days. It was great and knotty, black as iron that had been smoked in

the fire, and shod with metal that was worn smooth with smiting.

"I looked at it," went on Galazi, "and I tell you, stranger, a great

desire came into my heart to possess it.

"'How is this club named?' I asked of the old woman.

"'It is named Watcher of the Fords,' she answered, 'and it has not

watched in vain. Five men have held that club in war and a hundred-

and-seventy-three have given up their lives beneath its strokes. He