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Title: Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz
Author: Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrator: John R. Neill
Other: L. Frank Baum
Release date: March 26, 2025 [eBook #75720]
Language: English
Original publication: New York, NY: The Reilly & Lee Co, 1929
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACK PUMPKINHEAD OF OZ ***
JACK PUMPKINHEAD of OZ
By RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON
Founded on and continuing the Famous Oz Stories
_By_
L. FRANK BAUM
"Royal Historian of Oz"
_Illustrated by_
JOHN R. NEILL
The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago
New York
COPYRIGHT 1929
_by_
THE REILLY & LEE CO.
All Rights reserved
_This book is affectionately dedicated to my aunt Joe_
_Ruth Plumly Thompson_
Dear Boys and Girls: Did YOU ever hear of the Land of the Barons, of a
Red Jinn or the City of Scares? Well, neither did I! Neither did Jack
Pumpkinhead. But there they were all the time, and trouble brewing for
everybody. And speaking of Jack Pumpkinhead, I've always suspected
he was brighter than he appeared to be and had more in his head than
pumpkin seeds and now I'm convinced of it.
Why, even when Jack lost his head, he kept on thinking, and a chap
who can serve his country after he is beheaded and use his head after
he has been officially executed deserves a place with the greatest
celebrities of the day. So, no wonder this book is about Jack. If it
had not been for him, Ozma would be polishing the palace piano and
Dorothy and Betsy washing the dinner dishes, like as not, and all of
the other famous folk swinging mops, brooms and dusters; slaves of
Mogodore the Mighty, who descended from the Land of the Barons to
capture the Emerald City.
Even now, the mere mention of Mogodore makes Ozma shudder and the
Cowardly Lion shake. And right here, I must put in a good word for
Peter, the little boy from Philadelphia. Peter, wishing himself to Oz,
dropped into the middle of the excitement, was captured and imprisoned,
threatened and enchanted, during his efforts to save the country from
the wicked baron. But seeing his old friends again, and meeting the
Iffin made up for all the discomfort and danger and as I am anxious for
you to meet this new merry monster, I'll stop writing so you can begin
the story. A whole year of happiness and fun!
RUTH PLUMLY THOMPSON
254 S. Farragut Terrace, West Philadelphia, Penn., May, 1929.
List of Chapters
1 Peter and the Pirate's Sack
2 The Chimney Villains
3 What the Green Tree Said
4 Scary Times in Scare City
5 Peter Meets the Iffin
6 The Bearded Baron Appears
7 Belfaygor's Strange Story
8 A Way to Cross the Chasm
9 The Forbidden Flagon
10 The City of Baffleburg
11 In the Castle of Mogodore
12 The Escape from Baffleburg
13 The Enchanted Cavern
14 High Times in Swing City
15 Peter Opens the Pirate's Sack
16 In the Palace of the Red Jinn
17 The Capture of the Emerald City
18 Mogodore Meets More Magic
19 The Forbidden Flagon Acts
20 The Wedding Feast
21 Peter's Return to Philadelphia
CHAPTER 1
Peter and the Pirate's Sack
The rain beat heavily on the roof, swirled down the side walks and made
tumbling torrents of the gutters. Turning from the window in disgust,
Peter dropped his baseball mitt on the library sofa and started glumly
toward the stair. No practice to-day, doggone it! Why couldn't it rain
on Mondays and be clear on Saturdays for a change? How was he to have
the team in trim for the big match if this sort of thing kept up?
Kicking crossly at each step, Peter progressed toward the attic. Not to
waste the day, he resolved to have a look at his fishing tackle. The
thought of the fishing trip he was soon to take with his grandfather
cheered him considerably and by the time he had switched on the attic
light and dragged out the old chest where he kept his treasures, he was
whistling softly to himself. On top of the chest lay two coarse sacks.
They were neatly folded in half and as Peter lifted them off he gave an
amused little chuckle.
"I wonder what's happened in Oz lately," mused Peter, sitting down in
front of the chest with the sacks on his lap. "I wonder whether Ozma
knows what I did with the pirate's gold pieces and whether the Gnome
King has got into any more mischief." And thinking of that enchanting
and enchanted Kingdom, Peter forgot all about his fishing tackle.
Now many of you may have read or heard of the marvelous Land of Oz, but
Peter had really been there; had met the Scarecrow and the wonderful
Wizard; had kept the Gnome King from conquering the Emerald City and
even discovered a pirate ship full of treasure. The pirate who owned
the ship had once been a real pirate, so when Ozma, the little girl
ruler of Oz, transported Peter and the treasure back to Philadelphia,
two of the bags of gold had been real gold and these bags had come with
him. These very sacks that Peter held across his knees had once bulged
with gold pieces. And those of Peter's friends and relations who had
sniffed at the story of his amazing journey to Oz never had been able
to explain them away.
Peter's grandfather, with whom the little boy lived, had not tried to
explain them, for Peter's grandfather was old enough to believe almost
anything. So he and Peter had spent one bag of gold very gaily on a
trip to the coast, on motorcycles for Peter and his best friends, on a
club house for the team, on canoes and some more things, too. The other
bag they had changed into United States dollars and put into the bank,
so that Peter might go to college and other important places when he
was grown. And now, with the rain drumming steadily on the roof, Peter
fell to dreaming again of Oz, of its curious Kings and castles, its
wizards and witches and magic transformations. Could it have been two
years ago that he and the Gnome King escaped from Runaway Island?
"I wish," sighed Peter, giving the top sack a little shake, "I wish I
could go back to Oz sometime. Hello! What's this?" In the corner of the
top sack he felt something hard and round and thrusting in his hand
drew out a thin shiny piece of gold. "Why, here's one we didn't find,"
chuckled Peter, holding it up to the light. "It's not so large as the
others. I believe I'll keep it for a lucky piece." Resting his head
against a small trunk, Peter sank back and was soon lost in pleasant
reveries. "Gee-whiz!" he breathed at last, flipping the pirate's
coin into the air. "It certainly would be great to go to Oz again. I
wish I were there right now!" As the gold piece dropped into Peter's
palm, Peter himself dropped out of sight. At least, he was no longer
in the attic, or in Philadelphia either, for that matter. He was, to
be perfectly truthful, standing before a small yellow cottage in the
middle of a pumpkin field, and the whole trip, reflected Peter, staring
around a bit wildly, had taken no longer than one puff and swallow. A
drop such as this was enough to make a body puff and swallow several
times, so he did. Then, having regained a little of his composure, he
looked uncertainly at the yellow house.
It was shaped like an enormous hollowed out pumpkin, but had several
windows and a front door, so Peter walked boldly up the steps and
knocked twice. He could hear footsteps running about inside and
presently a head was thrust out the second story window.
"Who's there?" asked the owner of the house, staring down curiously.
[Illustration: _"Who's there?" asked the owner of the house, staring
out curiously._]
"It's me, er--er it's I!" Peter, remembering his grammar corrected
himself quickly.
At this, the owner of the house, in order to have a better look at his
visitor, leaned so far out the window that Peter gave a sharp cry.
"Oh look out!" he called warningly, for the man's head seemed ready to
fall off, was falling off, in fact.
"I am looking out," it called cheerfully, as it turned over and over in
the air. "That's just the trouble! Catch my head will you?" And next
minute Peter found himself clasping a large pumpkin head in both arms.
"Did you say your name was Cy?" asked the head, staring up inquiringly.
"Well carry me indoors, Cy. You'll find my body around somewheres."
"This must be Oz," choked Peter, with an excited little gasp and,
kicking open the door, he hurried into the cottage. A tall awkward body
sprawled on the floor and there was certainly something familiar about
the hollow eyes staring so pleasantly into his own.
"My body has fallen down the stairs," observed the pumpkin head calmly.
"It should have waited for me, for nobody should be without a head."
Peter agreed heartily with this last statement and, setting the
head on the table, he pulled the awkward figure to its feet and then,
standing on a chair, pressed the head carefully on the wooden peg that
served for a neck.
"Why it's Jack Pumpkinhead!" he cried delightedly. "Didn't I meet you
in Ozma's palace two years ago? Don't you remember me?"
Jack looked doubtfully down at the little boy. "I'm afraid that I
don't," he answered seriously. "You see, I have had several new heads
since then, and am not very good at remembering."
"Never mind. I remember you!" Peter smiled kindly at the awkward fellow
and, squeezing his wooden fingers, went on. "My name is Peter and--"
"I thought you said your name was Cy," objected Jack in a puzzled voice.
"Oh no I didn't," explained Peter, a little vexed at the pumpkin head's
stupidity. "I said it's I at the door."
"Cy at the door and Peter in the house. How dreadfully confusing,"
mumbled Jack, putting one hand to his head to see if it was on
straight. "Have you a different name for every place you go?"
"Oh call me Peter!" exclaimed the little boy impatiently, "and if
you'll just tell me the way to the Emerald City I'll not bother you
any more. I'm anxious to see Ozma and Dorothy again."
