"An' with all that dodgin' an' duckin' of them there rocks the cave-girls
got away; an' I seen 'em an' the other cave-ladies scurryin' into little
caves--one whisked into this hole, another scuttled into that--bing! all
over!
"All I could think of was to light a cigar an' blow the smoke in after
the best-lookin' cave-girl. But I couldn't smoke her out, an' I hadn't
time to starve her out. So that's all I know about this here
pree-historic an' extinc' race o' vanishin' cave-ladies."
As his simple and illiterate narrative advanced I became proportionally
excited; and, when he ended, I sprang to my feet in an uncontrollable
access of scientific enthusiasm:
"Was she really pretty?" I asked.
"Listen, she was that peachy--"
"Enough!" I cried. "Science expects every man to do his duty! Are your
films ready to record a scene without precedent in the scientific annals
of creation?"
"They sure is!"
"Then place your camera and your person in a strategic position. This is
a magnificent spot for an ambush! Come over beside me!"
He came across to where I had taken cover among the ferns behind the
parapet of coquina, and with a thrill of pardonable joy I watched him
unlimber his photographic artillery and place it in battery where my
every posture and action would be recorded for posterity if a cave-lady
came down to the water-hole to drink.
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