er, that
you might go and kill them all."

Dartoog's voice, growing weaker, now ceased altogether. Twice he opened
his lips to speak but no words came. Then, his throat swelling with a
supreme effort, he cried out: "Go, father! Go, before they--" His voice
broke, his body stiffened, then relaxed and he fell back, sighing.

Gently the father cradled his son's head in the circle of his arms. Once
more the clear brown eyes opened. The man bent an ear to the lips
framing further words.

"It--is--so--dark," came the barely audible whisper. As the boy finished
speaking, his body slumped, his head dropped back and life left him.

Barkoo sat as graven in stone, head bowed above the dead body of his
only son. There was no sound but that of the rustling grasses stirring
lazily in the early evening breeze from the east.

Young Tharn was the first to move. Shaking his head like a hurt lion, he
leaped to his feet, caught up his spear and set out at a run toward the
distant caves.

By the time he had passed through the trees bounding the clearing before
the hills, darkness was very near.

He came into the center of utter confusion. Everywhere about the wide
clearing were bodies--some dead, others desperately wounded. Instantly
Tharn set about organizing the dazed survivors; and it was only after
the injured had been cared for and the dead placed in long rows in two
of the recesses, that he found sufficient courage to ask about his
father.

"We took a spear from his back and carried him to his own cave," was the
answer. "I do not know if he still lives; he was not dead when we took
him there."

Tharn, closer to knowing fear than he could ever remember, raced upward
along the narrow ledges before the cave mouths. Near the crest he passed
through the wide entrance of a large natural cavern, its interior
lighted by means of dishes of animal fat in which were burning wicks of
twisted grasses.

* * * * *

A group of warriors and women at the rear of the cave, drew aside as
Tharn approached, revealing the magnificent figure of their leader lying
upon a great pile of furry pelts. Although the eyes were closed and the
strong regular features bore evidence of suffering, Tharn's heart lost
its burden when he saw the broad chest rising and falling evenly.

Seated on a small flat-topped boulder beside the bed was Old Myrdon,
pressing juices from herbs in a stone bowl. Old Myrdon had brought back
to h