dded his head, gave some order which I could not hear, and
moved his horse back from the edge of the abutment. Malan arose and
picked up his axe. Marks took the lantern, trying to find some place
where the light could be thrown on the face of the log. He shifted to
several positions and finally took a place at the corner of the bridge,
holding the light over the side.

Malan stood with his club feet planted wide on the log, leaned over, and
began to hack the bark off where he wished to take out his great chip.

I could hear the little pieces of charred bark go rattling down into the
river. Malan notched the borders of his chip, then shifted his weight a
little to his right leg and swung the axe back over his shoulder. It
came down gleaming true, it seemed to me, but the blade, turning as it
descended, dealt the log a glancing blow and wrenched the handle out of
the man's hand. I saw the axe glitter as it passed the smoked glass of
the lantern. Then it struck the side of the bridge with a great ripping
bang, and dropped into the river.

I jumped up with a cry of "the Dwarfs!"

The swing of the axe carried Malan forward. He lost his balance, threw
up his hands and began to topple. I saw the shadow of the horse fall
swiftly across the light. Malan was seized by the collar and flung
violently backward. Then Woodford caught the lantern from Marks and came
on down the abutment toward us.

He rode slowly with the lantern against his knee. The horse, blinded by
the light, did not see us until he was almost upon us. Then he jumped
back with a snort. Woodford raised the lantern above his head and looked
down.

Bareheaded, in Roy's roundabout, I was a queer looking youngster. Jud,
with old Christian's leather cap pulled on his head and a stone in his
fist, might have been brother to any cutthroat. Stumbled upon in the
dark we must have looked pretty wild.

Woodford regarded us with very apparent unconcern. "Quiller," he said,
as one might have announced a guest of indifferent welcome. Then he set
the lantern down on his saddle horn. "Well," he said, "this is a piece
of luck."

I was struck dumb by the man's friendly voice and my resolution went to
pieces. I began to stammer like a novice taken in a wrong. Then Woodford
did a cunning thing.

He assumed that I was not embarrassed, but that I was amused at his
queer words.

"Upon my life, Quiller," he said, "I don't wonder that you laugh. It was
a queer thing to go blurt