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The

old

man

shook

his

head

sadly

,

and

said

:

"

The

gunpowder

will

come

.

Nothing

can

stop

it

--

the

same

old

story

over

and

over

.

Man

will

increase

,

and

men

will

fight

.

The

gunpowder

will

enable

men

to

kill

millions

of

men

,

and

in

this

way

only

,

by

fire

and

blood

,

will

a

new

civilization

,

in

some

remote

day

,

be

evolved

.

And

of

what

profit

will

it

be

?

Just

as

the

old

civilization

passed

,

so

will

the

new

.

It

may

take

fifty

thousand

years

to

build

,

but

it

will

pass

.

All

things

pass

.

Only

remain

cosmic

force

and

matter

,

ever

in

flux

,

ever

acting

and

reacting

and

realizing

the

eternal

types

--

the

priest

,

the

soldier

,

and

the

king

.

Out

of

the

mouths

of

babes

comes

the

wisdom

of

all

the

ages

.

Some

will

fight

,

some

will

rule

,

some

will

pray

;

and

all

the

rest

will

toil

and

suffer

sore

while

on

their

bleeding

carcasses

is

reared

again

,

and

yet

again

,

without

end

,

the

amazing

beauty

and

surpassing

wonder

of

the

civilized

state

.

It

were

just

as

well

that

I

destroyed

those

cave-stored

books

--

whether

they

remain

or

perish

,

all

their

old

truths

will

be

discovered

,

their

old

lies

lived

and

handed

down

.

What

is

the

profit

--

"

Hare-Lip

leaped

to

his

feet

,

giving

a

quick

glance

at

the

pasturing

goats

and

the

afternoon

sun

.

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"

Gee

!

"

he

muttered

to

Edwin

,

"

The

old

geezer

gets

more

long-winded

every

day

.

Let

's

pull

for

camp

.

"

While

the

other

two

,

aided

by

the

dogs

,

assembled

the

goats

and

started

them

for

the

trail

through

the

forest

,

Edwin

stayed

by

the

old

man

and

guided

him

in

the

same

direction

.

When

they

reached

the

old

right

of

way

,

Edwin

stopped

suddenly

and

looked

back

.

Hare-Lip

and

Hoo-Hoo

and

the

dogs

and

the

goats

passed

on

.

Edwin

was

looking

at

a

small

herd

of

wild

horses

which

had

come

down

on

the

hard

sand

.

There

were

at

least

twenty

of

them

,

young

colts

and

yearlings

and

mares

,

led

by

a

beautiful

stallion

which

stood

in

the

foam

at

the

edge

of

the

surf

,

with

arched

neck

and

bright

wild

eyes

,

sniffing

the

salt

air

from

off

the

sea

.

"

What

is

it

?

"

Granser

queried

.

"

Horses

,

"

was

the

answer

.

"

First

time

I

ever

seen

'em

on

the

beach

.

It

's

the

mountain

lions

getting

thicker

and

thicker

and

driving

'em

down

.

"

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The

low

sun

shot

red

shafts

of

light

,

fan-shaped

,

up

from

a

cloud-tumbled

horizon

.

And

close

at

hand

,

in

the

white

waste

of

shore-lashed

waters

,

the

sea-lions

,

bellowing

their

old

primeval

chant

,

hauled

up

out

of

the

sea

on

the

black

rocks

and

fought

and

loved

.

"

Come

on

,

Granser

,

"

Edwin

prompted

.

And

old

man

and

boy

,

skin-clad

and

barbaric

,

turned

and

went

along

the

right

of

way

into

the

forest

in

the

wake

of

the

goats

.

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