estructive if he
should in any way transgress. Toward Grom--who regarded him altogether
impersonally as a means to an end, a pawn to be played prudently in a
game of vast import--his attitude was that of the submitted slave, his
fate lying in the hollow of his master's hand. Toward the rest of the
tribe--who, till their curiosity was sated, kept crowding in to stare
and jeer and curse--he displayed the savage fear and hate of a lynx at
bay.

But the babe on A-ya's arm seemed to him something peculiarly
precious. It was not only the son of Grom, his grave and distant
master, but also of that wonderful, beautiful, enigmatic deity, his
mistress, the fashioner and controller of the flames. The adoration
which soon grew up in his heart for A-ya's beauty, but which his awe
of her did not suffer him even to realize to himself, was turned upon
the babe, and speedily took the form of a passionate and dog-like
devotion. A-ya, with her mother instinct, was quick to understand
this, and also to realize the possible value to her child of such a
devotion, in some future emergency. Moreover, it softened her heart
toward the hideous captive, so that she busied herself not only to
help Grom teach him their language, but also to reform his manners and
make him somewhat less unpleasant an associate. His wounds soon
healed, thanks to the vitality of his youthful stock; and the bones of
the broken leg soon knit themselves securely. But Grom's surgery
having been hasty and something less than exact, the leg remained so
crooked that its owner could do no more than hobble about with a
laborious, dragging gait. It being obvious that he could not run away,
there was no guard set upon him.

But it soon became equally obvious that nothing would induce him to
remove himself from the neighborhood of A-ya's baby. He was like a
gigantic watchdog squatting at Grom's doorway, chained to it by links
stronger than any that hands could fashion. And those of the tribe who
had been hoping to do honor to the Shining One, as well as to the
spirits of their slain kinsmen back in the barrow on the windy hills,
by a great and bloody sacrifice, began to realize with discontent that
their hopes were like enough to be disappointed.

II

The captive said his name was Ook-ootsk--a clicking guttural which
none but A-ya was able to master. When he had learned to make himself
understood, he proved eager to repay Grom's protection by giving all
the information tha