While only a short distance ahead, Urb and his four companions plodded slowly on toward their distant homes.

Darkness was not far in the offing, and Urb was inwardly debating on ordering the men to the trees for the night, when Tolb, at the rear of the column, voiced a low note that arrested the others in mid-stride.

Turning as one, the five stood motionless, their ears, keen as those of Sadu, himself, c.o.c.ked to catch and interpret what Tolb had heard.

Urb, wise old campaigner, was first to identify the sounds. "Men!" he grunted. "The hairless ones! Hide."

Silently each Neanderthal man stepped behind a trunk of one of the trees lining the path. Mighty clubs swung ready in steel fingers; narrowed eyes beneath overhanging brows scanned the open ground of the trail. The minutes lengthened....

And then five white-tuniced figures appeared at the far end of the path and came on at a half-trot. Slung across their shoulders were short bows; at their backs hung arrow-filled containers, and in their right hands dangled clubs, smaller than those used by the Neanderthals but still formidable weapons.

Not until the group had drawn abreast the ambushers did Urb give the signal. Then his fingers closed on a dry branch, and five immense bludgeons hurtled toward the startled Sepharians.

It requires far more skill to hit a moving target than a stationary one.

Then, too, the half-light near the end of day does not add to the chances of a successful cast.

Three of the clubs missed their marks altogether, one struck a shoulder glancingly, while the fifth crashed into the base of a neck, snapping the spine and killing the stricken man instantly.

Behind the cudgels blundered the Hairy Ones, drawing flint knives as they came. If they had expected to catch the enemy unprepared and demoralized, however, they were badly disappointed.

A barrage of Sepharian clubs flashed to meet them. Two found marks: one striking Kor alongside the skull, knocking him flat; the other caught Urb, himself, a glancing blow atop the head that made his knees buckle briefly.

The Neanderthal chieftain recovered quickly and with an angry bellow sprang at the nearest white-clad figure. Disregarding the darting knife, Urb caught him by the tunic with one hand and drove his fist with inhuman force full into the Sepharian's face.

There was a dull crunching sound of crumpling bones and the hairless one slumped forward, his face from hairline to chin driven through the back of his head.

The two remaining guards were still in the fight, seeking to out-maneuver their less agile foemen and knife them from behind. The shifting feet stirred up dust from the trail until a cloud enveloped the fighters.

And then a ringing shout echoed above the panting, twisting bodies, and into battle came the balance of the Sepharians.

At sight of these enemy reinforcements, Urb and his three remaining henchmen turned and fled, leaving the fallen Kor where he lay. The newcomers pursued them for a short distance, then, seeing they were empty-handed, turned back.

Vulcar called his men together, determined the extent of any injuries, then turned his attention to the bodies in the trail. Coolly he ran his knife through the throat of the still stunned Kor. A brief examination proved the other two casualties to be quite dead.

After detailing four men to scoop out shallow graves for their late comrades, Vulcar sent the others into the foliage on either side of the trail to find Alurna. He believed she had been bound and gagged to prevent any warning of the ambuscade, and he pictured her as lying helpless nearby, awaiting release.

Until long after darkness, Vulcar and his men searched for their princess. Again and again they shouted her name, straining to catch an answering cry that did not come. Finally, after hours of systematic effort, in which every inch of ground for yards around was combed, the realization came that Urim's daughter was as lost to them as though they had remained in Sephar.

To Vulcar, the awful truth came as a sickening blow. So certain of success had he been at learning they were close on the heels of the Hairy Men, that the final disappointment almost drove him mad. All he could see was hopeless suffering dulling Urim's eyes and lining his face.... Vulcar beat his fists together in impotent fury at his own helplessness.

Reluctantly he gave the signal to abandon the search, and with bowed shoulders and bent head the captain led his command back toward Sephar and a waiting father.

Dylara sat beside a tiny brook and allowed its cool waters to chill her aching ankle. It had begun to swell again from the strain of a full day's slow progress, even though she had stopped many times to give it rest.

An hour from now it would be sunset. Soon the forest denizens would be coming here to drink. Soon, too, would come the meat-eaters, to lurk beside the pathway, awaiting Bana and Neela, whose succulent flesh they loved.

The cave-girl bent and washed the dust from her hands and face, drying the skin with gra.s.s. Then she rose and retraced her steps to the base of a tall tree. Favoring her ankle as best she could, Dylara climbed well above the ground, sought and found a properly placed limb on which she could spend the night, and fell promptly into dreamless sleep.

She had no more than closed her eyes when a group of eight men pa.s.sed below the branches of her tree and stopped at the water's edge. One of the eight walked slowly back and forth on the near bank, his head lowered, studying the ground.

He halted suddenly, stooped lower, eyes intent on something there. Then he beckoned to the others.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "There, in the mud. See those marks? She sat here, bathing her feet. And here!--here are the prints of bare feet."

Jotan, following the pointing finger, nodded, his handsome face shining.

"They must be hers. Are they recent, Modilk?"

"So recent," said the long-faced Modilk solemnly, "that the slave-girl must be within a few minutes of us."

Javan spoke now, his voice worried. "Where are we to spend the night, Jotan? The big cats will be hunting soon; we must find a safe place."

Jotan slapped his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "We'll find Dylara first," he said, "then make camp for the night. A circle of brush fires will keep the lions and leopards away."

The eight men waded the stream, not bothering to remove their sandals, and pressed on into the north.

While a stone's throw behind them, aloft in the branches of a leafy tree, slept the girl they were seeking.

CHAPTER XIV

Forest Trails

"It was here we found the dead guards. Where, or in what direction, the Hairy Men took Alurna is not known. Vulcar and his men followed this trail away from Sephar."

The guard detailed to show Tharn the scene of Alurna's capture had told all he knew. To the cave man it more than sufficed; following a trail left less than a sun before would not tax his prowess.

"You have told me enough," Tharn a.s.sured him. "Hasten back to your chief and tell him I will return soon--his daughter with me."

The Cro-Magnard, a slight smile touching his lips, watched the retreating figure until it disappeared around a bend of the trail. Even then he did not move, but stood quiet, arms folded across his swelling chest, drawing great draughts of humid air deep into his lungs.

Free! Gone were stone walls, cold floors and barred doors. No longer must he go only where others permitted. There were soft gra.s.ses and growing things about him. Overhead was the limitless blue of s.p.a.ce; and there was Dyta, the sun, sending golden spears to p.r.i.c.k, with welcome heat, the smooth skin of the cave lord.

Siha, the wind, moving in little eddies and gusts, brought to his nostrils a heavy pungent cloying odor belonging only to the jungle; the combined essence of uncounted varieties of plants, together with the comingled scent of endless small life that makes of the jungle a teeming city in itself. Overhead, little n.o.bar, the monkey, sat on a low-hanging branch and scolded roundly the two-legged creature in the trail below.

Yes, it was good to be free again. Good to know the pure pleasure of unlimited vistas of trees and plains. A vision of his father's caves and the members of his tribe rose before him, bringing the pangs of homesickness. But superimposed on the familiar scene came, unbidden, the lovely face and softly rounded figure of Dylara.

Siha veered sharply and came sweeping at right angles across the path.

Tharn stiffened for strong in his nostrils was the scent of Tarlok, the leopard. He was instantly alert--a wary jungle denizen who wheeled and faced upwind, eyes narrowed, the sharp blade of flint ready in his right hand.