`I am Stan Bolovan, who eats rocks all night, and in the day feeds on the flowers of the mountain; and if you meddle with those sheep I will carve a cross on your back.’
When the dragon heard these words he stood quite still in the middle of the road, for he knew he had met with his match.
`But you will have to fight me first,’ he said in a trembling voice, for when you faced him properly he was not brave at all.
`I fight you?’ replied Stan, `why I could slay you with one breath!’ Then, stooping to pick up a large cheese which lay at his feet, he added, `Go and get a stone like this out of the river, so that we may lose no time in seeing who is the best man.’
The dragon did as Stan bade him, and brought back a stone out of the brook.
`Can you get buttermilk out of your stone?’ asked Stan.
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The dragon picked up his stone with one hand, and squeezed it till it fell into powder, but no butter-
STAN BOLOVAN OUTWITS THE DRAGON
milk flowed from it. `Of course I can’t!’ he said, half angrily.
`Well, if you can’t, I can,’ answered Stan, and he
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pressed the cheese till buttermilk flowed through his fingers.
When the dragon saw that, he thought it was time he made the best of his way home again, but Stan stood in his path.
`We have still some accounts to settle,’ said he, `about what you have been doing here,’ and the poor dragon was too frightened to stir, lest Stan should slay him at one breath and bury him among the flowers in the mountain pastures.
`Listen to me,’ he said at last. `I see you are a very useful person, and my mother has need of a fellow like you. Suppose you enter her service for three days, which are as long as one of your years, and she will pay you each day seven sacks full of ducats.’
Three times seven sacks full of ducats! The offer was very tempting, and Stan could not resist it. He did not waste words, but nodded to the dragon, and they started along the road.
It was a long, long way, but when they came to the end they found the dragon’s mother, who was as old as time itself, expecting them. Stan saw her eyes shining like lamps from afar, and when they entered the house they beheld a huge kettle standing on the fire, filled with milk. When the old mother found that her son had arrived empty-handed she grew very angry, and fire and flame darted from her nostrils, but before she could speak the dragon turned to Stan.
`Stay here,’ said he, `and wait for me; I am going to explain things to my mother.’
Stan was already repenting bitterly that he had ever come to such a place, but, since he was there, there was nothing for it but to take everything quietly, and not show that he was afraid.
`Listen, mother,’ said the dragon as soon as they were alone, `I have brought this man in order to get rid of him. He is a terrific fellow who eats rocks, and can
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press buttermilk out of a stone,’ and he told her all that had happened the night before.
`Oh, just leave him to me!’ she said. `I have never yet let a man slip through my fingers.’ So Stan had to stay and do the old mother service.
The next day she told him that he and her son should try which was the strongest, and she took down a huge club, bound seven times with iron.
The dragon picked it up as if it had been a feather, and, after whirling it round his head, flung it lightly three miles away, telling Stan to beat that if he could.
They walked to the spot where the club lay. Stan stooped and felt it; then a great fear came over him, for he knew that he and all his children together would never lift that club from the ground.
`What are you doing?’ asked the dragon.
`I was thinking what a beautiful club it was, and what a pity it is that it should cause your death.’
`How do you mean — my death?’ asked the dragon.
`Only that I am afraid that if I throw it you will never see another dawn. You don’t know how strong I am!’
`Oh, never mind that be quick and throw.’
`If you are really in earnest, let us go and feast for three days: that will at any rate give you three extra days of life.’
Stan spoke so calmly that this time the dragon began to get a little frightened, though he did not quite believe that things would be as bad as Stan said.
They returned to the house, took all the food that could be found in the old mother’s larder, and carried it back to the place where the club was lying. Then Stan seated himself on the sack of provisions, and remained quietly watching the setting moon.
`What are you doing?’ asked the dragon.
`Waiting till the moon gets out of my way.’
`What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
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`Don’t you see that the moon is exactly in my way? But of course, if you like, I will throw the club into the moon.’
At these words the dragon grew uncomfortable for the second time. He prized the club, which had been left him by his grandfather, very highly, and had no desire that it should be lost in the moon.
`I’ll tell you what,’ he said, after thinking a little. `Don’t throw the club at all. I will throw it a second time, and that will do just as well.’
`No, certainly not!’ replied Stan. `Just wait till the moon sets.’
But the dragon, in dread lest Stan should fulfil his threats, tried what bribes could do, and in the end had to promise Stan seven sacks of ducats before he was suffered to throw back the club himself.
`Oh, dear me, that is indeed a strong man,’ said the dragon, turning to his mother. `Would you believe that I have had the greatest difficulty in preventing him from throwing the club into the moon?’
Then the old woman grew uncomfortable too! Only to think of it! It was no joke to throw things into the moon! So no more was heard of the club, and the next day they had all something else to think about.
`Go and fetch me water!’ said the mother, when the morning broke, and gave them twelve buffalo skins with the order to keep filling them till night.
They set out at once for the brook, and in the twinkling of an eye the dragon had filled the whole twelve, carried them into the house, and brought them back to Stan. Stan was tired: he could scarcely lift the buckets when they were empty, and he shuddered to think of what would happen when they were full. But he only took an old knife out of his pocket and began to scratch up the earth near the brook.
`What are you doing there? How are you going to carry the water into the house?’ asked the dragon.
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`How? Dear me, that is easy enough! I shall just take the brook!’
At these words the dragon’s jaw dropped. This was the last thing that had ever entered his head, for the brook had been as it was since the days of his grandfather.
`I’ll tell you what!’ he said. `Let me carry your skins for you.’
`Most certainly not,’ answered Stan, going on with his digging, and the dragon, in dread lest he should fulfil his threat, tried what bribes would do, and in the end had again to promise seven sacks of ducats before Stan would agree to leave the brook alone and let him carry the water into the house.
On the third day the old mother sent Stan into the forest for wood, and, as usual, the dragon went with him.
Before you could count three he had pulled up more trees than Stan could have cut down in a lifetime, and had arranged them neatly in rows. When the dragon had finished, Stan began to look about him, and, choosing the biggest of the trees, he climbed up it, and, breaking off a long rope of wild vine, bound the top of the tree to the one next it. And so he did to a whole line of trees.
`What are you doing there?’ asked the dragon.
`You can see for yourself,’ answered Stan, going quietly on with his work.
`Why are you tying the trees together?’
`Not to give myself unnecessary work; when I pull up one, all the others will come up too.’