All superficialities and superfluities were gone, and only the basic stuff of life remained,—­the cave, the fire, the man who fought the beast in the light of the ancient moon.  At that moment Ben was no more of the twentieth century than he was of the first, or of the first more than of some dark, unnumbered century of the world’s young days.  He was simply the male of his species, the man-child of all time, forgetting for the moment all the little lessons civilization had taught, and fighting his fight in the basic way for the basic things.

This was no new war which Ben and the grizzly fought in the pale light of the moon.  It had begun when the race began, and it would continue, in varied fields, until men perished from the earth.  Ben fought for life—­not only his own but the girl’s—­that old, beloved privilege to breathe the air and see and know and be.  He represented, by a strange symbolism, the whole race that has always fought in merciless and never-ending battle with the cruel and oppressive powers of nature.  In the grizzly were typified all those ancient enemies that have always opposed, with claw and fang, this stalwart, self-knowing breed that has risen among the primates:  he symbolized not only the Beast of the forest, but the merciless elements, storm and flood and cold and all the legions of death.  And had they but known their ultimate fate if this intruder survived the battle and brought his fellows into this, their last stronghold, the watching forest creatures would have prayed to see the grizzly strike him to the earth.

Ben knew, too, that he was fighting for his home; and this also lent him strength. Home!  His shelter from the storm and the cold, the thing that marked him a man instead of a beast.  The grizzly had come to drive him forth; and they had met beside the ashes of his fire.

The old exhilaration and rapture of battle flashed through him as he swung his axe, sending home blow after blow.  Sometimes he cried out, involuntarily, in his fury and hatred; and as the bear weakened he waged the fight at closer quarters.  His muscles made marvelous response, flinging him out of danger in the instant of necessity and giving terrific power to his blows.

He danced about the shaggy, bleeding form of the bear, swinging his axe, howling in his rage, and escaping the smashing blows of the bear with miraculous agility,—­a weird and savage picture in the moonlight.  But at last the grizzly lunged too far.  Ben sprang aside, just in time, and he saw his chance as the great, reeling form sprawled past.  He aimed a terrific blow just at the base of the skull.

The silence descended quickly thereafter.  The blow had gone straight home, and the last flicker of waning life fled from the titanic form.  He went down sprawling; Ben stood waiting to see if another blow was needed.  Then the axe fell from his hands.

For a moment he stood as if dazed.  It was hard to remember all that occurred in the countless life times he had lived since the grizzly had stolen out of the spruce forest.  But soon he remembered Fenris and walked unsteadily to his side.