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Ebook has 1183 lines and 58042 words, and 24 pages

Commentator: Henry Fairfield Osborn

Illustrator: George Langford

PIC THE WEAPON-MAKER

PIC THE WEAPON-MAKER

BY GEORGE LANGFORD

INTRODUCTION BY HENRY FAIRFIELD OSBORN

BONI AND LIVERIGHT PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

To My Wife and Collaborator SYDNEY HOLMES LANGFORD

PAGE

THE ARRIVAL OF THE MAMMOTH 3

"UGH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?" 26

"WHY DO YOU BEAT THOSE ROCKS TOGETHER?" THE MAMMOTH INQUIRED 37

GRUN WAUGH SPRANG SNARLING TO HIS FEET 53

THE CAVE LION TOOK ONE LOOK--AND WAITED TO SEE NO MORE 64

PIC AT SHA PELL 74

THE MEETING WITH THE SEINE FLINT WORKERS 104

"STAND BACK! FOR YOUR LIVES, STAND BACK!" 129

WITH A HOARSE CRY PIC SPRANG TO HIS FEET 145

HAIRI AND THE CAVE LEOPARD 211

THE TIME CAME WHEN WULLI FAILED TO RESPOND 224

PIC DISCOVERS THE USE OF THE BONE TOOL 240

PLUCKED FROM ITS MOTHER'S ARMS AND WHIRLED ALOFT 268

INTRODUCTION

It has been the tendency of certain anthropologists, of most popular writers, and of most artists in Europe and America to represent the men of the Old Stone Age as scarcely raised above the level of the brutes. I have protested against this point of view on what I believe to be very good grounds, namely, that modern man could not have ascended from a group of brutes. There must have been from the very first, along the various lines of human ascent, a premium on the qualities of mind, on the rudiments of human character, and on the refined tendencies of the best of men as we know them to-day. Such a sprinkling of fine characteristics is observed by travelers who study the most primitive races of mankind with a sympathetic attitude of mind; many are discovered among the Malays, despite their head-hunting propensities, and delightful traits of character are found among the Polynesians, despite their occasional cannibalism.

It is in this sympathetic also appreciative state of mind that the author of the present work approaches his subject, the Mousterians, a very ancient and primitive branch of the human race. The environment in which these people lived was certainly very crude and the conditions were very hard, nevertheless it is reasonable to presume that they possessed many desirable although rudimentary qualities of mind and character. The present author may idealize these primitive men as James Fenimore Cooper idealized the Indians, but I believe he would be nearer the truth than if he brutalized them.

If it is clearly understood that the work of Mr. Langford is an interpretation of prehistoric human nature, an interpretation based on a certain class of facts, a working hypothesis as to the qualities of the Mousterian people which may be contrasted with other working hypotheses and developed with the progress of discovery, then this work is well worth while and may be read and enjoyed in the same way that we enjoy the painted restorations of these people, of their life and times.

HENRY FAIRFIELD OSBORN.

FOREWORD

Some thirty or forty thousand years ago western Europe was inhabited by a race of human beings now extinct, the Mousterians who differed so much from modern men that they are classed as a distinct species. They were cave-dwellers and flint-workers, living amid hordes of prehistoric beasts; the Hairy Mammoth Elephant, Woolly Rhinoceros, Cave Lion, Cave Bear, Hyena and many others.

The Mousterians were the last of the ancient Neanderthal race whose advent in Europe may have dated to two-hundred thousand years or more B.C. It is my interest in them that I seek to share intimately with my patient readers and my endeavor has been to restore in these pages the men and animal characters of those prehistoric days. Their activities and the circumstances surrounding them are inspired by the following discoveries, now of historic and scientific record:

It is my earnest endeavor to portray intimately the prehistoric life of western Europe as it was during the "Mousterian" Period of 50000-25000 B.C. Mankind's primitive pioneers cannot fail to win the respect of those who choose to understand them. My characters--men and beasts--were real individuals; their activities, my free translation of the evidence presented by stone relics and fossil bones. Such evidence collected by the world's leading anthropologists, is ably summarized in Prof. Henry Fairfield Osborn's immortal work, "Men of the Old Stone Age" which has been of material aid to me in the writing of this book.

GEORGE LANGFORD.

PIC THE WEAPON-MAKER

The cold weight of bitter glacial winter lay heavy upon the Dordogne region of southwestern France. Grass and sedge tuft were hidden beneath a mantle of ermine snow. The last withered oak and sycamore leaves had long since fluttered to the ground and only bare branches were left pointing skyward like dead fingers. The bushes stuck straight up like bundles of stiff rods. No sounds could be heard except faint whisperings of sleet blown over the snow-crust and of rending creaking frost gnawing into every hole and crevice.

Bison, moose, stag, ox and every other hoofed and horned beast of meadow, mountain and glade were assembled near the base of the southern slope of a long high ridge bristling with outcropping limestone crags and pinnacles. Every pair of horns and eyes was directed upward and every heart beat fast with great awe and fear.

