him was a group of little men playing ninepins. Like his guide they wore jerkins and breeches, and knives were stuck in their belts. They were all very ugly, with long beards and large noses, and one who appeared the leader had a high-crowned hat with a feather and high-heeled shoes with roses on them—very unfit, thought Rip, for climbing about those rough paths.
As Rip and his companion came out from the cleft, the little men suddenly stopped their game, which they had played in dead silence and without seeming in the least to enjoy it. They turned and looked at the stranger, and Rip felt his blood run cold and his knees knock together. Why he could not have told, except that their faces had a queer, fixed expression such as he had never seen on the face of any living being. But no time was allowed him to indulge in these thoughts, for his companion signed to him to fill some big flagons which stood on one side, from the keg they had carried.
When the players had emptied the flagons, they went back to their game, seeming as melancholy as before.
After a while Rip began to grow a little less frightened, and he even ventured, when no one was observing him, to take a good draught out of the keg himself. As soon as he had done so, his eyes and head became very heavy, and he fell down where he stood, sunk in a deep sleep.
It was bright and sunny when Rip woke, lying curled up comfortably on the green knoll from which he had first beheld the old man climbing up the path. The birds were twittering in the bushes and hopping round him, and high up over the tops of the mountains an eagle was soaring.
'Have I really slept here all night? ' he said to himself. 'Oh, dear, how angry my wife will be!' Then he sat up, and there rushed into his mind the cleft in the rocks and the little men playing ninepins. ' It was the flagon which was my undoing,' said he.
Scrambling to his feet, he looked about for his gun, but in place of the well-kept weapon, with its shining barrel (the
