Free Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure by Allan Richard Shickman Page B

unvisited? Dryness had preserved the grain and protected the carved marks—perhaps for many years.
    They built a fire and made themselves comfortable. The sky was clear now and the sun beat down forcefully, but the dugout was shaded and cool. Food was at hand, and soon there might be more. Zan’s feet were beginning to bleed, which was no small matter to a traveler. He was many days walk from home, and was quite possibly threatened by enemies. He could not easily run from them, and was still an uncertain distance from the dwellings of the wasp people. He decided to make this shelter a temporary resting place, to heal the scratches and blisters received in his long trek, and to restore his strength before he was completely exhausted.
    Zan was glad to have time to think, to reflect on the high red cliffs and the fantastic stone giants toweringover him. Wind-worn and strangely sculpted, they took on grotesque shapes which were sometimes almost human or animal. But just across, where the wall of the cliff turned to face him diagonally, was a shape that Zan thought ugly and unlucky. The collection of pits and dugouts confronting him took on the form of a skull. There was no mistaking it. It seemed to declare that Zan had wandered into a place of death, that he and his companion would perish there to be eaten by wolves or vultures, or be the prey of ants. Or perhaps he would find the remains of his twin nearby—Dael’s withered corpse in the reddish dust. Zan lived in a superstitious time. He knew what a human skull looked like and what it meant. He stared at it from his shelter and contemplated it like a hermit in the desert. And as he gazed, almost transfixed and lost in foreboding,
something moved
—he didn’t know what—within one of its hollow, dark eyes!
    Jarred out of his reverie, he froze and whispered to Rydl to do the same. The sun would soon be down and both of the boys watched minutely for any further motion. Best to know at once what enemies they would have to deal with. It was five silent minutes before they saw what it was. A bobcat was noiselessly emerging from its den. This was a night hunter readying himself as dusk approached. It was not very large as the great cats go, but it was a fierce and dangerous animal. It had a short tail and points of hair on the tips of its ears. Its beautiful fur was spotted and grew thick on the sides of its face. With an athletic bound and graceful, experienced steps it made its way to a large rock and perched on top of it. It had seen some partridges nearby and so it waited, waited for their return.
    From their higher position, Zan and Rydl could observe the entire drama—how the bobcat watched patiently until two partridges came into view below, how it stared at them with a fixed and intense glare while, as it prepared to spring, its tail twitched nervously. With similar fixity the boys watched the watcher as it crept ever closer, its hindquarters rising in anticipation. Then, in a moment, it had a crushed partridge under each paw.
    â€œQuick, Rydl, let us take the birds for ourselves!” Rydl hesitated, for the cat might well have killed him too. “Follow me with your stick, and scream and strike when I do.”
    It was not a matter calling for stealth. With a sudden rush and a loud scream Zan charged directly at the cat, striking it on its tender nose with his spear. The startled bobcat, which was at least as hungry as Zan, hissed and sprang away as if it had stepped on hot coals, releasing the partridges in spite of itself. Zan continued without cease to assault its nose and eyes, and when Rydl joined in the attack it saw itself outnumbered and withdrew, abandoning any inclination to fight for its prey. The boys seized the birds for themselves. “You see, Rydl, although the cat had speed and ferocity on its side, courage and surprise won out. Now, let us feast.” Zan did not see it, but Rydl gazed at him with admiration and