For a monstrous creature was lumbering down the slope toward them, plowing its way irresistibly through the snow-packs like an avalanche launched from the heights--a strange beast of another world descending as it were from the sky. Its huge head crowned with peaked forepart, nigh equalled in bulk the Bison's body. A ponderous nose-lip dangled from its face, writhing python-like, between two long cream-colored tusks which swept downward then outward, then upward and forward to their polished tips in three graceful, twisting curves. And yet the colossal head was but a fragment compared with the vast body behind it. Both were thatched with jumbled masses of shaggy hair fluffed and tossed about by the breeze like tasseled plumes. The massive hulk was borne along upon four hairy pillar legs, each rivalling in girth the wrist of a stout oak which stood in the giant's path, thrust upward through the snow like a great gnarled fist. The lowermost branch rising some twelve feet above the ground, barely cleared the shaggy head-peak as it passed beneath. Such was the Hairy Mammoth, monarch of the bleak northern wastes and largest of all creatures ranging the length and breadth of Europe.

As his eyes fell upon the formidable hedge of bristling horns, he momentarily slackened his pace and took stock of the seemingly overwhelming odds upon which he was advancing. Fight? Yes and no. The Mammoth well knew the full measure of his own gigantic strength and how to make good use of it when occasion demanded; but there are always more ways than one to accomplish desired results--so the Mammoth reasoned--and he was a creature of far from low intelligence.

Crunch, crunch, his ponderous feet rose and fell amid the flying snow-clods as he bore down upon the group of horned animals, calmly and deliberately as though without fear or thought of hostile purpose.

Another and smaller individual trailed in the giant's wake. Like the latter, its head and body were buried in masses of tangled hair, so thick and matted that the creature resembled a small haystack supported by four short peg-legs, which latter were barely visible beneath the mass. But none heeded this the smaller of the pair. All eyes were centered upon the shaggy giant with the snake-like trunk and curling tusks.

The latter was only ten paces distant when suddenly two of the horned heads detached themselves from their fellows as their owners sprang forward to meet him. One of them was a thick-set individual almost hidden beneath a flowing hair-mantle and bearing two hook-like horns plastered across his brow; the other a more slender animal with short hair and long scraggly antlers. They were the Musk Ox and Reindeer, migrants from the northern ranges.

"The Mammoth!" they cried joyfully. "Hail Hairi, lord of the Tundr! Does the Storm Wind drive the mightiest of the grass-eaters before it as it does us more humble folk?"

The Mammoth, who had halted momentarily with trunk and tasks thrown into a defensive posture, now emitted an astonished bellow. His ears flapped violently and his trunk waved in joyful recognition.

"Hail, old comrades! Peace be with you and yours," he replied. "Good indeed it is to see once more two of the Northland's best and bravest. The Storm Wind? Aye. The Mammoth finds no favor there. But it is not from it that I flee, nor snow nor the frost which thickens the waters and makes all trees look like dead sticks. It is because of the ice-mountains that have sealed every drinking hole and food patch. I must eat and drink to live and as Death is my last choice, I made haste to seek this land of plenty--and friends."

As he concluded, his gaze shifted inquiringly from the Musk Ox and Reindeer to their associates. Sunshine by the cubic yard now exuded from every pore of the huge body--ten-hundred weight of concentrated benevolence and good will. His two friends of the tundras gazed apprehensively at their horned associates, then at the shaggy colossus. In the latter's beaming features and breezy manner was no vestige of the caution and timidity which might have been expected of him in a situation fraught with such grave uncertainties; but he had staked all on his sound judgment of animal nature and had already determined how the present occasion should be dealt with.

"Comrades," he began in a deep voice. "Fate was kind to reunite me with two life-long friends and with their friends all gathered together to do me honor. Words fail me; but I am mightily pleased."

He paused, gazing benignly upon the serried host. Every horned head lifted; every pair of eyes looked up in astonishment. Even the small haystack behind the Mammoth raised its head in amazement at the latter's eloquent outburst, then its attention shifted to the array of hoofed and horned animals.

"Moo Hooes!" it grunted and without another word, turned away and began rooting about in the snow. It may be inferred that the creature was a pig but although possessing piggy eyes and ears, its nose bore a long glossy horn pointing forward and upward, which in itself was most remarkable and unswinelike. Moo Hoo, by the way, was a name for any hoofed and horned animal. It might be complimentary or otherwise, depending on the way one said it. The small haystack's way of saying, was far from complimentary.

For a few moments, all was still. The Mammoth stood immobile and expectant--a mountain of majestic grandeur. A slim figure emerged from the throng of horned animals and faced him. It was the Red Deer or Stag.

"Your arrival is--I make bold to say--a surprise to us," he said timidly. "We, too, are pleased to meet the mighty Mammoth; but caution is our watchword and we look upon all strangers as intruders. We are in the midst of an important meeting which may be proceeded with after your departure. And now what more before we are deprived of your august presence?"

The great Elephant's gorge began to rise. This was a new and decidedly unpleasant idea--his being left out of any animal doings. His was a sociable nature, ever eager to meet new faces and never forgetting the old ones--you may be sure of that. With an effort he kept back the storm-clouds and continued to bathe all present in the sunshine of his genial personality.

"But my journey's end is reached," he remarked cheerily. "Meeting? You see I am just in time; and here I stay to make your better acquaintance."

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