470 



THE AMERICAN MUSEUM JOURNAL 



scattering in flight and leaving the weakhngs 

 to their fate. The sabre-tooth found such 

 methods of defense annoying and quite in- 

 comprehensible. If he attacked one of the 

 bulls who stood in defense he could bring it 

 down well enough, in spite of its horns and its 

 massive strength. But then the other bulls 

 would attack him, although they were not 

 menaced at all, and could easily enough have 

 escaped. It was risky and he didn't like it. 

 What business had these others to interfere 

 between him and his legitimate quarry? A 

 surprise attack, of course, while they were 

 still scattered out on the meadow before they 

 could bunch together, would be less danger- 

 ous. But these rascals had pretty sharp eyes 

 and ears, and if one of them saw or heard 

 anything suspicious the whole herd would 

 usually thunder oS, and not stop until 

 a good distance away. Then the stalk- 

 ing would have to be all done over again — 

 and perhaps a third or a fourth time before he 

 could really get at them. Too much trouble 

 for a sultry lazy afternoon. 



In the thickets and copses along the course 

 of the river he could see the stirring of various 

 kinds of smaller game. Peccaries, deer, rac- 

 coons, and rabbits, he knew lived in those 

 glades and copses, and occasionally he would 

 catch a glimpse of one. But these were all 

 beneath his notice. He was not going to 

 waste his terrible weapons upon such small 

 fry. They didn't amount to anything when 

 you did catch them and were just as much 

 trouble to catch as the larger animals. Nor 

 did he consider more seriously the fleet and 

 graceful antelopes — pronghorns and one or 

 two smaller kinds — that he could see far 

 out in the open. They were too shy and too 

 swift to be worth while. 



Far off in the distance, showing up as mere 

 dots on the slopes of the opposite hills, his 

 keen eye discerned a prey that once within 

 reach was well worth while, and while some- 

 what dangerous had never failed to succumb 

 to the terrible wounds that his great dagger 

 teeth and huge claws could inflict. He did 

 not fear them, these elephants and mastodons, 

 but they were too far away, and they were 

 preternaturally shrewd in getting wind of him 

 unless he took a long circuit and got to lee- 

 ward. 



Finally, as he watched the valley below 

 him, his eye caught a glimpse of one — no two 

 — big, shaggy, golden-brown animals moving 

 through the brush near the dry creek bed. 

 His eye flashed, his pose changed to a tense 



watch, with some uncertainty. It might l)e 

 a couple of those big brown bears, redoubt- 

 able antagonists, whom he would hardly care 

 to tackle without necessity. Of course he 

 could fight and overcome a brown bear if he 

 had to, but he still carried the scars of a 

 former encounter with one of them and was 

 not eager to renew the fray. But these 

 couldn't be brown bears. Surely he had not 

 mistaken that peculiar greenish gleam in the 

 golden-brown backs. No — there it was 

 again, for certain. This was his favorite 

 prey — the big, clum.sy, slow-moving ground 

 sloth that waddled around in such stupid 

 confidence that its heavy hair and thick bone- 

 studded skin made it invulnerable. So it 

 was to ordinary animals, but not to him. 

 He could pierce that tough skin with tre- 

 mendous hammer blows of his great dagger 

 teeth, and tear wide gashes in neck and flanks 

 until the beast bled to death. Of course one 

 must be careful to avoid the ground sloth's 

 long claws which could rip him up in turn if 

 they could reach him in their wild thrashing. 

 But he had never had any great difficulty. 

 You sprang on the beast's back, and struck 

 deep and hard before it could gather its wits 

 together, and then dodged the great claws as 

 they reached up first on one side, then on the 

 other to drag you off. It didn't last long, if 

 you gashed the neck at the right point. 



He crouched down and began his stealthy 

 approach. The ground sloths, unsuspect- 

 ing, continued to strip the leaves off the trees 

 about them, standing on their hind legs and 

 reaching up to drag the branches down, then 

 digging around a taU sapling to loosen its 

 roots and pull it over. They were working 

 their way, feeding as they went, toward a 

 series of small pools which lay not in the 

 creek bottom but about half a mile over, and 

 on the crest of a low rise. They were curi- 

 ous looking pools, each surrounded by a bare 

 black patch on which nothing grew. In dry 

 weather they could be seen to be semi- 

 liquid asphalt, covered by a scum of dust, 

 through which broke from time to time 

 bubbles of oil and evil-smelling gas. After a 

 rain the asphalt surface was covered by a 

 few inches of water, iridescent with a skin of 

 oil and somewhat malodorous, but drinkable. 



Had the ground sloths but known it, the 

 place had an ugly reputation among the more 

 intelligent animals of the neighborhood. It 

 was reported to be haunted by mysterious 

 earth demons, perhaps the same as the sub- 

 terranean monsters who haunted the quick- 



