were clear and did not flow forward or foam but swelled higher and higher overflowing the banks.
In the meantime the digging proceeded slowly though the Mongols did their best. All at once their spades struck something hard. It was the flag-stone. The stone was broad, wider than the hole the Mongols had dug. It was necessary to dig up a much larger area in order to remove it or to be able to crack it. Maxim watched the rising of the water with worried eyes. The section of the valley below the village was already covered. In long waves the water rolled in the opposite direction from that in which it had naturally flowed since the beginning of time. Suddenly from the Mongolian camp resounded cries of panic. The water had overflowed the fosse and flooded the camp in a thousand rivulets.
“Slave, what does it mean?” Burunda questioned Maxim.
“Well, Behadir,” replied Maxim, “it looks as though there’s been a cloud-burst in the mountain-tops. Our stream seems fuller than usual. But it’s not sensible for us to be afraid of water that reaches to the ankles!”
“Knock out the flag-stone!” he yelled at the Mongols, “and let the great behadir see that I was not fooling him!”
The Mongolian axes thundered against the flag-stone, but the stone was thick and strong and it was not easy to break it.
“Hit it harder, ” shouted Burunda, unable any longer to control his fear of the water which had made a lake out of a large part of the valley and was now rolling straight towards them. But the block of stone was of Tukholian temperament and resisted as long as possible. Then it cracked. One more concerted blow and it crumbled into pieces. With it also collapsed the Mongols who had been standing atop it. The opening of the dark underground corridor showed itself to the eyes of the gathered.
“You see, Behadir!” said Maxim. “Now tell me yourself, have I been tricking you?”
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