Here a tremendous surprise awaited him. Pic’s body had disappeared. In its stead, a man sat upon the rock-platform with feet dangling over the edge. His body was bruised and bleeding. His eyes were closed and his head hung forward upon his chest. Had not the Mammoth’s trunk curled around his waist, given him support, he must have fallen. But he was alive for his muscles twitched feebly and he mumbled strange words that neither Hairi nor Wulli could understand.
For an instant, Kutnar stared open-mouthed unable to realize the great mercy that some good[219] spirit had reserved as his portion. “Alive!” he said in a low voice as though fearing to disturb the dead. “I am dreaming. It cannot be.”
“Alive, yes he is. Oowee, oowee!” squealed the Rhinoceros jumping up and down with joy. “And now you too are safe.”
Kutnar sprang to his father with a glad cry and threw his arms about him. Pic opened his eyes. “Kutnar,” he murmured feebly; then his eyes closed again and he rambled on deliriously about wolves and hyenas and snow and various other things that had not the remotest connection with the present occasion. It was a most unintelligible discourse but his audience listened with rapt attention and beamed happily, for it all meant that Pic was alive.
Yes he still lived, thanks to his great strength and endurance. But for them, he could not have survived the terrible battering he had received. His body was a mass of welts and contusions, the result of merciless pounding. Scarcely a square inch of it had been spared by the Castillan clubs. No man could have lived under a third of those blows, had they been delivered by flint-axes, which cleaved through the flesh and inflicted ghastly wounds. Pic had demonstrated with his own body that ineffective weapons made not only poor hunters but poor warriors as well. However he was not yet out of danger in spite of his having survived the damage inflicted by his enemies. Bad bruises, loss of blood and resulting weakness might have[220] finally put an end to him, had it not been for the care and treatment bestowed upon him by his friends.
Hairi found a spring bubbling from the mountain slope and brought a trunkful, doling it out to Kutnar who laved his father’s wounds and cooled his fever. The boy then hurried to the grotto of the underground vault and returned with Pic’s bearskin robe. The invalid was bundled up in this and tucked away under the rock-shelter to rest. This done, Kutnar went off to re-fill his pebble pouch and kill food for Pic so that he might eat when he had rested and regained his strength. Meanwhile Hairi and Wulli stood guard. When Kutnar returned, the two beasts descended the mountain slope to graze and the boy went on duty. Such nursing could not help but produce results. Pic recovered rapidly and before many days, the quartette was ready to depart. Still bundled up in his bearskin suit, Pic was lifted to the Mammoth’s neck and with Kutnar sitting behind to steady him, they marched down the slope and around the mountain to the River Pas. They crossed this and went north along the right bank until they came in sight of Castillo. A faint haze arising in the distance from the cave-entrance, showed that it was still the home of men. “What will they do with Totan and Gonch gone?” said Kutnar, and his father answered, “Rather what will they do now that they no longer have a boy to feed them?”
This was the last they saw of the Castillan[221] stronghold, for here they turned in the direction of the rising sun. A long journey lay before them but their hearts were light and full of joy of companionship. Kutnar was found, Pic was himself again and now they were bound for a goal of rest and contentment—home.