Some day, an
even mightier civilization than the one he had left would rise here....
* * * * *
All day the trail had wound upward into the mountains. Great cliffs
loomed above them, and little streams spumed and dashed in rocky gorges
below. All day, the Hairy People had followed, fearful to approach too
close, unwilling to allow their enemies to escape. It had started when
they had rushed the camp, at daybreak; they had been beaten off, at cost
of almost all the ammunition, and the death of one child. No sooner had
the tribe of Kalvar Dard taken the trail, however, than they had been
pressing after them. Dard had determined to cross the mountains, and had
led his people up a game-trail, leading toward the notch of a pass high
against the skyline.
The shaggy ape-things seemed to have divined his purpose. Once or
twice, he had seen hairy brown shapes dodging among the rocks and
stunted trees to the left. They were trying to reach the pass ahead of
him. Well, if they did.... He made a quick mental survey of his
resources. His pistol, and his son's, and Dorita's, with eight, and six,
and seven rounds. One grenade, and the big demolition bomb, too powerful
to be thrown by hand, but which could be set for delayed explosion and
dropped over a cliff or left behind to explode among pursuers.
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