"Are you a friend of Ozma's?" interrupted Jack in high excitement.
"Well, I'll do anything for a friend of Ozma's. Ozma is my father!"
Running to the door Jack clattered down the steps, beckoning for Peter
to follow him.
"Father!" cried Peter, with a little burst of laughter, and then
realizing one could not expect too much sense from a pumpkin head, he
hurried out of the cottage. The pirate's sack still hung over his arm
and, tossing it gaily over one shoulder, Peter stepped quickly after
Jack, and clapped him on his shoulder.
"By the way, how did you reach Oz?" Picking his way carefully between
the rows of pumpkins, Jack paused and turned his head with both hands
so he could look back at Peter. Briefly Peter told him of finding the
last coin in the pirate's sack, how he had wished to be in Oz and
suddenly found himself standing before the yellow cottage. "It must
have been a magic coin," muttered Jack Pumpkinhead, starting on again.
"I tell you," he gave an excited skip, "that gold coin was a piece of
change. You wished to come to Oz for a change and here you are!"
"Yes," agreed Peter slowly. "But where is the gold piece?"
"You can't have the change and the gold piece too," reproved Jack,
wagging his wooden finger, "and you'd rather have the change, now
wouldn't you?" Peter nodded and glanced sharply at Jack. His head
seemed to be working better. Jack returned Peter's look with a long,
steady stare. "Do you know," he said, stepping deliberately over a high
fence onto a gold paved highway, "You remind me more and more of my
dear father."
"Your dear father," exploded Peter, sitting down on the top rail of the
fence. "I thought a while ago you told me that Princess Ozma was your
father."
"She is," answered Jack, marching calmly along the highway.
"But Ozma's a girl," shouted Peter indignantly, catching up with Jack.
"How could a girl be your father and how could I remind you of Ozma?"
"Ozma was not always a girl," explained Jack mysteriously. "Once
Ozma was a boy like you. I see you have never heard my strange story,"
finished Jack in a hurt voice--looking reproachfully down at Peter.
Though Peter had met Jack Pumpkinhead at Ozma's palace he had to admit
that he knew nothing of his interesting history. So, as they sauntered
slowly along the highway, Jack told how Ozma, as a baby had been stolen
by Mombi, the witch, and transformed into a boy named Tip. For nearly
nine years, Tip had lived in Mombi's hut, entirely ignorant of the fact
that he was the real ruler of Oz. It was to scare Mombi that Tip had
first manufactured the Pumpkinhead Man. Jack's wooden arms and legs
had been skillfully carved from strong saplings. His body, made of a
tough piece of bark, was pinned together with wooden pegs. A larger peg
served Jack for a neck and a carved pumpkin made his head. With some
old clothes he found in Mombi's attic, Tip had dressed the queer figure
and stood him in the bend of the road to scare the old witch on her
return from a visit to the crooked wizard's.
"Well, was Mombi scared?" inquired Peter, looking admiringly at Jack's
jointed wrists and ankles and thinking what a smart boy Ozma must have
been.
"At first," admitted Jack slowly. "At first! Then, wishing to try out
some of the magic she had traded with the wizard she sprinkled me with
the powder of life and immediately I came to life and have been alive
ever since," he finished modestly.
"But what happened to Tip?" begged Peter, for he felt that the most
exciting part of the story was to come.
"Well," continued Jack with a solemn shake of his head, "as Mombi
threatened to turn Tip to a marble statue, we both ran away that night,
taking the powder of life with us. Next morning Tip found a saw-horse
standing in a wood and, sprinkling it with some of the powder, brought
it to life as Mombi had done me. On this strange steed we reached the
Emerald City and helped the Scarecrow, who was then Emperor, escape
from Jinjur's army of girls, who had captured the capitol. After many
curious adventures we reached the palace of Glinda, the Good Sorceress
of the South. We begged her to help us restore the Scarecrow to his
throne, but Glinda, by referring to her magic records, discovered that
Ozma was the rightful ruler of the Kingdom. Returning to the Emerald
City, Glinda forced Mombi to disenchant Tip, Tip became Ozma and Ozma,
as you well know, has been our gracious little sovereign ever since."
"What a shame," breathed Peter kicking at a stone, "I should think
she'd much rather have stayed a boy."
"So should I," agreed Jack, "but as I am only a pumpkin head my opinion
is probably of no value. I certainly have no reason to complain," he
went on cheerfully. "Ozma gave me the fine cottage which you saw this
morning and I spend all my time growing new heads. Before one pumpkin
spoils, I quickly carve myself another and have had dozens of heads
in my day, which makes me a personage, even in Oz. This head I'm now
wearing will last quite a long time for it's still a bit green."
"Well, it looks all right," said Peter, smiling up at Jack.
"Do you think so?" Jack's carved grin seemed to grow even broader at
Peter's polite remark. "If it were not for my joints, I'd be as good as
anyone," he confided, tapping his chest proudly. "But walking wears out
my joints so I never walk far at a time."
"Is it far to the Emerald City?" Shading his eyes Peter blinked down
the gay gold highway and then turned rather anxiously to his cheerful
companion. He certainly did not want good natured Jack to wear out any
joints on his account.
"No distance at all," retorted Jack, with a stiff wave ahead. "Around
that bend the houses and trees will be green, for we will be on the
outskirts of the capitol, and from there it is but a step to the
palace." At Jack's word Peter gave a satisfied little sigh. It was all
coming back--his geozify. Oz! How well he remembered that great oblong
Kingdom, divided into four smaller kingdoms, with the Emerald City in
the exact center. In the Eastern Winkie Country of Oz, the houses,
fences, fruit and flowers were all yellow; in the Southern Quadling
Country they were red. In the Northlands of the Gillikens they were
purple and in the Western Kingdom of the Munchkins they were blue. From
the daffodils in all the fields and the round yellow farm houses, Peter
knew they were in the Winkie Country, but at the next turning they
should find the green trees and parks surrounding the loveliest city in
Oz.
Thinking of this enchanting spot, its gay and jolly inhabitants and
the welcome he was sure to find in the palace, Peter quickened his
steps, reaching the bend of the road far ahead of Jack. But instead of
flowering gardens and green parkways the highway ended abruptly in a
high red brick wall. There was a small black door in the wall. In red
letters on this door were two words--"Enter Here." Peter was staring
uncertainly at these directions when Jack caught up with him.
"Well Cy! What now?" he demanded merrily. "See, I remembered you were
Cy, at the door. Ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!"
"Oh do try to be sensible," begged Peter in an annoyed voice. "Can't
you see that this wall is red? We must be in the Quadling Country,
Jack. You've come the wrong way and we're lost! Now, the question is
whether to go back the way we came or go through this door and try to
find a short cut to the Emerald City."
"I was afraid this head was not quite ripe enough," mumbled Jack in a
worried voice. "Perhaps if we go through this door and turn straight
North we'll find the Emerald City just as quickly as if we turn back."
"Perhaps," echoed Peter doubtfully. Then, as he was beginning to feel
an overpowering curiosity as to what might be on the other side of the
wall, he opened the black door and stepped through.
CHAPTER 2
The Chimney Villains
"Now I'm Santy Claus," mumbled Jack, feeling around for his head. Both
he and Peter had stepped off into space and tumbled together down a
long dark passageway. "We've fallen down a chimney," continued Jack,
finding his head and settling it firmly on his shoulders. "I must say
this is a great way to enter a city."
"It is a grate," said Peter, with a little groan, for he was sitting
astride a pair of iron fire dogs, "but how do you know it's a city?"
Fortunately there was no fire burning in the grate and, picking up the
pirate's sack, Peter stepped out into a large red square. Jack had to
bend almost double to get out at all and as he straightened up a sign
hanging on the outside of the chimney caught his attention.
"Please shut the grate after you," directed the sign. Being an obliging
fellow, Jack pulled the handle at the right and a sliding black screen
completely closed off the opening. Dusting the soot from his frayed
coat, Jack joined Peter.
"Nothing but chimneys," marvelled the little boy with a low whistle.
"I've often seen houses without chimneys but never chimneys without
houses." The square was simply bristling with chimneys, all red and of
every shape, size and description. They seemed to sprout like queer
flowers from the red flags that paved the square. Chimneys! Chimneys!
Chimneys! So close together there was scarcely space to walk. "Who
could possibly live here?" said Peter, with a scornful sniff.
"Whee! Whee--ee! We do!" A hundred high voices answered his question.
They seemed to issue from the chimneys themselves, and as Jack and
Peter peered anxiously upward strange smoky figures began to spiral out
of the chimney tops and float in a dark mass over their heads. They
looked like evil genii or goblins who had long been imprisoned in magic
bottles. Their shapes and faces changed constantly and as a whole horde
of them dropped downward, Peter stepped closer to Jack. "They're only
smoke," he explained reassuringly.
