ne curving horn that projected from a
wrinkled snout caught at times in the undergrowth, and then the ones
who dragged it would throw themselves upon the head with snarls of
fury and twist the big horn free.

The rocky cliff was honeycombed with caves. A cry, half-human in its
tone, brought an avalanche of figures scurrying forth. Children, whose
distended abdomens told of the alternate feasting and hunger that was
theirs, were cuffed aside by women who shouted shrilly at sight of the
prize. Older men came, too, and in a screaming mob they threw
themselves upon the carcass of the beast that had been dragged into
the open.

* * * * *

Flint knives came into play, then sharpened stakes that were thrust
through the bleeding meat. Young and old seized what they could,
leaped across the little stream that trickled downward through the
valley, and raced for the nearest fires.

The fumaroles made places for roasting, and these half-men had learned
the taste of cooked meats. Their jaws were slavering as they waited.
The scents were tantalizing.

A hunter was reaching to snatch a shred of half-cooked meat when a
woman of the tribe gave a scream that was shrill with fear. She
pointed her gnarled hand upward on the face of the cliff.

An opening was there, a black cave-mouth in the black cliff. Above
their own caves, was this higher opening, yet they must have explored
it often--must have followed it as far as they dared, where it led to
the mountain's innermost depths. Yet from this familiar place there
stepped forth an apparition. Another followed, and another--three
strange creatures like none the savage eyes of this world had ever
seen.

Clothing torn to rags--faces black and smeared with blood--hands that
reached groping and trembling toward the light, until the half-blinded
eyes of one saw the trickling brook.

Then, "Water!" he croaked in a voice hardly more human than the
grunts of horror from below, and he took the hand of another to help
in the steep descent--while the tribe beneath them forgot their
anticipated feast, forgot all but their primordial fear of the
unknown, and, with startled cries, broke and ran for the safety of the
forest....

CHAPTER IX

_The Throwers of Thunder_

It is doubtful if Walter Harkness heard or consciously saw that
fleeing tribe. He saw only the glorious sunlight and its sparkling
reflection upon the stream; and in his nostrils was the scent o