closing shell of an abalone.

The Swift One and I managed to bring up one child, a boy--at least we
managed to bring him along for several years. But I am quite confident
he could never have survived that terrible climate. And then, one day,
the Fire People appeared again. They had come down the river, not on a
catamaran, but in a rude dug-out. There were three of them that paddled
in it, and one of them was the little wizened old hunter. They landed on
our beach, and he limped across the sand and examined our caves.

They went away in a few minutes, but the Swift One was badly scared.
We were all frightened, but none of us to the extent that she was. She
whimpered and cried and was restless all that night. In the morning she
took the child in her arms, and by sharp cries, gestures, and example,
started me on our second long flight. There were eight of the Folk (all
that was left of the horde) that remained behind in the caves. There was
no hope for them. Without doubt, even if the Fire People did not return,
they must soon have perished. It was a bad climate down there by the
sea. The Folk were not constituted for the coast-dwelling life.

We travelled south, for days skirting the great swamp but never
venturing into it. Once we broke back to the westward, crossing a range
of mountains and coming down to the coast. But it was no place for us.
There were no trees--only bleak headlands, a thundering surf, and strong
winds that seemed never to cease from blowing. We turned back across the
mountains, travelling east and south, until we came in touch with the
great swamp again.

Soon we gained the southern extremity of the swamp, and we continued our
course south and east. It was a pleasant land. The air was warm, and we
were again in the forest. Later on we crossed a low-lying range of hills
and found ourselves in an even better forest country. The farther we
penetrated from the coast the warmer we found it, and we went on and on
until we came to a large river that seemed familiar to the Swift One.
It was where she must have come during the four years' absence from
the horde. This river we crossed on logs, landing on side at the large
bluff. High up on the bluff we found our new home most difficult of
access and quite hidden from any eye beneath.

There is little more of my tale to tell. Here the Swift One and I lived
and reared our family. And here my memories end. We never made another
migration. I never dream beyond