"Yes, dear Peter," quavered Jack, "but smoke is most injurious to
pumpkins! Oh my head! My poor poor head!" Peter had no time to
sympathize with Jack, for at that moment a crowd of Smokies surrounded
them. Their eyes were spite-red sparks and, snatching at Peter and Jack
with their long shadowy arms, they began to hiss and puff threateningly.
"Can you curl?" demanded one, snapping his eyes close to Peter. "Can
you curl, and do a double spiral? Can you make soot and smoulder?"
"No! No! No!" coughed Peter, snatching out his handkerchief and waving
it wildly about his head. "Go away! Go away. You're making me all
black."
"Ha, Ha, Ha!" shrieked a great smoky giant. "That's the color you
should be. This is Chimneyville, but wait till you see our Soot Sooty
down below. Come to our Sooty and see how black and beautiful you will
become."
"We won't," cried Jack Pumpkinhead defiantly, "we won't come or become.
If this is Chimneyville, then you are Chimney-villains. Go away you
black monsters. We refuse to visit your old Sooty. Go away, go away.
You're smoking my beautiful head." Trying to cover his head with his
arms, Jack backed against a chimney, but his words only seemed to
infuriate the Smokies. Swelling with rage, they surged forward.
"Smoke 'em up! Smoke 'em out! Throw 'em down the chimneys!" they
sputtered. "Now then, boys, all together!" While Peter and Jack struck
out left and right, the grim gray specters tried to lift them into the
air. But there was no strength in their vapory arms and with little
shrieks and hisses they pressed closer and closer.
"Run!" panted Peter, who was almost suffocated. The smoke did not
affect Jack and, taking Peter's hand, he tried to pull the little boy
along. But the air was now so thick with their pursuers they could
hardly see at all and bumped and crashed into chimneys at every turn.
The last bump flung them headlong, and for a moment they lay perfectly
still, while the Chimney-villains swept screaming overhead. It was
dark as midnight, for the Smokies had all run together into a great
suffocating cloud. Even the tiny sparks that were their eyes had
gone out, and in utter and awful darkness Peter finally stumbled to
his feet. Coughing and sputtering and with tears pouring down both
cheeks, he felt in his pocket for another handkerchief, and as he did
his fingers closed over a small candle end. Immediately a bright idea
struck Peter, and with a gasp he felt around for Jack's head. Pulling
the stout stem in the top he lifted out the piece Jack had cut when
he hollowed out the pumpkin. Striking a match he lit the candle end,
spilled in a few drops of candle grease and set the candle erect. Then
replacing the top of Jack's head he jerked him to his feet.
"What have you done?" faltered the Pumpkinhead in a faint voice. "My
head feels very light, dear Peter, but I seem to see much better."
"So do I," choked the little boy, muffling his nose in his coat sleeve,
"we can both see better. Come on, you're lit up and my Jack o' Lantern
now!" The bobbing light in the pumpkin's head seemed to puzzle their
enemies, but Peter, guided by the cheery glow, pushed bravely through
the clouds and crowds of them. The smoke still stung his eyes and
throat, but he kept dodging chimney after chimney, and finally pausing
to rest against an especially broad one, discovered a slide like the
one they had come thru in the first place. Jerking it open Peter pulled
Jack into the grate and closed the slide. There was another slide at
the back of the chimney place and as the Smokies poured against the
first slide Peter opened the second and stepped out into a quiet little
wood.
"A great way in and a great way out," observed Jack, following Peter
quickly and slamming the slide after him.
"And a great way from everywhere," puffed Peter, dropping down on the
nearest tree stump and staring resentfully up at the red wall. It
looked the same from this side as from the other. Not a chimney showed,
nor one puff of smoke, to warn luckless travellers of the disagreeable
citizens of Soot City. It was so great a relief to breathe pure air
again and find himself in real daylight that Peter sat for several
minutes drinking in the fresh forest breezes and freeing his lungs
from the bitter smoke. Then, standing up on the stump, he called Jack
and blew out the candle in his pumpkin head. "You certainly saved my
life that time," said Peter feelingly. "If you had not lighted me out
of there I'd have been a smoked herring by this time. How do you feel
yourself, dear Jack?"
"A little light headed," confessed Jack earnestly, "but on the whole, I
rather liked it. It seems to me I felt brighter."
"You mean you could think better?" asked Peter, staring hard at Jack,
and trying not to laugh.
"Yes," Jack nodded gravely, "so please light me up again dear Peter."
"It might not be good for you," said the little boy doubtfully. "It
might make you light headed and giddy. Besides, pumpkins are only lit
at night or in the dark and it's quite light out here."
"Oh are they?" Jack looked terribly disappointed. "Well any time you
need a lantern, just light me up. Shall we go on to the Emerald City
now?"
"Well, we might try to," answered Peter looking around with lively
interest. "Can you walk a little farther? Do your joints feel all
right?" Although Jack was much taller than he, Peter felt somehow
responsible for the flimsy fellow. It rather flattered him to have
Jack so obedient to his wishes and so dependent upon his advice.
After examining his joints carefully, Jack decided he might go a bit
further, so Peter washed his face in a little stream and at the same
time removed the soot from Jack's, and they prepared to continue
their journey to the capitol. Taking his direction from the sun, Peter
started North through the little wood. From the cardinals and robins,
from the red beech and holly trees, he knew he must still be in the
Quadling Country and when he saw a small red cottage in a clearing just
ahead, he was sure of it.
Goody Shop, announced a sign, swinging from the crooked roof. "Hurrah!"
shouted Peter, breaking into a run. "Maybe I can buy something to eat
here. It must be nearly lunch time and I'm starved."
"Oh do be careful," warned Jack, holding on to his head with both
hands as he dashed hurriedly after Peter, "they may not be the kind
of goodies you expect." The shop was dim and dark and behind the red
counter sat a prim little old lady in a ruffled gown.
"Good morning!" puffed Peter with a polite bow.
"Our good morning is all gone," said the old lady, rising stiffly from
her tall stool, "but we have a very good afternoon, would you care for
that?" She squinted anxiously at Peter. "And will you take it with you
or have it sent?"
"Have it sent," advised Jack in a hollow voice for he did not relish
the old lady's expression.
"I wanted to buy something good," explained Peter hastily.
"Well why didn't you say so in the beginning," snapped the shop keeper
testily. "One minute it's good morning and now it's goodbye. What kind
of a goodbye do you want, long, short, fond or sorrowful?" At this
strange question, Jack turned his head with both hands and simply
stared at the old lady, and Peter himself began to feel terribly
confused.
"What kind of goods do you sell here?" he demanded anxiously.
"All the goods," answered the old lady proudly, "but dry goods mostly.
Waving toward the shelves, she folded her arms and looked suspiciously
at her two customers, while Jack and Peter curiously surveyed her wares.
"Good news! Good advice! Good Intentions! Good Days! Good Night! Good
Excuses! Good Riddance!" cried Peter, reading out the labels on the
bottles and boxes. "How odd! Good Ideas! Good Tempers! Good Notions!
Good Times!"
"Come, come," muttered the old lady, tapping her foot impatiently on
the floor, "make up your minds. You may each choose one," she decided
finally, as neither Peter nor Jack seemed able to decide. "Why don't
you take a good excuse?" she suggested, turning to Peter. "Boys are
always needing good excuses, and a fresh batch has just come in--good
ones too!"
"I think I'll take some good advice," announced Jack in a timid voice.
"I'm not very bright and it might be useful."
"But haven't you anything good to eat?" sighed Peter. "A good lunch or
dinner, even a breakfast would do." With an impatient flounce the old
lady reached up on a top shelf and handed Peter a small red box. Then
giving Jack a red envelope, she shooed them out of her goody shop.
"I wish I'd taken some good excuses," murmured Peter, as they walked
slowly down the crooked path. "This box is too small to hold a good
meal of any kind."
"What does it say?" asked Jack inquisitively.
"A good breakfast," answered Peter reading the red label. "Well, even
if it's only a biscuit or just one sausage, I'll eat it." Eagerly Peter
raised the lid. "Why it's bird seed," he exclaimed angrily, flinging
the box with all his force into a red-berry bush. "What a cheat! I've a
good notion to go right back and tell her what I think of her."
"But she didn't charge you anything," observed Jack mildly, "and you'll
have to admit it is a good breakfast!"
"A good breakfast," roared Peter, glaring indignantly at his
loose-jointed companion.
"Well, it is a good breakfast," finished Jack Pumpkinhead
apologetically, "for a bird." Peter looked closely at Jack to see
whether he was poking fun at him, but quite soberly, Jack was opening
his good advice.
"What does yours say?" Crowding closer, Peter read the words on the
thin slip of paper and then began to hop up and down with glee.
"Keep your mouth shut," advised the red paper briefly.
"Call that good advice?" sputtered Jack Pumpkinhead, tearing the paper
into tiny pieces. "How can I keep my mouth shut when it's carved open?
Of all the silly nonsense!"
"But you'll have to admit that keeping your mouth shut is good advice,"
teased Peter, completely restored to good humor by this joke on Jack.
