Authors: Chad Oliver
The
warm,
sun-drenched
days
passed,
and
with them
the
bitter-cold,
mysterious
nights.
Mark
and
Tlax-can
walked
on
across
the
great
plain,
detouring
twice to
get
around
great
green
lakes
carved
out
of
solid
rock by
the
retreating
glaciers.
Mark
could
still
see
an
occasional
glitter
far
to
the
north,
and
he
was
convinced that
it
was
indeed
the
last
of
the
glacial
ice,
an
isolated section,
probably,
since
vegetation
had
already
come back
on
the
plain,
and
pines
dotted
the
mountain
foothills.
He
made
up
his
mind
to
get
a
good
look
at
the ice
if
he
ever
saw
an
opportunity.
It
would
be
a
real thrill
to
be
able
to
look
down
on
the
vast
ice
sheet that
so
recently
had
covered
most
of
Europe,
and which
even
in
1953
had
not
completely
disappeared. Few
people
realized,
in
1953,
that
they
were
not
yet altogether
out
of
the
Ice
Age.
Enormous
sheets
of
ice, thousands
of
feet
thick,
the
remnants
of
those
which had
licked
out
across
the
world,
still
crushed
the
earth of
Greenland
and
Antarctica
in
modern
times.
The
ice was
not
gone,
and
it
was
a
safe
bet
that
it
would
come again,
as
it
had
come
before,
reaching
back
into
the lands
where
it
had
been
foolishly
forgotten.
Mark
did
not
waste
this
precious
interlude
of
time, but
rather
employed
it
to
learn
Tlaxcan’s
language
as best
he
could.
It
was
out
of
the
question,
as
well
as impractical,
to
try
to
teach
Tlaxcan
English—not
because
Tlaxcan
was
stupid,
but
because
English
was
an impossibly
difficult
tongue
to
learn
in
a
hurry,
as
well as
being
quite
useless
in
50,000
B
.c.
Tlaxcan
s
language was
simpler,
although
by
no
means
easy.
There
were not
many
words,
but
each
one
had
a
different
meaning according
to
the
way
in
which
it
was
said.
Mark
was handicapped
by
not
having
any
books
to
learn
from, nor
any
organized
rules
to
help
him,
but
he
made
slow progress
and
began
to
make
himself
understood
in simple
sentences.
For
one
thing,
he
learned
what
Tlaxcan
had
been
doing
out
on
the
plain
when
he
had
been attracted
by
the
strange
sound
of
Mark’s
shots.
Tlaxcan had
been
scouting
for
the
quaro
herds,
on
which
his people
placed
their
primary
dependence,
when
they could
get
them.
Tlaxcan
said
that
he
had
failed
to
find the
quaro
herds,
so
they
couldn’t
have
been
bison,
reindeer,
or
horses,
all
of
which
they
had
seen
in
profusion. From
his
description,
Mark
got
an
impression
of
a mighty
elephant
of
some
kind,
and,
putting
two
and two
together,
Mark
thought
he
knew
what
Tlaxcan
had been
after.
Mammoths!
As
they
went
on,
Mark
at
last
had
some
time
to think.
Given
a
little
chance
to
rest,
his
imagination went
busily
to
work.
Where,
exactly,
was
he?
What, in
modern
times,
had
become
of
the
great
plain
on which
they
were
walking?
As
nearly
as
he
could
figure it,
they
were
somewhere
near
the
modern
line
between France
and
Germany.
It
was
a
little
frightening
to think,
as
they
walked
along
under
the
sunny
skies, that
all
the
teeming
millions
of
France
and
Germany were
as
yet
unborn,
dust
and
less
than
dust.
No
man in
the
world
had
yet
heard
the
name
of
Napoleon,
or of
Hitler.
Mark
looked
about
him,
wondering.
What history
would
be
written,
how
many
men
would
die
on this
grassy
plain
before
the
end
of
time?
In
his
mind’s eye,
as
he
walked
through
the
grass
in
the
dawn
of man,
he
could
almost
see
the
great
plains
twisted
with ugly
slit
trenches,
the
mighty
guns,
yet
uninvented, belching
flame
and
death
from
black
muzzles.