slight trembling of the earth beneath them, scarcely sufficient to have been noticeable had it not been preceded by the distant grumbling of the earth’s bowels.
The two upon the moonlit ledge came to their feet, and Nadara drew close to Thandar, the man’s arm encircling her shoulders protectingly.
“The Great Nagoola,” she whispered. “Again he seeks to escape.”
“What do you mean?” asked Thandar. “It is an earthquake—distant and quite harmless to us.”
“No, it is The Great Nagoola,” insisted Nadara. “Long time ago, when our fathers’ fathers were yet unborn, The Great Nagoola roamed the land devouring all that chanced to come in his way—men, beasts, birds, everything.
“One day my people came upon him sleeping in a deep gorge between two mountains. They were mighty men in those days, and when they saw their great enemy asleep there in the gorge half of them went upon one side and half upon the other, and they pushed the two mountains over into the gorge upon the sleeping beast, imprisoning him there.
“It is all true, for my mother had it from her mother, who in turn was told it by her mother—thus has it been handed down truthfully since it happened long time ago.
“And even to this day is occasionally heard the
