choice. That is, if he were not so clumsy that the meat would run away first. Then the wise hunter would not be able to kill even a little Neela. Wise old men cannot run fast."
Barkoo glared at him. "It was Sleeza," he snapped, then reddened at being trapped into a defense. He wheeled on the grinning Korgul. "Get a strong branch," he said sharply . . .
"WITH the dead weight of the kill swinging from the branch between Korgul and Torbat, the four Cro-Magnon hunters set out for the distant caves of their tribe.
Soon they entered the mouth of a beaten elephant path leading into the depths of dense jungle to the west. It was nearly dark here beneath the overspreading forest giants, the huge moss-covered boughs festooned with loops and whorls of heavy vines. The air was overladen with the heavy smell of rotting vegetation; the sounds of innumerable small life were constantly in the hunters' ears. Here in the humid jungle, the bodies of the men glistened with perspiration.
By the time they had crossed the belt of woods to come into the open at the beginning of another prairie, Dyta, the sun, was close to the western horizon. Hazy in the far distance were three low hills, their common base buried among a sizable clump of trees. In those hills were the caves of the tribe, and at sight of them the four men quickened their steps.
They were perhaps a third of the way across the open ground, when Tharn, in the lead, halted abruptly, his eyes on a section of the grasses some hundred yards ahead.
Barkoo came up beside him. "What is it?" he asked tensely.
Tharn shrugged. "I don't know—yet. The wind is wrong. But something is crawling toward us very slowly and with many pauses."
Barkoo grunted. Tharn's uncanny instinct in locating and identifying unseen creatures annoyed him. It smacked too strongly of kinship with the wild beasts; it was not natural for a human to possess that sort of ability.
"Come," said Tharn. With head erect, the long spear trailing in his right hand, he set out at a brisk pace, his companions close on his heels.
They had gone half the way when a low moan came to the sharp ears of the younger man. In it was a note of human suffering and physical agony so pitiful that Tharn abandoned all caution and plunged forward.
And then he was parting the rank grasses from above the motionless body of a boy, lying there face down. From a purple-edged hole in his right side blood dripped in great red blobs to form a widening pool beneath him.
Tenderly Tharn slipped an arm beneath the shoulders of the youngster and carefully turned him to his back. Even as he recognized the familiar features, pale beneath a coat of bronze, he was aware of Barkoo behind him. Before he could turn, a strong hand thrust him roughly to one side and the older man was kneeling beside the wounded boy.
"Dartoog!" he cried, his tone a blending of fear and horror and monstrous rage. "Dartoog, my son! What has happened? Who has done this to you?"
Weakly the boy's eyes opened. In the brown depths at first were only weariness and pain. Then they focused on the face of the man and lighted up wonderfully, while a faint smile struggled for a place on the graying lips.
"Father!" he gasped.
"Who did this?" demanded Barkoo for the second time.
