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.