife; Og with a strange mixture of pride and selfishness; pride that he should be so great as to have the clan assemble in council about him, yet selfish, for he knew that the speakers of the clan were trying to work up the people to the point where they would come to him and ask him to give to them the most precious thing he possessed: the fire secret.

The hairy boy knew full well why the council was being held, and as he watched he wondered just what he should do when the speakers came to him with gifts of meat and stone hammers and asked him to share his fire secret with the tribe. The secret meant much to him, for it made of him one apart from the rest. It meant that he possessed the strongest weapon that a hairy man could have. It meant that he had warmth and comfort greater than any others. Why should he share it? It was in the hairy boy to think of himself first.

Yet somehow this, though, did not seem comforting. There was the council gathered. He had made a discovery that would benefit all of them. They realized it. Soon they would come and ask him for his help. All this was flattering. They thought well of him. They would still think well of him if he gave them what they asked. But they would not think well of him—he would not be so great—if he refused. They would say evil things of him as Gog had done. They would believe the old leader’s suggestions. They would avoid him. He would have no friends to gather about his fire so they could all make full belly talk together and feel lazy and drowsy in the warmth of his fire.

Even to think of the hairy people feeling ill disposed toward him hurt Og’s pride. He did not want them to think him selfish and mean. It would make him feel better to have them say among themselves, “Og is kind. Og is good. Og is a great man.”

This was the elemental problem that tumbled about in Og’s brain and soon made his head ache until he felt as though it would split. Time and again he dismissed it with a grunt of disgust and decided as he watched the council that when the talkers came with their gifts he would say no and act ugly. But each time he came to that decision back trooped unpleasant suggestions that made him think and think again. Sometimes he wished that he never had learned to think at all. He looked at the wolf cubs stretched out beside the fire and wished that he had the mental comfort that was theirs.

But still he continued to ponder as he watched the council. And then, just as the circle was breaking up and the talkers formed in a group with their gifts in hand ready to come to his cave, Og solved the whole situation with a pleasant grunt.

He watched the five big hairy men, all his friends, come toward him. As they approached he stood up, and taking the tiger skin from the floor, threw it about his shoulders. Why he did this he was not certain. It gave him a feeling of being bigger, greater of stature and stronger. And so he stood there until the speakers had approached to the other side of his fire and had laid down their chunks of dripping meat, their stone hammers, and their polished bones and pretty stones.

Then one spoke.

“O Og, the Hairy People ask it. They say ‘Og is great. Og is good. He has a friend in the Fire Monster. He knows the secret.’ They ask ‘Will you, O great Og, give all of us the fire so that we can protect our caves, cook our food and be as comfortable as you are?’ O Og, I ask for them. Will you give us fires of our own?”

Og stretched himself to his full height and looked at them very solemnly for a long time, as if he were thinking. But he was not thinking of whether he would give them the fire or not. He was thinking of how pleasant it was that he should have all the strong men of the tribe asking a favor of him. It was pleasant, indeed.

Presently he spoke.

“My friend the fire I will give to my friends the hairy people. They shall have fires of their own. From this fire in front of my home cave I will build other fires. Tell the hairy people each to go to their home cave. Build many sticks in the doorway as you have seen me build mine. Then will Og come with fire from this fire and light each of them. All the hairy people who wish it shall have a fire of their own. Tell them to feed it well with sticks through daylight and darkness, for if it goes out and I have to bring fire again I will take away with me pay, meat perhaps or a stone hammer or something I desire. It is well. Go. Tell the people.” And Og dismissed them with a wave of his hand for he was indeed feeling big and pompous and very important.

The speakers left with much grinning and grunting among themselves.

“Og is great. Og is good. Og is kind,” they said, and Og, hearing them, felt a warm glow surge over him. They thought well of him. He was proud. He was happy. So too was Wab, his father, who sat a little way off and listened with many a proud grunt of satisfaction.

And so the hairy people at the council rock heard Og’s message from the speakers. They scattered from the council grounds and each began to gather great bundles of sticks which they carried up the face of the cliff to the doorway of each dwelling.

And when evening came on, Og, with great dignity, and with the tiger skin across his shoulders, set forth from his cave with a torch in each hand. And when the hairy folk saw him coming they raised a great shout, and watched him as he went from doorway to doorway and ignited each pile of sticks. Og was The Fire Lighter to the tribe then. A personage, indeed, something between chief and priest he seemed to the hairy folk, who greeted him with loud acclaim.