"Then why don't you take it?" asked Jack stalking stiffly ahead. "Take
it and welcome!" Smothering another chuckle, Peter hurried after Jack,
reflecting to himself that this Pumpkinhead Man was not nearly so
foolish as he appeared to be.
CHAPTER 3
What the Green Tree Said
"Won't Dorothy and Ozma be surprised when we turn up at the palace?"
Taking a running jump, Peter cleared a tree and then hurried back to
help Jack Pumpkinhead across.
"I'll be surprised myself," said Jack, stepping solemnly over the log.
"Here we are at the end of this wood and no signs of the Emerald City
at all. Do you see anything green, Peter?" Peter shook his head, for as
far as the eye could reach there was nothing but rocks and sand, tinged
with the rusty red of the Quadling Country.
"I see red, nothing but red," sighed the little boy in a depressed
voice. "Wait, there's one green tree, though--a fir tree. Why, it's
running straight for us. Hey! Look what you're doing! Get off my foot!"
Giving the tree a quick shove, Peter sprang backward. But the tree
leaned a little further over, and resting its lower branches on his
shoulders began to sob heavily.
"I'm very tired," it panted in a weak whisper, "very tired!" It spoke
through a hollow in the center of its trunk and its knot eyes stared
mournfully into Peter's own.
"Well, you can't lean on me," exclaimed Peter crossly, giving it
another push. "I'm tired too! Why I never heard of such a thing," he
continued in an indignant voice. "What are you doing, where are you
going, why don't you act like a regular tree?" Wrenching the branches
from his shoulders, Peter stepped off and eyed it angrily.
"You don't belong in this country anyway," put in Jack accusingly.
"You're green and you know it!"
"Hush," muttered the tree, putting a lower branch over its mouth.
"I'm a Christmas Tree, looking for last year's ornaments." There were
a few gay colored balls still clinging to the top and as Peter, too
astonished to make any reply continued to stare, the tree drew closer.
"Are you a Christmas present?" it asked hoarsely. "Are you an ornament?"
"Oh go away!" laughed the little boy, giving it another shove. "Do I
look like a Christmas present? And can't you see we're not ornaments?"
With a little chuckle, he waved at his companion.
"I could use his head," murmured the tree, squinting through its
branches at Jack. "It's not at all pretty, but it would light up and
look real merry. Here you!" With a sudden pounce the tree made for
Jack. "Give me your pumpkin head and no nonsense either!" As Jack and
Peter both jumped back together, a simply astonishing thing happened.
From the end of each branch on the Christmas tree a hand shot out, and
with each hand extended it dashed after them.
"See! I trim myself!" it yelled, snapping its fingers hilariously.
"Come here you provoking boy. I'll wager you have plenty of stuff in
your pockets I could use for presents. Have you a watch or a gold pen
knife?" At each question, it made greedy snatches at Peter. "Let me
pick your pockets! Give me your head you great jumping-jack!" Ten of
its hands just grazed Jack's coat-tails.
At first Peter had been rather amused by the Christmas tree, but now,
thoroughly alarmed, he clutched Jack's hand and ran so fast that Jack
had all he could do to hold on to his head and keep from stumbling.
As they continued to elude it, the determined little tree grew very
angry. Hopping up and down its roots, it seized the ornaments from its
top branches and hurled them one after another at the fleeing pair.
Three balls and a candy cane crashed to bits on Peter's head, and as he
dodged in between two big boulders a silver dinner bell tied with red
ribbon hit him sharply between the eyes.
"Gee-whiz!" spluttered the little boy, clapping his hand to his
forehead, "this is no fun!" Pulling Jack after him, he squeezed into a
narrow crevice between the rocks, but before he did Jack leaned down,
picked up the bell and slipped it into his pocket. As the Christmas
tree attempted to push its way between the rocks, Peter and Jack
pressed against a rough wall at the back. Now it happened that in this
wall there was a swinging rock door, and as they both leaned hard
against it, the door swung inward and spilled them abruptly into a
narrow stone corridor. Next instant the door slammed to, leaving them
sitting in surprise and consternation on the rocky floor. They could
hear the tree pounding with all its fists against the panels, but a
bolt had dropped into place as the door closed, so there seemed little
danger of further pursuit.
"I wish we'd stop this falling about," complained Peter, picking
himself up a bit wearily. "We're always doing something we don't
expect."
"That's because we're in Oz," answered Jack cheerfully, "and at any
rate, we have saved my head from the Christmas tree."
Peter felt inclined to remark that saving Jack's head was not so very
important, but thinking better of it, he went on in an exasperated
tone: "Christmas trees in our country don't chase people nor throw
things at them. They stay where they're put."
"Yes," said Jack Pumpkinhead blandly, "I suppose they do, but Oz
Christmas trees are more progressive, more up-and-coming." Taking out
the silver bell the Christmas Tree had thrown at Peter, Jack held it
close to his ear and then swung it slowly to and fro. At its first
silver ring Peter, thinking it would rouse the owner of the cave,
rushed over to stop Jack, only to collide violently with a tiny black
slave who had apparently sprung up from nowhere. He wore a simply
enormous turban and carried an immense silver tray. Regaining his
balance with great composure, the little black slave set the tray on
the floor, folded his arms and with a deep bow melted into thin air.
"It's a dinner!" shouted Peter, dropping on the floor and hungrily
snatching off the white napkin that covered the tray. "Well, of all
things!"
"Unexpected things, you mean," corrected Jack slyly, "and I notice you
don't object to this one."
"Let me see that bell," puffed Peter, reaching across the tray. It was
not very light in the cavern, but even so he could read the inscription
on the shining silver surface. "The Red Djinn's dinner bell," said the
carved letters mysteriously. "A magic dinner bell," exclaimed Peter
delightedly. "This certainly makes up for the bird seed. And did you
see that boy dissolve into nothing right before our eyes?" Jack nodded.
"Better eat that dinner before it does the same thing," he advised
calmly. As this seemed not at all improbable, Peter made short work
of the roast duck, mashed potatoes, hot rolls and apple sauce. He had
just finished the last roll, when tray, dishes and silverware vanished
suddenly.
"Shall I ring the bell again?" inquired Jack, as Peter stared dazedly
at the spot where the tray had been. Although Jack was not constructed
for eating, he had thoroughly enjoyed watching Peter.
"No," decided the little boy with a satisfied nod, "I've had enough,
and it was good. But I wonder how that Christmas tree got hold of the
Red Djinn's dinner bell?"
"Stole it probably," answered Jack, rubbing the bell on his sleeve.
"Maybe the old Djinn didn't run fast enough. Anyway it's a regular
Christmas present for you, Peter. Whenever you're hungry we'll just
ring it." With a pleased chuckle, Jack slipped the bell back into his
pocket.
"It certainly will be useful," sighed Peter, patting his stomach with
a contented little sigh. Now that his hunger was satisfied, he felt
quite cheerful and adventurous again. "Let's see where this passageway
leads," he added, peering round the dark corner at the end of the
little corridor.
"Why don't you throw that old sack away?" inquired Jack Pumpkinhead, as
they walked slowly along the strange hallway. "What good is it?"
"I don't know," answered Peter, swinging the pirate's sack carelessly
to and fro. "I had it when I landed here and it might come in handy to
carry things in."
"What kind of things?" asked Jack stupidly. Peter did not bother to
answer for they had come suddenly upon a great scowling goblin-head
lantern. Under the lantern hung a flashing red sign.
"T--remble!"--directed the sign in big red letters.
"I don't see why we should tremble," said Peter, squinting defiantly
up at the goblin lantern. At Peter's words the lantern went out, and
whistling through the dark windy corridor came such a succession of
wails, sighs and horrid screeches that Peter's heart stood still.
"Are you trembling?" quavered Jack, as the hair raising noise died
away. "Not exactly," stuttered Peter, leaning against the wall to
steady himself. As the lantern flashed on again, he peered anxiously
all around. But there was no one in sight, so putting back his
shoulders and taking a deep breath Peter marched bravely forward.
"There's nothing to be frightened about," he called reassuringly over
his shoulder.
"Well, nothing certainly made enough noise," murmured Jack,
straightening his head which had spun round and round at the horrible
outcrys. "I wish we were safely out of this, dear Peter." Peter did not
say so, but he heartily echoed Jack's wish. As they progressed along
the strange corridor the goblin lanterns became more numerous and ugly,
and the last turn brought them to a high, red, spiked gate. On every
spike there was a frowning scare head, and as the two travellers paused
uncertainly, each head stuck out its tongue.
"Boo--OO!" shrieked the heads all together, so loud and so shrilly that
Peter almost took to his heels and Jack, without meaning to at all, sat
down. As the little boy hurriedly tugged him to his feet, the red gates
swung open.
"Welcome to Scare City!" boomed a horrid voice. "Quake! Shake! Pale and
tremble!"
