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