And as nightfall settled over the valley of the hairy folk the cliff side sparkled with many lights, for before each cave burned a cheery fire; before each cave save that of Gog, the chief. He, stubbornly jealous, had not built a pile of sticks before his door, and when Og saw this he passed by.

Thus did Og give fire to the race of hairy men, giving it generously, but saving for himself the secret he had discovered: the secret of the fire stones.

CHAPTER XVIII
GOG’S TREACHERY

Gog was a strong man. He was a fighter, fierce and brave and able, otherwise he could not have been the leader of the clan. But he was a thinker, too; at least his brain was developed in proportion to his strong body, and he could reason more clearly than the average man of the caves. And he was terribly jealous of Og because of his wisdom and the popularity he had won among the hairy folk because of his gift of fire.

Gog saw that the people of the tribe looked more to Og for guidance than they did to him now. This was a terrible blow to the old leader’s pride. Day after day he sat in the doorway of his cave and muttered and mumbled to himself, and sometimes he crunched his short, strong yellow teeth, so angry did he get at the thoughts of this young hairy one, hardly more than a boy, who was undermining his position as leader of the tribe.

With a single blow of his stone hammer Gog could have settled all this. Time and again he was moved to do the deed that would put an end to this boy of the Fire. But each time he changed his mind. For one thing he feared Og’s weapon, the fire torch. For another he realized that the boy’s popularity was steadily growing; that he had a great many friends who would fight for him now, and while he felt equal to any one—yes, any two or three—of the clan’s best fighters, he did not have the courage to face an uprising of all of Og’s friends, which he feared might be the situation if he should kill or injure the hairy boy.

Gog thought and thought of how he might revenge himself on Og. And as he thought, treachery began to take root. He remembered Wab, Og’s father. In other days Wab had also been a thorn in Gog’s foot, so to speak. He had been a brave man and a mighty hunter; a better hunter than Gog had ever been. He had been a brave fighter, too, as Gog remembered, but in this Gog was better. Yet in council meetings Wab had sometimes ridiculed him. And in boasting Wab had often made Gog’s stories of prowess small and trifling. Wab had laughed at him more than once. Several times they had come to blows and fought for hours until both were exhausted, and, although Gog had always had a little the better of each encounter, Wab’s defeat was never without glory among certain members of the tribe. Gog and Wab had always been rivals for honors among the hairy men.

But all that had passed with Wab’s encounter with the cave tiger. The old hunter had been made helpless and as such almost an outcast, for one who was helpless among the hairy people could expect little in the way of assistance from others. Life was too hard even for the best of them, and they had all that they could do to look after themselves and little to share with others. And so Wab had been removed as an obstacle in the path of Gog’s leadership and the savage old warrior had gone on being the head man of the clan until Og came.

Now Og was caring for Wab. Through Wab, Gog could hurt Og; of this the fighter felt certain. His brain took many daylights and many darknesses to conceive the plan, and more than once his head hurt so from thinking that he was almost moved to give up the idea entirely.

But gradually he worked out a treacherous scheme. First he must make peace with Og. Be friendly to him. This would not be entirely distasteful for the present at least, for Gog was more eager than any of the other hairy men to possess a fire of his own, and he regretted exceedingly that he had not smothered his pride to the extent of building a pile of sticks in front of his cave when Og had given all the other hairy folk flames.

That was the plan. He would go to Og and pretend he was sorry he had been so stiff in the back as to refuse his fire. He would ask for a firebrand. He would visit Og’s cave again and again. He would even talk to Wab. He would talk of old times. Of hunting and roaming in the forest. He knew that Wab must long for such sport once more. He would make friends with Wab, and one day when Og was not around he would take Wab off into the forest on his last hunt. Wab would never come back. Og perhaps would go to find him. And while Og was gone something might happen. Who could tell? Perhaps Og would never come back either.

Crafty old Gog was so full of pride after he had worked out such an elaborate scheme that he felt Og to be nothing but a boy when it came to pitting his wits against such brains as he possessed. He grinned silently as he thought how really clever he was to think all these things out, even though it had taken him weeks and many headaches.

So Gog put his plan into action, and one day, with a freshly killed goat over his shoulder, he appeared in the doorway of Og’s cave. But Og was not there. Wab was sitting by the fire. The old hunter could see Gog only faintly, but his keen old nose could scent the fresh goat blood.

“Who are you? The step sounded like Gog. Is it you, Gog, come to make life miserable for a helpless man?” asked Wab.