CHAPTER 4
Scary Times in Scare City
On the other side of the spiked gate rose a curious cliff city. There
was a great court in the center surrounded by a mass of jagged rocks
and from the rocks narrow cliff dwellings had been crudely hewn and
cut. Crooked, carved steps led down into the courtyard and every
rock and inch of wall space was covered with roughly drawn heads and
frowning faces, while set on stone poles at regular intervals were
hundreds of goblin lanterns. A bluish green smoke hung in the air
and every minute or so it would rise and form into the words "Scare
City! Scare City! Scare City!" so that altogether the whole effect was
exceedingly grim and unpleasant. So much so, in fact that Peter and
Jack turned to flee. But the arm that had pulled them through the gate,
held them fast.
"Pause!" commanded a harsh voice. "Pause! Pale and behold the Chief
Scarer!" Swallowing hard, Peter took an unwilling look at the gate
keeper. He was about six feet tall and his head seemed to be face all
round, with eyes on every side and noses that stuck out like spikes in
every direction. As Peter, with a little shiver, turned away, he began
to speak again. "You!" rumbled the Chief Scarer, pointing a skinny
finger at Jack, "are a perfect fright! But you," contemptuously he
looked Peter up and down, "you would not even scare a baby. How dare
you come here with that soft white pudding face?" Now Peter, as you
can well imagine was thoroughly frightened, but the words of the gate
keeper made him angry and anger made him bold. Stamping his foot and
drawing his face into a terrible scowl, Peter stuck out his tongue.
"Is this better?" he demanded furiously.
"A little! A little!" sighed the Chief Scarer, leaning thoughtfully on
his staff. "Could you cross your eyes?"
"Don't you do it Peter!" begged Jack. "They might stay that way."
"Well, suit yourself," yawned the Scarer indifferently. "I doubt
whether either of you will pass the tests anyway, and if you don't
you'll be turned into Fraid Cats, or scared stiff. You're supposed to
tremble in the presence of the King, you know, and if you run you'll
turn to Fraid Cats and if you scream you'll be scared stiff. Remember,
now, I warned you." Lifting a red whistle to his lips, the Chief
Scarer blew three sharp blasts and then stepped back into his niche in
the rocks.
"Who's afraid?" muttered Peter in a defiant voice. "They can't scare
us, can they Jack?" Before Jack could answer, a perfect horde of Scares
rushed out of the rock dwellings and began to tumble and leap down
the steps into the court. Halfway down, they paused and one with a
particularly frightful face bawled impressively; "Tuh-remble, for you
are in the presence of the King!" Jack and Peter had no trouble at all
in trembling. Jack's knees knocked together so hard that one of the
pegs fell out of his joints and his pumpkin head bounced up and down
upon its peg. Peter twisted his hands behind him and gritted his teeth
to keep from screaming. He felt exactly as he had when he was a small
boy and a rough crowd of Hallow'een ghosts and goblins pounced suddenly
upon him in his own front yard.
"They're no worse than masqueraders," said Peter pluckily. "Don't run!
Don't scream, Jack, no matter what happens."
"What I don't see, won't frighten me," answered Jack, and reaching up
with both hands he turned his head so that the back was toward the
Scares. Each Scare was different but each one was dreadful. Some had
blue faces, some red faces and others green faces but they all had
dozens of noses and the result was more than terrifying. Scurrying
here and there in between the feet of the Scares, were the Fraid
Cats meouwing piteously when anyone trod on them. Instead of tails
these singular beasts had two heads, one at each end so that it was
impossible to tell whether they were coming or going. Swallowing
nervously, Peter resolved that whatever happened he would not run and
turn into one of these two-headed tom cats. When the Scares almost
reached the spot where the two travellers stood trembling, the one they
called King stepped out on a high flat rock. He had a horn for a nose,
a lion's mane, pig eyes, donkey ears and billy goat whiskers.
"Three groans for Harum Scarum the Seventh," shouted his subjects and
proceeded to groan most lustily, while Harum Scarum, waving both arms,
addressed Peter and Jack in words so long and frightening that the air
fairly quivered, and bits of rock, loosened from the walls, rattled
down like hail stones.
"What is he saying?" panted Jack, who still had his head turned.
"They're trying to scare us with big words," shouted Peter above the
awful din. "Don't move, Jack; whatever you do, don't move."
"But suppose they run over us?" wailed Jack Pumpkinhead dolefully.
Peter had thought of this himself and as the Scares, evidently
disappointed at not making them run, stopped shouting and prepared to
attack, he seized Jack's hand and whispered frantically. "Here they
come! Here they come! What shall we do? What _shall_ we do?" How Jack,
with only a pumpkin head, ever thought of the magic dinner bell Peter
often wondered afterward. But he did think of it, and before the Scares
had advanced a foot he snatched out the bell and shook it furiously.
Instantly the little slave appeared, set a tray before Peter and
vanished. And Peter, without delay, seized the silver dishes full of
food and hurled them at the oncoming foe.
The astonishment of Harum Scarum and his band was comical to behold.
Hit by flying forks, spoons, tumblers, bowls of chicken and mashed
potatoes and finally by the silver tray itself, they paused in utmost
confusion. Before they could pick up the flying missiles they had
disappeared and when, with yells and shouts they started forward again,
Jack rang the Jinn's bell a second time and a third time and a fourth
time and with never a pause Peter flung dinners and dishes at their
heads. But when Jack rang the bell a fifth time, the little slave
appeared and, looking reproachfully at Peter, set down only one small
bowl of soup. Five dinners in less than five minutes was too much for
even a magic dinner bell.
With a gasp of dismay, Peter flung the bowl at Harum Scarum and then
snatching the pirate sack from his shoulder swung it defiantly round
his head. Nothing could save them now, but at least, decided Peter, he
would go down fighting. Jack, too, seemed to realize the hopelessness
of their situation and, turning his head, boldly confronted the Scares,
doubling up his wooden fists, prepared to struggle till he fell. With
noodle soup in his goat's beard and fury in his pig eyes, Harum Scarum
rushed at Peter. As he did, the pirate sack jerked out of the little
boy's hand. The strings had been loosened by Peter's wild swings and
now the mouth was open wide. Sailing through the air like a small
Zeppelin, it scooped up Harum Scarum, then the ten Scares behind him,
then the ten Scares behind them, snapping and swallowing, snapping and
swallowing till not a Scare nor a Fraid Cat remained in the courtyard.
Then swiftly the sack returned to Peter and quietly collapsed at his
feet. There was not a sound in that whole strange city, nor a single
Scare in the sack.
"Why didn't you tell me you had a grab bag?" stuttered Jack. "Tie it
up quick; do you want it to grab us?" With trembling hands and stiff
fingers Peter pulled the cords in the top of the sack, and sinking down
in a tired heap leaned his head against the stones. The battle with the
Scares and the strange behaviour of the pirate's sack had almost been
too much for him. Where in Pete had the Scares gone and how could the
sack be empty? Jack equally agitated took several jerky steps up and
down and then paused in front of Peter.
"What now?" asked Jack Pumpkinhead inquiringly. "What now?"
"Let's get out of here!" exclaimed Peter, and taking a long breath he
jumped to his feet.
"Are we going to take that?" Fearfully Jack pointed to the pirate's
sack.
"Of course!" said Peter, trying to speak in a matter of fact voice. "It
might help us out again."
"Do you wish to be helped out of sight?" wheezed Jack sarcastically.
"Why it may swallow us any minute that our backs are turned."
"Not if we keep it tied," answered Peter with more confidence than
he felt. "We really ought to take it to the Emerald City to show the
Wizard. I don't believe even the Wizard has seen a sack like this. It's
a trained sack, I suppose. That pirate taught it to swallow his enemies
and now it will swallow ours."
"All right, bring it if you must, but don't swing it near me."
Straightening his head resignedly, Jack began looking around for the
peg that had fallen out of his knee joint. When Peter had found and
replaced the little wooden piece, they hurried quickly to the entrance
of the city. The gate keeper had been swallowed with the rest of the
Scares and though Jack and Peter pulled and pushed and tugged they
could not budge the iron bolts.
"Maybe there's another way," puffed Peter, finally giving up the
attempt. Turning from the entrance, they walked round and round the
courtyard and climbed wearily up and down the rocks, but could find no
break in the wall, nor any way out of the grim City.
The dead silence, now that the Scares were gone, was dreadfully
depressing. Thoroughly discouraged, Peter and Jack sat down on a block
of granite. Leaning his head against a red pillar, Peter took a last
despairing look around. As his eye travelled slowly over the court,
a red stone griffin, or what Peter had supposed to be a red stone
griffin, rose majestically from the base of a pillar. With a terrific
stretch and yawn it opened its eyes, blinked in surprise at Peter and
Jack, then raising one claw called gently, "Who?" What? Whither? Why?"
