«Meat he shall have,» said Lord L. «Fresh raw meat. I ordered a freshly killed beef yesterday. You, Richard, are going to offer him the meat as a gesture of friendship. Now let us go and fetch him.»

Blade carried Ogar to the cave and stretched him out by the fire. Leighton was testing his tapes and the night noises began to filter into the cave. Blade, alone with the sleeping Ogar, felt a chill creep up his spine. It was all very realistic. And atavistic. The flickering firelight brought shadows alive. Ogar slept on, his brute face cushioned on a hairy forearm. In the darkness outside, the roars and bellows and death cries of great mammals and reptiles came from the tapes in eerie authenticity. For a moment time slid back and it was a million years ago and Richard Blade stood naked and alone in a primeval night.

The hours passed. They watched Ogar through cleverly placed peepholes. Blade, naked now but for a skin about his loins, and carrying a club, began to be caught up in the thing. In a rawhide pouch he carried several chunks of raw and slightly gamey meat. He waited patiently for the game to begin, his handsome face impassive, his great muscles relaxed.

J, watching Blade closely, marveled at the change in his top operative. He began to understand better why Blade had survived four trips into Dimension X. A faculty for absolute adaptation. Blade was like a chameleon in that. To look at him now, J thought with a sense of awe, he is living a million years ago. He is a caveman.

At last Ogar stirred. Lord Leighton made frantic signs. It had all been rehearsed beforehand and each man knew what to do. The old man flicked a switch and the night noises began. First a hideous bellowing, then a hissing, then sounds of deadly struggle and, at last, a high screech of triumph and a death groan.

Ogar opened his eyes. He rolled on his side, got to his knees and glared around the cave. He cocked his head to listen. He snarled, an ominous guttural chest sound, and showed his fangs. He fell to all fours and stared into the fire.

Blade, from a corner of his eyes, saw Lord L rubbing his hands together and grinning like an idiot. J watched in silence, without expression on his long horsey face.

Ogar was on his feet now, walking upright but with his shoulders hunched forward and his long arms dangling to his knees. He was plainly puzzled. He began to walk about the cave, examining it, all the time making sounds in his throat. Now and again he would pause and listen to the sounds from outside.

A pile of faggots had been placed in one corner of the cave. Ogar stared at them, snarled, then picked up several and placed them on the fire. The flames leaped higher. Ogar then began to search around on the floor of the cave. He was annoyed and angry. Several times he thumped his chest and growled.

The stone axe! Ogar was looking for his axe.

Lord L, unable to contain himself any longer, dying to share his triumph, sidled in beside Blade, whispering.

«I've got it. I do believe I've got it — or as close as is possible. Ogar is Australopithecine. Or what would correspond to austral-P in our scale and in our world. Six hundred thousand years ago! I—»

Blade put a finger to his lips. They shared the peephole. Ogar, even over all the hideous night sounds, appeared to have heard the whispering. He scampered to the far side of the fire and crouched there, fangs bared, his little eyes fixed on the cave entrance. His hands beat a slow tattoo on his chest, and from his throat came a steady snarling— Groooorrrr — rrrr — grin—

Lord Leighton touched Blade's arm and smiled.

«Better go in now, Richard. He's expecting you.»

Chapter Five

Blade had planned it well, diagramming his every movement beforehand. If only Ogar would cooperate.

Ogar knew that Blade was coming long before he stepped into the cave. He retreated to the farthest corner of the cave and crouched, fangs bared, snarling softly in his throat. The slim, hairy body quivered with fear, but the great macrocephalic head wove back and forth, jutting and staring in defiance.

Blade stepped into the circle of firelight and stopped. He let the club hang lax in his right hand. He wanted Ogar to get a good look at it.

Ogar peered at him from small reddened eyes. The flattened brute head moved back and forth, back and forth. The splayed nostrils quivered and Ogar made a new sound as he scented the raw meat in Blade's pouch.

Blade tried to pitch his voice exactly right. He felt certain that he would get only one chance. If Ogar feared him too much he would attack. If Ogar felt contempt, thought he was strong enough to win, he would attack. A fine line must be drawn and in those first few seconds matters balanced on the razor's edge.

Blade tossed the club away. He patted his own chest gently and said, very softly, «Ogar— Ogar— Ogar— Ogar—» It was nonsense, but reassuring sounds must be made and Blade crooned as he would to a baby. He hummed, nearly sang, «Ogar— Ogar— Ogar— Ogar—»

Ogar remained in his corner. His glance followed the club, rested there for a moment, then came back to Blade. He snarled softly.

Blade made a slow motion of conciliation with his hand. He smiled. He kept talking all the while, a jumble of softly intoned nonsense words. After a moment of this he reached into the pouch and brought out a hunk of the raw meat. Ogar's nostrils quivered. Saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth.

Blade held the meat on high and waited. Ogar watched the piece of meat in Blade's hand. Blade kept talking, lulling, soothing, coaxing. And watching.

Suddenly Ogar held out a hand. He ceased to snarl. From his throat came a sound that was, quite possibly, a fully formed word. To Blade it sounded like—"Owww-nowwah.» Ogar repeated the sound—"Owwwnowwah.»

There was no mistaking the entreaty. Ogar was asking for the meat.

Blade smiled and nodded and tossed the meat through the air. Ogar caught it deftly, smelled it, growled and slouched to the pile of faggots. He selected a stick, the sharpest of the lot, and thrust it into the meat. He took it to the fire and poked it into the flames.

Blade, now as fascinated as Lord L, did not move. He crooned a soft little song in his throat.

Ogar was careful to keep the fire between himself and Blade. He left the meat in the fire barely long enough to sear it, then wolfed it down in two bites, tearing and rending the charred flesh. His little eyes never left Blade.

Blade tossed him another piece of meat. The process was repeated. This time Ogar made three bites of it, rubbed his belly and said something like—"Gooo-nah — nah—»

Blade nodded and smiled and said, «Gooo-nah — nah—»

Ogar looked puzzled. He cocked his head to one side, stared at Blade in a different manner, shook his head in some mysterious negation, scratched his chest hair vigorously, found something alive and popped it into his mouth. Then he settled on all fours by the fire and stared at Blade again.

Blade kept talking. And smiling. Ogar kept staring and scratching. From outside the cave came a sudden terrible roaring. Ogar stared past Blade at the cave entrance. He clutched himself and rocked back and forth making whimpering sounds. Ogar was terrified of what was out there in the night. For the moment he appeared to have forgotten Blade, who was remembering what Lord L had said about Ogar's attention span.

«Probably not long,» the old man had said. «Very likely that of a three- or four-year-old child.»

Blade went into the next part of his act. He walked to the cave entrance. He shook his fist. He let out his very best bellow of defiance. It was a fine effort and he was rather proud of it. Let the current Tarzan match that!

When he glanced at Ogar again he was clapping his hairy, long-knuckled hands softly together and, Blade would have sworn, smiling, even laughing. The big mouth opened, fangs flashed, and there emerged a sound that was half hyena and half jackass.