“It is I, Gog,” said the treacherous one, “but I come as a friend and bring goat as a present. I seek Og. From him I would get fire. My back was stiff. I would not take the flames when he offered them. But I am wise now. I see my mistake. I come seeking it.”

“Your back was always stiff, Gog,” said Wab, still with a spark of the old fire.

“Yes. But that was wrong. I am wiser now, and more friendly. I guess I am getting old and tired. I wish that I had nothing to do but sit in the warmth as you do and be fed by my sons. The hunt is hard on a man growing gray in the face.”

“The hunt! Oh, Gog, you speak as a man who knows little of the misery of sitting and remembering; only remembering, never doing. The hunt! Oh, Gog, I would give much to feel a stone hammer once more in my hands, to stalk slyly through the long grass and creep upon some foolish goat. That is life. Remembering only is next to death. Come sit a while and tell me of the hunt.”

And so Gog sat beside Wab and talked, and Wab was pleased; so pleased that when Og came back to the home cave the warrior and the hunter were as old friends and Og looked at them and wondered. Gog asked for the fire, and, because of Wab, Og gave it to him; and the savage old leader went back to his cave with a strange smile on his ugly, scarred face, for he knew that he had laid the plans for his treachery wisely.

He went again and again to Og’s cave and always he talked of the hunt with the old man. He told him about the goats in the long grass in the meadow down the valley, and he told him of the wild horses that were passing in droves over the plains beyond the mountain ranges. He talked of old hunting trips when Og was but a baby and Wab was the mightiest hunter of them all, and this thrilled and pleased the old man and made Og happy, too, for he found a strong interest in listening to the tales. He preferred to listen rather than to talk, for in listening he learned many things that were new and useful but when he talked he gathered no knowledge.

In this way Gog soon found himself on really friendly terms with the boy and the man, and after a time neither of them suspected him of treachery and he was welcome in the big cave in the base of the cliff, by Og and Wab at least. But the other occupants of the cave, the wolf-dogs, never reached that point. Indeed, they mistrusted Gog from the first, and they always growled and showed their teeth when they heard his footsteps.

This caused Og to wonder a great deal, for he placed great confidence in the instinct of these animals. Yet time went on and Gog grew more and more friendly and came more often until Og was thoroughly disarmed.

And then one day Gog came to the home cave of Og and Wab when the hairy boy was away on a meat quest. It was planned that way, for Gog had been watching the boy for several days and waiting for just this opportunity. With his biggest stone hammer clutched in his powerful hand he stood in the doorway of Og’s cave and spoke to Wab.

“Oh, lucky one! You can sit by the fire and dream while others hunt for you. Gog in his old age has still to go hunting his own food and food for his children. My sons, thankless wretches, have caves of their own to provide for, and I have only babies home now who cannot do anything but squall and eat.”

“No, Gog, you are the lucky one. You can still hunt your own meat. Wab wishes that he could do likewise, but he is doomed to sit here by the fire and get fat and lazy. This is harder than hunting.”

“Why not go, then? You can still see the daylight, and with a strong companion you might still stalk the goat.”

“I have thought so, too. I might still feel the thrill of the hunt. But Og says no. He tells me to rest and be content to dream and grow fat. He will not take me. If he only knew how hard it is for me to do nothing, perhaps he would take me with him sometimes.”

“Oh, Og is too cautious! Come; go with me. I will not go far. I am still strong and my eyes are keen. I will see for you. No harm will come to you.”

A strange, wistful expression flashed across Wab’s face for a moment. Then he became greatly excited.

“Would you take me, Gog, and bring me back safely?” he exclaimed, getting to his feet.

“And why not? Are we not friends now, Wab?” said the treacherous Gog.

“Oh, if I could go but once! It would make me happy again. It would give me fresh thoughts to dream about. Surely it would do me no harm,” he said wistfully, thinking of Og.

“Harm! No harm shall come to you while Gog is with you,” said the old leader boastfully, yet smiling slyly as he thought of the plans he had laid.

“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.

“Times have changed since you hunted last, Wab. We are craftier than the horse and keener witted. I am a thinker. Trust me to find a way to bring one down when the time comes. I can do it. Come; we will go over the mountains to the broad plains. We will be back by nightfall, each with all the dripping horse flesh we can carry.”

And Wab, partly because he had to follow Gog and partly because a horse hunt appealed to him, still followed.

Soon they began to climb the slope of the mountains to the southward. Up they mounted, Gog picking pathways through the forest that clothed the heights. The traveling was hard for Wab, because he had grown fat and soft of flesh since he had been spending most of his time sitting in the warmth of the camp fire.