CHAPTER 5
Peter Meets the Iffin
"Boy! Pumpkin! Emerald City! Because!" answered Jack who was extremely
literal. "If everyone would answer me as sensibly as he does," said
the griffin, "I'd talk all day. So you say you're leaving this place
because----"
"Because we hate it," said Peter, looking steadily at the strange
speaker. So many things had happened in the last hour that Peter felt
only a slight twinge of surprise at the creature's curious appearance
and conversation. "Are you a griffin?" Peter asked, rubbing his
forehead wearily. It looked not unlike pictures he had seen of this
rare and fabulous monster--being sandy red in color, with a huge
lion's body and dragon's claws. Its head, instead of being the usual
eagle head, was of rather a doggish nature with a stand-up mane and
inquisitive, pointed ears.
"You must be a griffin," repeated Peter, noting the powerful wings
starting from the monster's shoulders.
"I am a griffin without the gr--rr," answered the animal, sitting
dolefully back on its haunches. "I used to be a real griffin, but since
my capture and imprisonment here I've completely lost my gr--rr, which
makes me by the process of simple subtraction an Iffin. To while away
the hours of my captivity," it went on patiently, "I acquired the habit
of thought. I thought and I thought and thinking brought on iffing. I
began to if about this and that till I became a philosopher.
"What is a philosopher?" asked Jack suspiciously.
"A philosopher is an Iffin too," rumbled the singular beast, scratching
his ear reflectively. "He thinks practically all the time and he says
to himself:
"If this and that are really so, then so are that and this;
That being so, 'tis best to go so far, then one can't miss!
"Everything hinges on the if," he finished brightly. "See?"
"I'm afraid I don't," said Jack, shaking his head stupidly. "Do you,
Peter?"
"Well, I understand about the if," answered the little boy, who could
not help grinning at Jack's puzzled expression. "If the Iffin will
just show us the way out of Scare City, we'll go and not miss a single
thing."
"If it were not for the Scares, I would," wheezed the big beast,
peering nervously up at the rocks. "But it's no use; they'll only turn
you to Fraid Cats or statues. Besides I'm chained." He lifted one paw
to which a heavy chain and padlock were attached. The other end of the
chain was fastened to the base of the pillar.
"Say, you must be a sound sleeper," marvelled Jack. "Didn't you hear
the big battle? This boy and I have conquered the whole city and Harum
Scarum and the Scares are gone--vanished, done for."
"Gone!" cried the Iffin, lashing its tail in astonishment. "How? When?
Where?" Jack pointed silently to the sack which Peter still had over
one shoulder, and Peter quickly told of their exciting encounter with
the citizens of Scare City, of the great usefulness of the Red Jinn's
dinner bell and the way the pirate sack had finally swallowed down the
whole company of horrors. At Peter's recital, the Iffin's eyes grew
rounder and rounder and as he finished it put up both wings and with
short agitated jumps shrieked:
"The Scares are gone, then what scare we!
The Scares are gone, we're free, we're free!
"Loose this chain," it panted, tugging impatiently away from the post.
As Peter, now as excited as the Iffin, looked hurriedly around for a
bar or stone to break the padlock, Jack stepped forward and warningly
held up his hand.
"Just what do you eat?" asked Jack Pumpkinhead in an anxious voice.
"Are you carniverous?"
"If an Iffin were carniverous, would he relish red geraniums?
I live on flowers, solely, so please get that through your craniums.
"What did you think I ate, little boys?" finished the Iffin sulkily.
"Well, you never can tell," murmured Jack, with a worried glance at
Peter. "I just wanted to be sure." Peter chuckled to himself, and while
looking for a spike discovered a gold key suspended from a nail on one
of the red pillars. Taking the key, he fitted it into the rusty padlock
and after several unsuccessful attempts it turned and the heavy chain
fell with a loud clank to the red paving stones.
"Do you really eat geraniums?" asked Peter, as the Iffin sprang away
from the post and rushed in crazy circles around the court yard.
"Of course," it snorted boisterously. "Of course!" Then spreading its
wide red wings it soared majestically into the air--up, up and out of
sight.
"Why it's gone!" shouted Jack Pumpkinhead indignantly. "There's
gratitude for you! Gone and left us without even a claw shake or thank
you."
"Maybe it will come back." Kicking aside the chain, Peter strained his
eyes to catch a glimpse of the flying monster, but not one speck showed
in the murky sky overhead. If Jack and Peter had been blue before, they
were navy blue now. With their only means of escape removed they looked
blankly at one another, while the goblin lanterns glowed and smoked and
the sulphurous air of the cliff city grew more dry and unbearable.
"If I'd only made it promise to help us before I turned the key,"
sighed Peter regretfully.
"Hah! So you're an Iffin, too." Peering around a pillar, the bright
red eyes of the sandy colored beast winked merrily into Peter's. "Just
trying out my wings," it explained gruffly, "and they're wonderful!
"If you don't think so, listen to them swirl and whirl and swish;
Climb on my back, I'll carry you to any place you wish."
"Will you really," cried Peter, falling joyfully on the Iffin's neck.
"Can you take us to the Emerald City?"
"If you want me to," answered the Iffin, wagging its tail bashfully.
"Have you a name," inquired Jack Pumpkinhead, getting stiffly off the
granite block.
"Well," said the Iffin slowly, "I've been here so long I forgot my real
name but the Scares called me Snif. I'm not sure I know the way to the
Emerald City, but I will fly over the wall into the Land of the Barons
and there we can surely find some one to direct us. Since you have
freed me from my captors I will serve you faithfully for seven years."
"Hurrah!" shouted Peter, hugging Jack. "I'm not sure I can stay in Oz
that long, but I'm certainly glad we fell into this city. Meeting you
was worth all the trouble.
"In reply the Iffin chortled:
"If you hadn't come, I'd be here yet,
So I'm glad as a Gluckbird that we met."
"What's a Gluckbird?" asked Jack, straightening his head and looking
rather severely at the irrepressible monster.
"If I knew I'd tell you," confided the Iffin, coming close to whisper
in Jack's ear. "Let's make ourselves scarce around here," he called
boisterously in the next breath.
"Oh let's," agreed Peter, swinging up the pirate's sack. "You mount
first Jack and be sure to hold fast to your head."
"And be sure that bag's shut," added the Iffin, wiggling his nose
rapidly. "I've never travelled with a magic sack and though I fly I'm
no swallow!"
"Is the dinner bell all right?" asked Peter, tightening the cord of the
pirate's sack and helping Jack climb on Snif's back. There was just
room for the Pumpkinhead to sit astride in front of the Iffin's wings
and Peter settled himself comfortably back of Jack between the mighty
pinions. With one last scornful look at the red city, the Iffin rose
into air, mounting higher till the goblin lights of Scare City were no
larger than fire flys twinkling below.
"Were you a prisoner long?" asked Peter, as Snif flew swiftly over a
bright red forest.
"Five years," bellowed the big beast, looking over its shoulder. Flying
seemed no effort at all and it talked quite easily as it flew. "The
first year," it explained sadly, "I struggled and growled so hard in my
efforts to escape that I completely lost my gu-r-r-r. See!" Clearing
its throat, the Iffin attempted a growl but succeeded in producing only
a faint squeak. "After I lost my gu--rr," it went on in a melancholy
voice, "I amused myself making up iffish verses, a habit I fear I shall
never recover from."
"I like it," said Peter after a short pause. "It reminds me of Scraps.
She's a live Patchwork Girl who lives in the Emerald City. Scraps talks
in verses all the time.
"If the Patchwork Girl can talk in rhyme
She must be most as smart as I'm."
smiled Snif, with a wink at Jack Pumpkinhead.
"She is," laughed Peter with a reminiscent chuckle. "I say, there must
have been a lot of travellers from the number of Fraid Cats in Scare
City. Why did they have two heads?"
"So they'd be forced to look at Scares which ever way they turned,"
sighed the Iffin. "Every Scare had his cave full of statues of people
who had come to Scare City by mistake and been frightened stiff. You
were lucky to escape."
"Well," admitted Peter with pardonable pride, "it's pretty hard to
scare the Captain of a baseball team and Jack is not easily frightened
either."
"So I see, er--saw," observed the Iffin politely.
"When we reach the Emerald City, Ozma will find a way to release all of
these prisoners wherever they are," said Peter confidently. "But how
did they capture you?"
"I dropped into the city at night," said the Iffin, "and before I saw
how bad it was they overpowered and chained me up. They wanted me to
stay and devour all travellers and even when I refused they kept me as
a curiosity. And that's all I'll be from now on," it wheezed heavily.
"I'll never get the taste of sulphur out of my throat, the picture of
the Scares out of my mind or be able to growl again. I'm quite all
wrong."
"You seem all right to me," said Peter, with a little sigh of content.
"Wait till you see the Emerald City. You'll forget all about the Scares
and never ever want to leave again, will he Jack?"
"Never," answered Jack, with a solemn nod.
"I have heard the capitol is very lovely," mused the Iffin, "but my
home is beautiful, too."
"Where do you live?" inquired Peter. Jack was too busy holding on his
head to join in the conversation.
