We arrived that evening at Pleasant Garden, where we were comfortably
located for the night with the mayor of the town, a particular friend
of Mr. Smith. Pleasant Garden proved little more than a village; but
its mayor gave us a warm and generous reception, and we supped
pleasantly in his charming home, which stood beneath the shades of
some giant beech-trees.

Naturally the conversation turned upon our attempt to explore the
interior of the Great Eyrie. "You are right," said our host, "until
we all know what is hidden within there, our people will remain
uneasy."

"Has nothing new occurred," I asked, "since the last appearance of
flames above the Great Eyrie?"

"Nothing, Mr. Strock. From Pleasant Garden we can see the entire
crest of the mountain. Not a suspicious noise has come down to us.
Not a spark has risen. If a legion of devils is in hiding there, they
must have finished their infernal cookery, and soared away to some
other haunt."

"Devils!" cried Mr. Smith. "Well, I hope they have not decamped
without leaving some traces of their occupation, some parings of
hoofs or horns or tails. We shall find them out."

On the morrow, the twenty-ninth of April, we started again at dawn.
By the end of this second day, we expected to reach the farm of
Wildon at the foot of the mountain. The country was much the same as
before, except that our road led more steeply upward. Woods and
marshes alternated, though the latter grew sparser, being drained by