And so, as the third twilight of their march neared, they approached the stronghold of the Daans. The wild trails gave way to highways of cracked "creet" through which hopeful spires of grass had broken in patches ... the highway bore them to a deserted village Beth called "Covton", which once, Steve knew, had been the populous city of Covington, Kentucky ... and they stood, at last, on the southern bank of the rolling Ohio looking into the enemy-held fortress of Sinnaty.
In the happier day, not one but a half dozen spans had bridged this river. They were gone now; their rust-encrusted skeletons still thrust redly from the water like the bones of drowned monsters. But where Twentieth Century man had thrown his cantilevers, where a later, barbaric era had allowed them to decay and fall, now stood a gleaming anomaly which brought a gasp to Steve Duane's lips.
"Sweet snakes!" he exclaimed. "Am I nuts, or do you see what I see? A glass bridge!"
"The answer," said Chuck, awed, "is yes. To both."
But the German, von Rath, was staring at the edifice narrowly. Now he said, "A bridge, true. But glass, nein!"
"What? But it's transparent!"
"Exactly! Too transparent—do you see what I mean? There is no diffraction whatsoever in that structure."
"But—but if it ain't glass—" stammered Chuck.
"Then it must be," recognized Duane, "plastic! Like the lutice of our day, but of an infinitely superior quality. Right, von Rath? But—but if they can create such things as this, we have been underestimating them. What sort of beings are these Daans—"
"Magnificent!" The German's eyes were gleaming with admiration. "What kultur, what refinement! Truly, they must be a great people who built this structure—"