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was that weakness that in times to come would lead him and those whofollowed him to heights his ancestors had never known. But now--

  He heard a discordant, deep bass bellow, coming from a spot not twentyyards away. In a flash of panic he darted behind a clump of mushroomsand hid himself, panting in sheer terror. He waited for an instant infrozen fear, motionless and tense. His wide, blue eyes were glassy.

  The bellow came again, but this time with a querulous note. Burl heard acrashing and plunging as of some creature caught in a snare. A mushroomfell with a brittle snapping, and the spongy thud as it fell to theground was followed by a tremendous commotion. Something was fightingdesperately against something else, but Burl did not know what creatureor creatures might be in combat.

  He waited for a long time, and the noise gradually died away. PresentlyBurl's breath came more slowly, and his courage returned. He stole fromhis hiding place, and would have made away, but something held him back.Instead of creeping from the scene, he crept cautiously over toward thesource of the noise.

  He peered between two cream-colored toadstool stalks and saw the causeof the noise. A wide, funnel-shaped snare of silk was spread out beforehim, some twenty yards across and as many deep. The individual threadscould be plainly seen, but in the mass it seemed a fabric of sheerest,finest texture. Held up by the tall mushrooms, it was anchored to theground below, and drew away to a tiny point through which a hole gave onsome yet unknown recess. And all the space of the wide snare was hungwith threads, fine, twisted threads no more than half the thickness ofBurl's finger.

  This was the trap of a labyrinth spider. Not one of the interlacingthreads was strong enough to hold the feeblest of prey, but the threadswere there by thousands. A great cricket had become entangled in themaze of sticky lines. Its limbs thrashed out, smashing the snare-linesat every stroke, but at every stroke meeting and becoming entangled witha dozen more. It thrashed about mightily, emitting at intervals thehorrible, deep bass cry that the chirping voice of the cricket hadbecome with its increase in size.

  * * * * *

  Burl breathed more easily, and watched with a fascinated curiosity. Meredeath--even tragic death--as among insects held no great interest forhim. It was a matter of such common and matter-of-fact occurrence thathe was not greatly stirred. But a spider and his prey was anothermatter.

  There were few insects that deliberately sought man. Most insects havetheir allotted victims, and will touch no others, but spiders have aterrifying impartiality. One great beetle devouring another was a matterof indifference to Burl. A spider devouring some luckless insect was butan example of what might happen to him. He watched alertly, his gazetraveling from the enmeshed cricket to the strange orifice at the rearof the funnel-shaped snare.

  The opening darkened. Two shining, glistening eyes had been watchingfrom the rear of the funnel. It drew itself into a tunnel there, inwhich the spider had been waiting. Now it swung out lightly and cametoward the cricket. It was a gray spider (_Agelena labyrinthica_), withtwin black ribbons upon its thorax, next the head, and with two stripesof curiously speckled brown and white upon its abdomen. Burl saw, too,two curious appendages like a tail.

  It came nimbly out of its tunnel-like hiding place and approached thecricket. The cricket was struggling only feebly now, and the cries ituttered were but feeble, because of the confining threads that fetteredits limbs. Burl saw the spider throw itself upon the cricket and saw thefinal, convulsive shudder of the insect as the spider's fangs piercedits tough armour. The sting lasted a long time, and finally Burl sawthat the spider was really feeding. All the succulent juices of the nowdead cricket were being sucked from its body by the spider. It had stungthe cricket upon the haunch, and presently it went to the other leg anddrained that, too, by means of its powerful internal suction-pump. Whenthe second haunch had been sucked dry, the spider pawed the lifelesscreature for a few moments and left it.

  Food was plentiful, and the spider could afford to be dainty in itsfeeding. The two choicest titbits had been consumed. The remainder couldbe discarded.

  A sudden thought came to Burl and quite took his breath away. For asecond his knees knocked together in self-induced panic. He watched thegray spider carefully with growing determination in his eyes. He, Burl,had killed a hunting-spider upon the red-clay cliff. True, the killinghad been an accident, and had nearly cost him his own life a few minuteslater in the web-spider's snare, but he had killed a spider, and of themost deadly kind.