For a long time they toiled upward and very little in the way of conversation passed between them save occasional grunts, for each needed to spare their lungs of extra strain. But soon they mounted the rolling summit where they could look outward across the wide pleasant valley and the plain beneath; at least Gog observed the scene and imparted what he saw to his partly blind companion.

But midway in his description of all that he beheld, he paused and grunted.

“What is it?” demanded Wab, sensing that his companion had seen something that he had not located before.

“It is strange forms moving on the edge of the forest down the mountain here below us. They are not horses. They climb in the trees. Ah, I know now. The tree people. Ho! ho! the tree people. Wab, we are in luck. Here is sport, indeed. We will make war on these great cowards,” exclaimed Gog viciously, his fighting instinct dominating every other emotion or desire.

“Make war on them? Why?” asked Wab. “We do not want their forest. We do not care to drive them out of here as we did out of the valley of the volcano so long ago. Why make war? We are hunters now.”

“Ho! ho! Why make war? Just for the love of it, perhaps. Just to hear them squeal and to see them run. They are great cowards, afraid of hairy men. We two can put the whole tribe to flight. Come; it will be great sport. Think of the skulls we can smash! Think of the blood we can spill,” and the savage old fighter grinned wickedly and, grasping his stone hammer menacingly, he started down the mountain.

And Wab followed, but not without a strange presentiment that all was not well. He knew that he would make a poor adversary in any conflict.

CHAPTER XIX
GOG PASSES ON

Og, tired but triumphant, with a dead goat slung over his shoulders and the wolf dogs trotting at his heels, returned to the home cave just before nightfall, as all of the cave dwelling people did, for not even the bravest was willing to be caught far from the protection of the colony when darkness came on.

But as he approached the cave he experienced a sensation of fear and dread. He knew instinctively that something was wrong, for the fire in the doorway had burned down to just a smouldering heap of dying embers. Og knew that Wab would never have been so inattentive unless something had happened.

Hastily he went forward calling, but as he entered the big cave his heart fell, for Wab was not about. He noted instantly that one of his stone hammers was gone from its accustomed place and that Wab’s cherished flint knife had disappeared from the cleft in the rock wall where he always kept it.

The strange demeanor of the wolf dogs added a great deal to the discomfort that these observations caused him, for so soon as they entered the cave they bristled and growled and stepped about in stiff-legged anger just as they always did when Gog visited the cave. They sniffed at the ground, too, and trotted a little way from the cave in the direction of the forest.

Og could almost read the problem, but just then two hairy men, Big Face and Crooked Feet, passed, going toward the spring, and when they saw Og they told him of how they had seen Wab go off hunting with Gog that morning.

In an instant the whole situation dawned on Og. Gog had taken his helpless father off into the forest and Og instinctively knew that treachery of some sort or another was afoot.

He heaped sticks onto the fire and sat down for a few moments to think things over. Night was coming on. The forest would be a terrible place to travel in at night. But he thought too of his father and the terror that must come upon a man all but blind who might be left to wander about in the forest alone.

That thought was enough for Og. He must find his father. He must risk any dangers or any of the night terrors to find Wab. Hastily he made two fire brands and ignited them. Then, arming himself also with stone hammer and a long flint knife, he called to the wolf dogs. The animals he quickly made to understand just what was wanted of them, and when they did know their mission they bounded forward despite the fact that they were tired, and with noses to the ground followed the trail of Wab and Gog, while Og swung along behind them at a remarkably swift pace despite the fact that he too was tired from his day’s efforts.

Into the black fastness of the forest they plunged, their only light being the glimmer from Og’s torches. Despite his courage and the importance of his mission, Og could not stifle the natural, instinctive fear that possessed him as he dodged in and out among the trees, his eyes and ears alert for any signs of danger.

Southward they swung toward the mountain range that cut their valley off from the valley of the warm lands beyond, and presently they began to mount the thickly wooded slopes. Strange night noises they heard aplenty. To most of these the wolf dogs paid little heed, but when from afar they heard the terrifying roar of a cave tiger and the answering challenge of some wandering cave leopard, the hair on their backs bristled. So did that of Og, and he actually trembled with fear despite the stoutness of his heart. This traveling at night through the forest was a fearsome thing to do, and time and again he was tempted to seek the shelter of some huge bowlder, and build a great fire beside which to spend the remainder of the night.

