I had had to discard my rifle before I commenced the rapid descent of the
cliff, so that now I was armed only with a hunting knife, and this I whipped
from its scabbard as Kho leaped toward me. He was a mighty beast, mightily
muscled, and the urge that has made males fight since the dawn of life on earth
filled him with the blood-lust and the thirst to slay; but not one whit less
did it fill me with the same primal passions. Two abysmal beasts sprang at each
other’s throats that day beneath the shadow of earth’s oldest cliffs—the man of
now and the man-thing of the earliest, forgotten then, imbued by the same
deathless passion that has come down unchanged through all the epochs, periods
and eras of time from the beginning, and which shall continue to the
incalculable end—woman, the imperishable Alpha and Omega of life.
Kho closed and sought my jugular with his teeth. He seemed to forget the
hatchet dangling by its aurochs-hide thong at his hip, as I forgot, for the
moment, the dagger in my hand. And I doubt not but that Kho would easily have
bested me in an encounter of that sort had not Lys’ voice awakened within my
momentarily reverted brain the skill and cunning of reasoning man.
“Bowen!” she cried. “Your knife! Your knife!”
It was enough. It recalled me from the forgotten eon to which my brain had
flown and left me once again a modern man battling with a clumsy, unskilled
brute. No longer did my jaws snap at the hairy throat before me; but instead my
knife sought and found a space between two ribs over the savage heart. Kho
voiced a single horrid scream, stiffened spasmodically and sank to the earth.
And Lys threw herself into my arms. All the fears and sorrows of the past were
wiped away, and once again I was the happiest of men.
With some misgivings I shortly afterward cast my eyes upward toward the
precarious ledge which ran before my cave, for it seemed to me quite beyond all
reason to expect a dainty modern belle to essay the perils of that frightful
climb. I asked her if she thought she could brave the ascent, and she laughed
gayly in my face.
“Watch!” she cried, and ran eagerly toward the base of the cliff. Like a
squirrel she clambered swiftly aloft, so that I was forced to exert myself to
keep pace with her. At first she frightened me; but presently I was aware that
she was quite as safe here as was I. When we finally came to my ledge and I
again held her in my arms, she recalled to my mind that for several weeks she
had been living the life of a cave-girl with the tribe of hatchet-men. They had
been driven from their former caves by another tribe which had slain many and
carried off quite half the females, and the new cliffs to which they had flown
had proven far higher and more precipitous, so that she had become, through
necessity, a most practiced climber.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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