  Now, a great ambition was growing in Burl's heart. His tribe had alwaysfeared spiders too much to know much of their habits, but they knew oneor two things. The most important was that the snare-spiders never lefttheir lairs to hunt--never! Burl was about to make a daring applicationof that knowledge.

  He drew back from the white and shining snare and crept softly to therear. The fabric gathered itself into a point and then continued forsome twenty feet as a tunnel, in which the spider waited while dreamingof its last meal and waiting for the next victim to become entangled inthe labyrinth in front. Burl made his way to a point where the tunnelwas no more than ten feet away, and waited.

  Presently, through the interstices of the silk, he saw the gray bulk ofthe spider. It had left the exhausted body of the cricket, and returnedto its resting place. It settled itself carefully upon the soft wallsof the tunnel, with its shining eyes fixed upon the tortuous threads ofits trap. Burl's hair was standing straight up upon his head from sheerfright, but he was the slave of an idea.

  He drew near and poised his spear, his new and sharp spear, taken fromthe body of an unknown flying creature killed by the burning purplehills. Burl raised the spear and aimed its sharp and deadly point at thethick gray bulk he could see dimly through the threads of the tunnel. Hethrust it home with all his strength--and ran away at the top of hisspeed, glassy-eyed from terror.

  A long time later he ventured near again, his heart in his mouth, readyto flee at the slightest sound. All was still. Burl had missed thehorrible convulsions of the wounded spider, had not heard the frightfulgnashings of its fangs as it tore at the piercing weapon, had not seenthe silken threads of the tunnel ripped as the spider--hurt todeath--had struggled with insane strength to free itself.

  He came back beneath the overshadowing toadstools, stepping quietly andcautiously, to find a great rent in the silken tunnel, to find the greatgray bulk lifeless and still, half-fallen through the opening the spearhad first made. A little puddle of evil-smelling liquid lay upon theground below the body, and from time to time a droplet fell from thespear into the puddle with a curious splash.

  Burl looked at what he had done, saw the dead body of the creature hehad slain, saw the ferocious mandibles, and the keen and deadly fangs.The dead eyes of the creature still stared at him malignantly, and thehairy legs were still braced as if further to enlarge the gaping holethrough which it had partly fallen.

  Exultation filled Burl's heart. His tribe had been but furtive verminfor thousands of years, fleeing from the mighty insects, hiding fromthem, and if overtaken but waiting helplessly for death, screamingshrilly in terror.

  He, Burl, had turned the tables. He had slain one of the enemies of histribe. His breast expanded. Always his tribesmen went quietly andfearfully, making no sound. But a sudden, exultant yell burst fromBurl's lips--the first hunting cry from the lips of a man in threehundred centuries!

  * * * * *

  The next second his pulse nearly stopped in sheer panic at having madesuch a noise. He listened fearfully, but there was no sound. He drewnear his prey and carefully withdrew his spear. The viscid liquid madeit slimy and slippery, and he had to wipe it dry against a leatherytoadstool. Then Burl had to conquer his illogical fear again beforedaring to touch the creature he had slain.

  He moved off presently, with the belly of the spider upon his back andtwo of the hairy legs over his shoulders. The other limbs of the monsterhung limp, and trailed upon the ground. Burl was now a still morecurious
sight as a gayly colored object with a cloak shining iniridescent colors, the golden antennae of a great moth rising from hisforehead, and the hideous bulk of a gray spider for a burden.

  He moved through the thin-stalked mushroom forest, and, because of thething he carried, all creatures fled before him. They did not fearman--their instinct was slow-moving--but during all the millions ofyears that insects have existed, there have existed spiders to prey uponthem. So Burl moved on in solemn state, a brightly clad man bent beneaththe weight of a huge and horrible monster.

  He came upon a valley full of torn and blackened mushrooms. There wasnot a single yellow top among them. Every one had been infested withtiny maggots which had liquefied the tough meat of the mushroom andcaused it to drip to the ground below. And all the liquid had gatheredin a golden pool in the center of the small depression. Burl heard aloud humming and buzzing before he topped the rise that opened thevalley for his inspection. He stopped a moment and looked down.

  A golden-red