"In the Land of the Barons, among these hills." Pausing in mid air, the
Iffin pointed with its claw to the rolling hillside below. Here and
there above the trees and on the hill tops lordly castles reared their
round, red towers. Flags fluttered from every turret and Peter had to
admit that the Land of the Barons looked extremely interesting and gay.
"Are these barons pleasant fellows?" he asked, putting a steadying arm
around Jack Pumpkinhead. The Iffin answered in verse:
"If they're good, they're good as pie,
But some are bad and make things fly--even me."
"You mean there are all kinds," mused Peter.
"Yes," said the Iffin. "And they're always fighting, but I don't
mind battles. I just fly around till they're over and they're quite
interesting to watch."
"I hope we don't land in the middle of a battle," sighed Peter. "And I
hope the first Baron we meet is a good fellow and knows the way to the
Emerald City."
"If he is, and if he does, we'll be as gay as never was;
And if he's not and if he don't, we'll find a way, swumped if we
won't!"
"You use such funny words," sniffed Peter, as the monster circled lower
and lower. But the Iffin made no answer this time, for he was looking
for a good place to land. Presently he found one, and next instant
they dropped gently down into a peaceful valley. As Peter and Jack
tumbled off in great excitement, Snif folded his wings and blinking
self-consciously murmured, "Well, here we are. Do you like it?"
CHAPTER 6
The Bearded Baron Appears
After Scare City almost any place would have looked beautiful to
Jack and Peter, and this quiet valley overgrown with vines and sweet
smelling flowers, seemed lovely indeed.
"You're a whiz, Snif," exclaimed the little boy, looking around
appreciatively. "Why, you travel faster than an aeroplane. You're even
better than one, for you can walk and talk as well as fly."
"Swim, too," grunted the Iffin, panting a little from the exertion of
the journey. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll run along and find
some geraniums. They grow wild around here and I'm wild about 'em."
"Don't get lost," begged Jack Pumpkinhead, for this accommodating new
steed seemed almost too precious to let out of their sight. "Shall I go
with him?" he whispered hurriedly to Peter.
"It might hurt his feelings," said Peter, dropping luxuriously into the
long fine grass. "Let's rest till he comes back and then we can hunt up
one of these barons and inquire the way to the Emerald City."
Rolling over on his back and looking up at the drifting summer clouds,
Peter gave a long sigh of content. "Why, this is almost as interesting
as my last trip to Oz, Jack--travelling around with you this way and
meeting an Iffin, and everything. No matter what happens we're not so
badly off for we have a sack to swallow our enemies, a magic dinner
bell to supply us with food and an enchanted steed to carry us wherever
we wish to go. Gee, I wish some of the fellows were along! I wish my
Grandfather had been with us in Scare City. You were great, Jack, to
think of that dinner bell!"
"Was I?" Leaning against a tall young beech, Jack beamed down at Peter.
"You were great, too," he insisted generously. "I never saw anyone
throw so straight and so hard."
"Playing baseball does that," explained Peter, clasping his arms
behind his head. "We'll have to have a game when we reach the capitol.
Say look! Here are some wild strawberries." Scooping them up by the
handful, Peter began to eat hungrily. "Did you ever see such large
ones?"
"The Quadling Country is noted for its red fruits," answered Jack
proudly, "its strawberries, apples, cherries and red bananas. Sometimes
I wish I were made to enjoy eating," he finished, looking rather
wistfully at Peter.
"You do miss a lot," agreed the little boy sympathetically, "but then
on the other hand, you never suffer from hunger and could never starve
to death. But here comes Snif." Swallowing the last of the strawberries
Peter ran to meet the Iffin. Several geraniums still drooped from the
corners of his mouth and he was loping along humming cheerfully to
himself.
"All aboard for the Emerald City," he called merrily, as he came
closer. "That ought to please your long legged friend, there. He's all
board from his neck down, anyway." Smiling at Snif's little joke, Peter
picked up the pirate's sack, helped Jack to mount and sprang nimbly up
behind him.
"Are we going to fly or walk," he asked curiously.
"Waddle," puffed the Iffin with a droll wink. "I'm so full of geraniums
I'd simply sink if I tried to fly, so if you're all ready we'll waddle
along."
"I'm afraid waddling won't be at all good for my head," objected Jack,
as the Iffin started off with swinging, uneven strides. Peter laughed
as Jack continued to protest against waddling, but the Iffin was too
busy practising gu--rrs to pay any attention to the Pumpkinhead.
"It's funny," it muttered between its teeth. "I can say gu-rr but I
can't growl it, and until I can growl, I'm no griffin."
"Oh, what do you care," said Peter. "Any old grouch can growl, but not
many can fly, swim, waddle and make verses like you do. I'd rather be
an Iffin than a griffin, any day."
"That's because you never were either," sighed the big monster with a
little shake of his head, and quickening his pace he galloped along
so swiftly that Peter and Jack had all they could do to hang on. Once
out of the valley, the country spread before them, like a gay and
enchanting map. Little patches of shadow lay on the velvety hills,
small wooded parks dotted the hollows and many castles were visible in
the distance. Beyond, a huge range of red mountains lifted their craggy
heads to the sky.
"We'll stop at the first castle," decided the Iffin, jumping without
effort a tall timber fence that enclosed one of the parks. Red deer
scattered right and left, as the huge monster rushed by and they were
progressing finely when, from the center of the park where the trees
were thickest, came a sharp, shrill wail. "Perhaps we'd better try the
second castle," panted the Iffin, flattening back his ears:
"If that looks like it sounds, I prefer not to look;
It's either a Snort or a sort of Gazook."
Before Jack could inquire what a Snort or Gazook might be, before
the Iffin could even turn, steps came pattering toward them, and out
through the trees rushed a tall, trembling old man in a red cloak.
"I am a mess! I am a mess! I am a mess!" he croaked, flinging out both
arms desperately.
"Tut! Tut!" reproved the Iffin, putting up his ears. "If you don't
shout it so loud, maybe no one will find you out. Keep it quiet, I beg
of you."
"I am a mess, I am a mess, a mis-erable mesmerizer," insisted the old
man, drawing his hand wearily across his brow and leaning heavily
against a tree.
"It's against the law to mes, to mes--I mean to mesmerize," said Jack,
staring severely at the strange apparition. "Ozma has forbidden the
practise of magic in Oz. Don't you know that?"
"I know no law but the law of Belfaygor of Bourne," said the old man
haughtily.
"And who is Belfaygor," inquired Peter, standing up on the Iffin's back
to get a better view of this curious person.
"Lord of these Lands, and my illustrious Master. Alas! Alas! What have
I done! Unhappy him! Unhappy I! Unhappy us. I am a mess! I am a mess!
a most mis-erable mesmerizer." Burying his face in his hands, the old
man rushed blindly past them, and long after he had gone his piercing
groans came echoing back to them.
"Now what do you suppose he did do?" asked Peter, settling himself
thoughtfully between the Iffin's wings.
"Belfaygor, Belfaygor," mused Snif, repeating the name over several
times. "I remember now--he's one of the good barons. Let's go on to
his castle and see what has happened to him." But they did not have to
wait till they reached the castle to find out, for halfway through the
park, they came upon the baron himself. His ruby crown, magnificent red
boots, richly embroidered cape, proclaimed his rank at once, but it
was his beard that Peter saw first and never forgot afterward--a red
beard that flashed and flowed down his breast and swirled around his
feet in an angry red tide. With his head thrown back, a pair of shears
in each hand, Belfaygor was clipping desperately at the shining waves
that seemed to pour in a steady torrent from his chin. At each clip he
groaned and at each groan he clipped.
"My beard!" choked the baron. "My bride and my beard!" And so engrossed
and distressed was the unhappy gentleman that he neither saw nor heard
the Iffin's approach.
"So this is what comes of mesmerizing," snorted Snif, stopping so
suddenly he almost unseated his riders. "His beard is running away with
him. What can we do about it?"
"Can we be of any help?" called Peter, more practically. "Is there
anything we can do Mr. Baron?" At Peter's question, Belfaygor gave a
great start; then blinking up half seeingly at the strange company,
gloomily shook his head.
"Nothing can help me," moaned the baron, clipping furiously, "for
nothing can stop this beard from growing. And that's not the worst,
Mogodore the Mighty has stolen the Princess I was to marry and each
time I try to run to rescue her my beard trips me up. Woe, woe, woe!
Was ever a man so unhappy--so unlucky as I?"
[Illustration: "Miserable mesmerizer," repeated the Baron dully.]
"Where are your men," asked Snif, wrinkling up his nose anxiously.
"Gone," said the Baron dully. "Frightened off by my beard, they have
deserted me down to the smallest train bearer."
"You don't need a train bearer. What you need is a beard bearer,"
puffed Jack Pumpkinhead, dismounting stiffly and stepping as close as
he dared to the baron. "If you throw your beard over your shoulder, it
will grow the other way," he suggested amiably. For a moment Belfaygor
stared slowly at Jack, then flinging the red beard over one shoulder he
extended both arms.
