end of the abutment,
and tied them to a fence. Then we went back and examined the bridge as
well as we could in the dark. It stood over the river as the early men
and Dwarfs had built it,--solid as a wall.

Woodford had given the thing up, and the road was open to the north
country.

We sat down on the corner of the abutment near the horses, to wait for
the daylight, Jud wearing old Christian's cap, and I bareheaded. We sat
for a long time, listening to the choke and snarl of the water as it
crowded along under the bridge.

Then we fell to a sort of whispering talk.

"Quiller," he began, "do you believe that story about the Dwarfs
buildin' the bridge?"

"Ump don't," I answered. "Ump says it's a cock-and-bull story, and there
never were any Dwarfs except once in a while a bad job like him."

"You can't take Ump for it," said he. "Ump won't believe anything he
can't put his finger on, if it's swore to on a stack of Bibles. Quiller,
I've seen them holes in the mountains where the Dwarfs lived, with the
marks on the rocks like's on them logs, an' I've seen the rigamajigs
that they cut in the sandstone. They could a built the bridge, if they
took a notion, just by sayin' words."

He was quiet a while, and then he added, "An' I've seen the path where
they used to come down to the river, an' it has places wore in the solid
rock like you'd make with your big toe."

Jud stopped, and I moved up a little closer to him. I could see the
ugly, crooked men crawl out of their caves and come sneaking down from
the mountains to strangle the sleeping and burn the roof. I could see
their twisted bare feet, their huge, slack mouths, and their long hands
that hung below their knees when they walked. And then, on the hill
beyond the Valley River, I heard a sound.

I seized my companion by the arm. "Jud," I said under my breath, "did
you hear that?"

He leaned over me and listened. The sound was a sort of echo.

"They're comin'," he whispered.

"The Dwarfs?" said I.

"Lem Marks," said he.

CHAPTER XX

ON THE ART OF GOING TO RUIN

The sound reached the summit of the hill, and then we heard it
clearly,--the ringing of horseshoes on the hard road. They came in a
long trot, clattering into the little hollow at the foot of the abutment
to the bridge. We heard men dismounting, horses being tied to the fence,
and a humming of low talk. We listened, lying flat beside El Mahdi and
the Cardinal.

It was difficult to dete