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 The Mongolians, expecting an attack, stood ready to defend themselves, but the Tukholians did not even dream of attacking them. They were busily preparing an altogether different sort of offensive.

Zakhar, nimbly as a youth, examined the position of the reclining stone. It had fallen as well as if it had been fitted there for ages past. It wedged its sharp points between the jagged crags which formed the opening of the corridor and with all its enormous mass, bridged the stream. It is true of course that it did not dam up the waters of the stream entirely as they flowed in a deeper bed, but some of the Tukholian youths were already lugging big slabs of rock while others cleared the bottom of the stream of sand and cobble-stones in order to seal the stream’s outlet completely; while still others were building a wall with the thickest blocks of stone within the corridor, along the other side of the fallen column, about six yards across. That wall with the mighty Sentinel as its base could safely withstand the strongest possible pressure of the stream.

“Faster, children!” urged Zakhar, standing by the stream, lending aid to the work now with his hands and now with advice. “Block up the stream before the water gets too deep. High up in the mountains there seems to have been a severe rainstorm. Soon the flood waters will come, then it will be too difficult for us to finish our task. The wall must be built up even with those overhanging crags. Now we’ll see how effective the power of Jinghis Khan will be against the force of the water!”

The work proceeded speedily. In a short while the course of the stream was entirely checked. Wrathfully the blocked-up stream whirled around in its bed as if it did not understand why its flow should have been stopped. Time after time it dashed itself furiously against the wall of stone, gnawing at the blocks of rock fitted at the bottom, searching for a vent