Mists of Dawn (77 page)

Mark
looked
at
his
friend
in
amazement,
but
there was
no
time
to
discuss
strategy.
If
Tlaxcan
said
to build
a
fire,
then
that
was
what
they
were
going
to
do. Mark
pitched
in
with
frantic
speed,
gathering
some dead
and
rotten
pine.
He
split
the
shavings
with
his knife,
and
he
and
Tlaxcan
piled
kindling
and
boughs together
in
record
time.
Mark
knelt
with
his
precious matches,
and
eyed
Tlaxcan
questioningly.

“They
will
see
the
fire,”
he
said
logically.
“They will
find
us
and
come
here.”

Tlaxcan
smiled.
“They
will
find
us
anyway,”
he
explained.
“They
will
come,
but
we
will
not
be
here.”

Wondering,
Mark
lit
the
fire.
It
blazed
up
brilliantly,
and
Mark
reflected
that
he
was
getting
to
be an
expert
at
building
fires.
If
he
ever
got
home,
he knew
that
he
would
never
again
waste
more
than
one match
in
starting
a
fire.

“Now,”
said
Tlaxcan
hurriedly,
“we
need
torch branches—all
we
can
carry.
Be
quick,
we
have
little time.”

The
two
men
searched
through
the
night
and
managed
to
locate
six
dead
branches
that
would
serve
as torches.
They
lit
just
one
of
them,
which
Tlaxcan
carried,
and
then
they
left
the
fire
and
climbed
on
into the
hills.
In
a
short
time
they
came
to
a
dark
cave, which
had
evidently
been
Tlaxcan’s
destination,
and they
were
not
a
moment
too
soon.
A
chorus
of
snarling
shouts
below
them
told
them
that
the
half-men were
already
at
the
fire.

The
cave
mouth
was
dark
and
unwholesome-looking.
Damp,
faintly
foul
air
rose
out
of
its
depths
and Mark
felt
an
unreasonable
shudder
pass
through
him. Caves,
like
houses,
had
personalities
of
their
own. Some
were
warm
and
cozy,
good
places
to
sleep
in. Others
were
vastly
mysterious
and
hinted
of
scenic marvels
underground.
And
still
others
were
dank
and evil-smelling,
with
a
nameless
dread
dwelling
in
their subterranean
caverns,
crawling
with
wormy
horrors that
had
never
known
the
light
of
day.

It
was
not
an
inviting
place
to
enter.
Mark
quickly saw,
however,
the
wisdom
of
Tlaxcan’s
move.
They could
not
elude
the
Neanderthals
for
long,
even
in
the mountains;
it
would
not
do
to
count
on
another
streak 
of
luck
such
as
had
saved
Mark
the
first
time.
Sooner or
later,
they
would
have
to
stand
and
fight.
If
they
had to
fight,
it
was
best
to
do
it
before
they
were
too exhausted
to
give
a
good
account
of
themselves.
And what
possible
location
could
give
them
a
better
advantage
than
a
cave?
There,
in
the
narrow
tunnels
deep in
the
earth,
they
could
take
the
half-men
on
one
at
a time;
and
it
was
altogether
possible
that
the
Mroxor would
not
dare
to
follow
them
at
all.
They
were
not fools,
and
they
would
know
that
plunging
into
a
dark cave
after
two
cornered
Danequa
was
not
far
removed from
suicide.