him, now."

The third man grinned. "Next time, Barkoo, let Sleeza bite you. While you may die, at least our food will not run away!"

Ignoring the grim attempt at humor, Barkoo scrambled to his feet and watched, in helpless rage, the bobbing heads and flying legs of Neela and his flock, now far away.

Barkoo swore mightily. "And it's too late to hunt further," he growled. "As it is, darkness will come before we reach the caves of Tharn. To return empty-handed besides—" One of his companions suddenly caught Barkoo by the arm. "Look!" he cried, pointing toward the west.

A young man, clad only in an animal skin about his middle, had leaped from a clump of grasses less than twenty yards from the fleeing herd. In one hand was a long war-spear held aloft as he swooped toward them.

Instantly the herd turned aside and with a fresh burst of speed sought to out-run this new danger.

"Look at him run!" Barkoo shouted.

With the speed of a charging lion the youth was covering the ground in mighty bounds, slanting rapidly up to the racing animals. A moment later and he had drawn abreast of a sleek young mare, her slim ears backlaid in terror.

Still running at full speed, the young man drew back his arm and sent his spear flashing across the gap between him and the mare, catching her full in the exposed side.

As though her legs had been jerked from under her, the creature turned a complete circle in mid-air before crashing to the ground, her scream of agony coming clearly to the three watching hunters.

Barkoo, when the young man knelt beside the kill, shook his head in tight-lipped tribute.

"I might have known he would do something like this," he said, exasperated. "When I asked him to come with us he refused; the sun was too hot. Now he will laugh at us—taunt us as bad hunters."

"Some day he will not come back from the hunt," predicted one of the men. "He takes too many chances. He goes out alone after Jalok, the panther, and Tarlok, the leopard, with only a knife and a rope. Why, just a sun ago, I heard him say Sadu, the lion, was to be next. Smart hunters leave Sadu alone!"

Tharn, the son of Tharn, watched the three come slowly toward him. His unbelievably sharp eyes of gray caught Barkoo's attempt at an unimpressed expression, and his own lean handsome face broke in a wide smile, the small even white teeth contrasting vividly with his sun-baked skin.

He wondered what had caused the zebra herd to bolt before the hunters could attempt their kill. He had caught sight of them an hour before from the high-flung branches of a tree, and had hidden in the grass near the probable route of the animals once Barkoo and his men had charged them.

Barkoo, seeming to ignore the son of his chief, came up to the dead zebra and nudged it with an appraising toe.

"Not much meat here," he said to Korgul. "A wise hunter would have picked a fatter one."

Tharn's lips twitched with amusement. He knew Barkoo—knew he found fault only to hide an extravagant satisfaction that the chief's son had succeeded where older heads had failed; for Barkoo had schooled him in forest lore almost from the day Tharn had first walked.

That had been a little more than twenty summers ago; today Tharn was more at home in the jungles and on the plains than any other member of his tribe. His confidence had grown with his knowledge until he knew nothing of fear and little of caution. He took impossible chances for the pure love of danger, flaunting his carelessness in the face of his former teacher, jeering at the other's gloomy prophecies of disaster.

Tharn pursed his lips solemnly. "It is true," he admitted soberly, "that a wiser hunter would have made a better choice. That is, if he were not so clumsy that the meat would run away first. Then the wise hunter would not be able to kill even a little Neela. Wise old men cannot run fast."

Barkoo glared at him. "It was Sleeza," he snapped, then reddened at being trapped into a defense. He wheeled on the grinning Korgul. "Get a strong branch," he said sharply....

With the dead weight of the kill swinging from the branch between Korgul and Torbat, the four Cro-Magnon hunters set out for the distant caves of their tribe.

Soon they entered the mouth of a beaten elephant path leading into the depths of dense jungle to the west. It was nearly dark here beneath the over-spreading forest giants, the huge moss-covered boughs festooned with loops and whorls of heavy vines. The air was overladen with the heavy smell of rotting vegetation; the sounds of innumerable small life were constantly in the hunters' ears. Here in the humid jungle, the bodies of the men glistened with perspiration.

By the time they had crossed the belt of woods to come into the open at the beginning of another prairie, Dyta, the sun, was close to the western horizon. Hazy in the far distance were three low hills, their common base buried among a sizable clump of trees. In those hills were the caves of the tribe, and at sight of them the four men quickened their steps.

They were perhaps a third of the way across the open ground, when Tharn, in the lead, halted abruptly, his eyes on a section of the grasses some hundred yards ahead.

Barkoo came up beside him. "What is it?" he asked tensely.

Tharn shrugged. "I don't know—yet. The wind is wrong. But something is crawling toward us very slowly and with many pauses."

Barkoo grunted. Tharn's uncanny instinct in locating and identifying unseen creatures annoyed him. It smacked too strongly of kinship with the wild beasts; it was not natural for a human to possess that sort of ability.

"Come," said Tharn. With head erect, the long spear trailing in his right hand, he set out at a brisk pace, his companions close on his heels.

They had gone half the way when a low moan came to the sharp ears of the younger man. In it was a note of human suffering and physical agony so pitiful that Tharn abandoned all caution and plunged forward.

And then he was parting the rank grasses from above the motionless body of a boy, lying there face down. From a purple-edged hole in his right side blood dripped in great red blobs to form a widening pool beneath him.

Tenderly Tharn slipped an arm beneath the shoulders of the youngster and carefully turned him to his back. Even as he recognized the familiar features, pale beneath a coat of bronze, he was aware of Barkoo behind him. Before he could turn, a strong hand thrust him roughly to one side and the older man was kneeling beside the wounded boy.

"Dartoog!" he cried, his tone a blending of fear and horror and monstrous rage. "Dartoog, my son! What has happened? Who has done this to you?"

Weakly the boy's eyes opened. In the brown depths at first were only weariness and pain. Then they focused on the face of the man and lighted up wonderfully, while a faint smile struggled for a place on the graying lips.

"Father!" he gasped.

"Who did this?" demanded Barkoo for the second time.

The eyes closed. Haltingly at first, then more smoothly as though finding strength in reliving the story, Dartoog spoke:

"It happened only a little while ago. I was near the foot of one of the hills, making a spear. A few warriors and women were near me; the rest of our people were in the caves.

"Then, suddenly, many strange fighting-men sprang out from behind trees at the edge of the clearing. They were as many as leaves on a big tree. With loud war-cries they ran at us; and before we could get away they had thrown their spears. I tried to run; but a big warrior caught me and struck me with his knife."

The son of Barkoo fell silent. Tharn, a flaming rage growing within him, bent nearer. Behind him were Korgul and Torbat, both very still, their faces strained.

"Then," the boy continued, "came Tharn, the chief, with our fighting-men. They came running from the caves and threw themselves upon the strangers.

"It