THE FEAST OF THE MAMMOTH.
To the right and left of the precipice the fall to the plain below was
more gradual, and with exultant yells, the cave and Shell men rushed in
either direction, those venturing nearest the sheer descent going down
like monkeys, clinging as they went to shrubs and vines, while those who
ran to where the drop was a degree more passable fairly tumbled downward
to the plain. In an incredibly short space of time absolute silence
prevailed in and about the grove where the scene had lately been so
fiercely stirring. In the valley below there was wildest clamor.
It was a great occasion for the human beings of the region. There was no
question as to the value of the prize the hunters had secured. Never
before in any joint hunting expedition, within the memory of the oldest
present, had followed more satisfactory result. The spoil was well worth
the great effort that had been made; in the estimation of the time,
perhaps worth the death of the hunters who had been killed. The huge beast
lay dead, close to the base of the cliff. One great, yellow-white, curved
tusk had been snapped off and showed itself distinct upon the grass some
feet away from the mountain of flesh so lately animated. The sight was one
worth looking upon in any age, for, in point of grandeur of appearance,
the mammoth, while not as huge as some of the monsters of reptilian times,
had a looming impressiveness never surpassed by any beast on the earth's
surface.
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