They were dwarfed--none of them more than five feet high, prodigiously broad of shoulder, clearly enormously powerful.
"Trolde!" muttered Olaf, stepping beside O'Keefe, pistol swinging free in his hand.
But at the middle of the bridge the leader stopped, waved back his men, and came toward us alone, palms outstretched in the immemorial, universal gesture of truce.

He paused, scanning us with manifest wonder; we returned the scrutiny with interest.

The dwarf's face was as white as Olaf's--far whiter than those of the other three of us; the features clean-cut and noble, almost classical; the wide set eyes of a curious greenish grey and the black hair curling over his head like that on some old Greek statue.
Dwarfed though he was, there was no suggestion of deformity about him.
The gigantic shoulders were covered with a loose green tunic that looked like fine linen.

It was caught in at the waist by a broad girdle studded with what seemed to be amazonites.

In it was thrust a long curved poniard resembling the Malaysian kris.