Page:Amazing Stories Volume 16 Number 12.djvu/10

10 were these three members of a Cro-Magnard tribe, living in a day some twenty thousand  before the founding of Rome. Probably no race of man in all history has so stimulated the imagination of scientists as that of Cro-Magnon Man. The origin of the race is lost in antiquity, although its arrival on the scene was supposed to have taken place between 35,000 and 20,000 B.C. It is established, however, that hordes of the white-skinned, strong-thewed cave-dwellers over-ran, long before the dawn of history, what today is southern Europe and the Mediterranean Basin. This section of the earth's surface was sparsely populated, at the time, by Neanderthal Man—the last of the sub-human forerunners of Homo Sapiens. Immediate warfare raged between the two. The Cro-Magnards, while lacking the tremendous muscles and long, ape-like arms of the Neanderthaloids, were far more intelligent (as witness the dimensions of their heads; a brain-case exceeding in size that of present day man), and gradually eliminated the native Neanderthals. Between the two, there was little difference in man-made weapons. The principal weapon of both was the club; but, in Cro-Magnon's case, this was augmented by the flint knife, clumsily shaped but effective. It is entirely possible that the latter people made use of the rope, both as one of the amenities and as a weapon of offense. Cro-Magnon Man was the proud possessor of a virtue both new and startling in a world given only to the struggle for survival. This virtue was Leisure—a period in which he was free to do things other than kill his enemies, hunt, and eat. He used his leisure to develop an artistic sense that found its expression in the painting of everyday scenes from his life. The walls of his cave served as a canvas; his materials, principally ochre, he took from the earth. He was the first Artist; and his paintings, still admirable considering the lack of guiding precedence, have endured to this day. In appearance, Cro-Magnon Man was ruggedly handsome, both in figure and face. He was long-headed, with a short face patterned on the diamond. The width was extreme, with high cheek-bones slanting up to a narrowing forehead, and down to a short, firm chin. Above a long, finely moulded mouth, the strong, usually prominent nose jutted out imperiously. The female was considerably smaller than her mate, often reaching no more than to his shoulders. Possibly she was lovely of face and figure; we of today have no evidence to the contrary. There are authorities who insist no finer specimen of humankind ever existed than the Cro-Magnard. Whether or not this is true, does not alter the fact that he was able to carve a secure niche in a savage and implacable world, and, at the same time, place the feet of his descendants on the path to civilization and a more sheltered life.— With the wind against their faces, with their passage as soundless as only veteran hunters may make it, they knew the zebra had no cause for alarm beyond a vague suspicion born of instinct alone.

And so the three men slipped forward, a long spear trailing in each right hand, their only guide the keen ears this primitive life had developed.

One of the three, a stocky man with a square, strong face and heavily muscled body, deep-tanned, paused to adjust his grasp on the stone-tipped spear he carried. As he did so there was a quick stir in the tangled grasses near his hand and Sleeza, the snake, struck savagely at his fingers.

With a startled, involuntary shout, the man jerked away, barely avoiding the deadly fangs. And then he snatched the flint knife from his loin-cloth and plunged it fiercely again and again into Sleeza's threshing body.

When finally he stopped, the mottled coils were limp in death. He saw then that his companions were standing erect, staring to the west.

From his sitting position he looked up at the others.

"Neela—?" he began.

"—has fled," finished one of the hunters. "He heard you quarreling with Sleeza. We cannot catch 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