But the thoughts of his father somewhere here in the terrible forest, and without fire (for Og knew that Wab, or Gog either, would never travel with a fire in his hand the way he did), spurred the hairy boy on to move faster and put aside the desire to build a big protective fire at least until he had found his father.

Upward on the mountain side they climbed, the wolf dogs following closely the trail that Gog and Wab had taken. On and on they pushed, soon panting and out of breath. Og’s lungs were pumping, too, and he sucked in air in great gasps; but still he climbed and kept pace with the hurrying dogs.

Soon they reached the gently rolling summit, where if it had been daylight they could have looked into the valley below. But as they halted there a brief space to catch their breaths, Og gave a loud and startled grunt, for from below him, and in the direction the wolf dogs were straining to go, rolled up to him a loud, booming sound. Og had little difficulty in recognizing it as the war noise of his old captors, the tree people. And this all added to his feeling of alarm, for he could tell by the volume of the sound that there were many ape-like men below there in the valley and they were very angry.

If Og and the wolf dogs had hurried before now, they fairly raced through the blackness of the forest. Down the slope they crashed, the booming noise growing louder and nearer at every step. And as they plunged forward both Og and the wolf dogs grew more and more excited, until presently the hairy boy found himself beating his chest with one clenched hand and roaring at the top of his voice while the dogs set up a fierce barking that added to the general din of the occasion.

Suddenly the booming sound, which now seemed close at hand, stopped and Og became aware of big forms swinging among the branches of the trees. Sticks came pelting down out of the blackness, too, and he could see myriads of green eyes glowing at him and he could hear teeth gnashed and clicked together. Still he rushed forward until presently he broke into a clearing where was massed a horde of milling, chattering tree people.

His coming, however, caused panic and consternation among them. They saw his flaming firebrand and they scattered and fell back. And the parting of the mass left a lane open that extended to a huge rock where, with their backs to this wall, stood Gog and Wab, each with a blood-smeared stone hammer clutched in his hand while before them laid a pile of writhing bodies of tree people. Og could see at a glance that it had been a terrible battle and that Gog and Wab were all but done for. Indeed, Gog, dripping blood from a hundred terrible wounds, staggered and swayed as he stood there, and Wab had to lean against the rock for support.

At Og’s coming the conflict ceased for most of the ape people scattered and took to trees where they stared down, chattering loudly and gnashing their teeth in anger and fear. Og strode across the bodies of the fallen ones and, standing there beside Wab, his burning torch held high, glared about.

By the light of the flickering flames he could see great, long-armed, crouching forms all about. Some of these he recognized as the powerful fighters of Scar Face. And presently he discerned the old fighter himself, coming slowly toward him, grimacing and chattering and holding up his hands as a sign of peace. Og beheld him with interest and not a little pleasure, for often he had thought of him and wondered whether he had been able to escape the terrible forest fire that he had started when he stole a firebrand and ran off into the forest with it.

By grunts and signs, Og showed his peaceful intention too, and presently Scar Face communicated the fact that the hairy boy had not come to wage war on them, for the chattering and scolding ceased and slowly some began to approach, while others, the trouble over, scattered among the trees and became lost in the night.

Og turned his attention then to Gog and Wab, both of whom had collapsed and now lay huddled and forlorn at the base of the big bowlder. Eagerly Og searched his father for signs of life, for he feared that the old hunter had passed on because of the many wounds he had received, and it was with great relief that he discovered still a strong heart beat.

Gog, however, had fared far worse than Wab. Fierce and terrible as a fighter, and valiant in battle too, the old leader, his treachery forgotten in the lust of combat, had carried the brunt of the fight from the very beginning, wielding a mighty hammer and crushing skulls right and left. The consequence was that the tree people had attacked him with utmost fierceness, as scores of bleeding wounds testified. When Og examined him he found the old leader all but dead. Indeed, even as the hairy boy leaned over him, Gog’s heart stopped beating and Og turned from him with a shudder. The fierce old warrior had passed on to the land of dead men.

By signs and grunts Og made Scar Face understand that he wanted to carry the unconscious Wab back over the mountain and into the valley of the hairy people, and when the tree man understood he was quick to lend his tremendous strength and between them they carried the limp form of Og’s father up the slope to the top of the mountain. There Scar Face refused to go farther, so Og shouldered the burden alone and picked his way slowly down the rocky, wooded slope, with the wolf dogs, tails drooping, at his heels. It was a hard journey for the tired hairy boy, and day was breaking over the eastern mountain tops before he reached the council grounds and the friendly shelter of the big home cave, where he could rest once more and care for the many wounds of his father.

THE END.