Stone Age Rampage

“Looks like Chilli’s caught a scent of something,” said Tom.

“Maybe it’s Tlaloc’s coin,” Zuma said hopefully.

“I don’t think you can smell gold.”

“You don’t know Chilli,” Zuma told him. “He can sniff out anything.”

They followed the Chihuahua over to the large tree. The little dog had stopped sniffing the roots and was now looking up into the leafy branches.

“You see?” Zuma said. “The coin must be in those branches. All we have to do is climb up and get it.”

Tom peered into the shadowy tree. Something moved in the branches – but it wasn’t a coin.

“Look out!” he cried.

The next moment a net dropped down from the tree, knocking Tom and Zuma off their feet and pinning them to the ground!

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Tom and Zuma squirmed beneath the net, the prickly ropes scratching at their skin. Chilli had been caught in the net too, and was trying to gnaw his way free. But he was just as stuck as they were.

“It’s no use,” groaned Zuma. “We’re trapped!”

Two shadowy figures dropped down from the tree’s upper branches, landing on either side of the net. Tom cried out in surprise. He tried to stand up, but the more he thrashed about, the more tangled up he got. The figures leaned in closer, peering at their catch through the gaps in the net. One was a grown man, the other a young boy.

A real livecaveman, thought Tom. And a caveboy!

Like Tom and Zuma, their captors were wrapped in bulky fur cloaks over hide leggings. They wore furry brown hats made from some kind of animal skin, and carried rucksacks made from a hairy pelt. But it wasn’t their clothes that made the breath catch in Tom’s throat – it was their weapons. The man was carrying a bow and a quiver filled with arrows, as well as a copper axe. The boy had pulled a sharp dagger from his belt, and was pointing it threateningly at Tom and Zuma.

As they tried to wriggle free, Chilli had managed to gnaw a hole in the net big enough for his little body. Squeezing through the gap, he charged at the hunters, yapping furiously. To Tom’s horror, the man drew the axe from his belt and swung it at Chilli. The Chihuahua darted out of the way, missing the blade by inches.

“No!” screamed Zuma. “Don’t hurt him!”

The man jumped. “Goat talks?” he gasped, blinking in astonishment.

“Who are you calling a goat?” Zuma said indignantly.

The boy made a grumbling noise that Tom realised was a chuckle. “She’s not a goat, Blood-Father,” he said. “She’s a girl.” The boy stuck his knife back into his belt. Lifting up the net, he helped Tom and Zuma out. “Sorry,” he said. “We thought you were food.”

Tom and Zuma scrambled clear of the net, relieved to be free from the prickly ropes. The older hunter put away his axe. He was still scowling. “What tribe you belong?” he asked curtly.

Tom scratched his head, not sure how to answer. “My tribe isn’t from around here. We’ve come from very far away.”

“From beyond the mountains?” the hunter asked suspiciously.

“Way beyond them,” said Zuma. At her feet Chilli was still glaring at the hunter, giving him a warning growl. Zuma picked up the Chihuahua and gave him a hug.