"That's the only sensible thing I've heard since I was mesmerized," he
shouted hoarsely. "I hereby appoint you Royal Bearer of the beard."
"Thanks," murmured Jack, looking doubtfully at Peter.
"Who are you?" demanded the baron in growing excitement and
appreciation. "This Griffin I have seen before, but you, my good fellow
are most odd and curious."
"He is a Pumpkinhead, magically brought to life," volunteered Peter
"and some pumpkins," he finished, with a wink at the Iffin.
"No, only one," corrected Jack modestly. "I am a subject of Ozma of Oz
and this boy is from America. As we are all on our way to the Emerald
City, I cannot bear your beard."
"Neither can I," mourned the Baron, dropping his arms wearily. "Oh! Oh!
Who will save poor little Shirley Sunshine?" The Baron looked so tired
and dejected that Peter felt sorry for him.
"Is Shirley Sunshine the Princess you are to marry?" he asked
curiously. "Who is this Mogodore? Why not tell us the whole story,
maybe we can help you?"
"If wings will help and a magic sack,
You'll soon have your little Princess back,"
promised the Iffin, sitting on his haunches beside Peter. "Speak," he
urged, raising his claw imperiously. "Speak, for we are all attention."
CHAPTER 7
Belfaygor's Strange Story
With a gusty sigh, the red baron looked from one to another and then,
fixing his eyes sadly on Peter, he began to speak. Since the extremely
sensible suggestion of Jack Pumpkinhead, his beard no longer poured
round his ankles but, sweeping over his shoulder, disappeared in a red
streak between the trees. Every little while he would cut it off, and
the steady snip-snip of the shears ran like a sharp punctuation all
through the strange story of his misfortune.
"This morning," confided Belfaygor in a mournful voice, "this
morning I was the happiest Lord in the Land, for my marriage with
Shirley Sunshine, whose father lives on the next hillside, had been
satisfactorily arranged. My palace had been redecorated to please
the Princess and all my retainers newly outfitted for the wedding.
Everything, in fact, was in readiness to receive her, and I myself
was about to start for her father's castle, when I became suddenly
dissatisfied with my appearance." Overcome by his feelings the baron
paused for a full moment, and Peter stood up on Snif's back to see how
far the red beard had grown since the last clip. With a little gasp he
saw it shoot through the branches of a tall tulip tree, and as he sat
down Belfaygor tearfully continued his recital.
"So I sent for my chief mesmerizer," he said sorrowfully, "a good
old man and exceedingly well versed in necromancy. I asked him if it
would be possible to grow a beard, as I felt that a fine long beard
would greatly improve my appearance. There was not time to grow one
naturally, so this mesmerizer----"
"This miserable mesmerizer," corrected the Iffin, switching his tail
furiously.
"Miserable mesmerizer," repeated the baron dully, "caused a long
red beard to grow upon my chin." Snipping off a silky length of the
offending whiskers, he tossed the ends over one shoulder and with a
deep sigh proceeded. "When the beard had grown to my waist I bade the
mesmerizer stop it, but in spite of all his incantations and magic
powders, it continued to grow. It grew and grew till it filled the
throne room, ran down the stairs into the pantry, shot up the stairs
into the bed rooms and finally filled every room in the palace. In real
danger of suffocation, my knights and servants took to their heels, and
my mesmerizer, after forcing these shears upon me and bidding me cut
for dear life, ran off and left me, also."
"Then how did you get out of the castle," asked Peter, lurching
forward, while Jack leaned over so far his head fell off and had to be
replaced by the Iffin.
"Jumped out a window," explained the Baron with a little shudder.
"The beard kept me from breaking any bones. Cutting myself loose from
the terrible tangle, I ran into the middle of the road and called
loudly for help. As I did, a commotion on the next hillside attracted
my attention. A band of armed riders were galloping toward me. As
they drew nearer, I recognized the plumed hats and golden spears
of Mogodore's retainers, and as they came nearer still I saw that
Mogodore himself was carrying off my bride, who lay unconscious across
his saddle bow. I tried to scream, but the red beard enveloped me. I
tried to run; it tripped me at every step. Without even seeing me, the
cavalcade thundered by. As they disappeared, I heard two of the riders
boasting that Mogodore would marry Shirley Sunshine to-morrow morning."
"When was that? Where did he take her?" gasped Peter. "How long ago was
it?"
"This morning," choked Belfaygor. "He has carried her to his castle in
Baffleburg."
"You mean to say all of your men ran off and never came back?"
exclaimed Peter, springing up indignantly. "Well, don't you care. We're
here now and I'm sure Ozma would want us to help you. We'll just fly on
Snif's back to Baffleburg and snatch her away from this bandit."
"I'm afraid you have never heard of Mogodore," interrupted the baron,
shaking his head despairingly. "No one has ever entered the City of
Baffleburg or returned alive from Mogodore's mountain."
"If that is so, we'll be the first;
To tame this wretch or know the worst,"
roared the Iffin, coming to his feet with a bound.
"I guess you never heard of Peter," said Jack Pumpkinhead, rising
with great dignity. "This boy"--he waved impressively in Peter's
direction--"has just conquered the entire City of Scares and the last
time he was in Oz he saved the Emerald City from the Gnome King."
While Belfaygor looked incredulously at the little boy, Jack told of
their morning's experiences in Chimneyville and Scare City.
"Have you still got the pirate's sack?" asked Belfaygor, forgetting to
clip his beard in his extreme interest and astonishment. "That magic
dinner bell--What is it? Do you suppose you could carry us all to
Baffleburg?" Eagerly he turned to Snif. The Iffin raised both of his
powerful wings and shook his head confidently, while Jack held up the
dinner bell and Peter showed the famous sack.
"We'll be there in no time," cried Peter, "and with all this magic I
don't see how Mogodore can conquer us, do you?"
Belfaygor was so cheered and encouraged by this little speech that he
dropped both pairs of shears and embraced Peter upon the spot.
"You shall be knighted for this, my boy," he promised. "You, too," he
added, pressing Jack's wooden fingers earnestly.
"What about me?" inquired Snif, raising a claw solemnly.
"If this keeps up we'll all be knighted;
Sir Jack! Sir Pete, why am I slighted?"
"You're not," promised Belfaygor, quickly picking up his shears and
beginning to snip furiously. "You'll be knighted, too."
"Well, if you insist," murmured the Iffin in a mollified tone, "but
I won't wear armor. Come on knights," he called gaily, "for night is
coming on and if we're to reach Baffleburg before dark we'd better
start now."
The very name of Baffleburg gave Peter a thrill. More interested and
excited than he had been since his arrival in Oz, he helped Jack
to mount the Iffin's back and hurriedly seated himself behind him.
Belfaygor came next with his back to Peter, so his beard would not
blow in the little boy's face, and after a glance back to see that
his riders were safe and comfortable, Snif spread his great wings and
soared aloft, flying straight toward the red mountains Peter had seen
in the distance. As they rose higher and higher Belfaygor found it no
longer necessary to ply his shears, and his bright red beard streamed
like a waving banner behind them. The poor baron was glad indeed for
this rest, for he had been clipping steadily since early morning and
already had blisters on both thumbs. Now and then, when his beard
seemed in danger of catching in a tree or winding about a castle tower,
he would snip it off short again and Peter and Jack would watch it
float away, like some strange red cloud.
Flying was such an exhilarating experience that Peter forgot all about
the dangerous adventure that lay ahead and the forbidding aspect of
Mogodore's mountain did not trouble him at all. As they drew closer, he
could see the City of Baffleburg, its turreted forts, and its castle
and strong houses seeming to spring from the rock itself. Stretching
round the mountain there was a yawning chasm and at the foot was a
towered fortress and drawbridge over which Mogodore and his men crossed
the chasm when they made war on the barons below. Red capped warriors
stood in each embrasure of the fort and guards marched stiffly to
and fro upon the city walls. The grim red castle clung to the rocks,
halfway up the mountain and gave Mogodore a splendid view of the whole
valley beneath.
"If I fly too near, a golden spear may interrupt our flight;
So let's descend and mix a little stratagem with might."
muttered the Iffin, coasting cautiously downward.
"Stratagem's a big word," sighed Jack Pumpkinhead. "What does it mean?"
"A plan to confuse the enemy," explained Peter as the Iffin's feet
touched the rocky ground on the other side of the chasm. "We must find
the best place to drop into the city, the best way to use the pirate's
sack and the quickest plan for finding the Princess."
Belfaygor was the first to dismount. Throwing his beard impatiently
over his shoulder, he frowned gloomily up at Mogodore's mountain.
Now that they were really before the City of Baffleburg, the cheerful
plans and hopes of Peter and the Iffin seemed wild and impractical.
The longer he looked the more impossible they seemed, and resting his
hand heavily on Peter's shoulder he begged the little boy to continue
his journey to the Emerald City and leave him to deal with the wicked
mountain chief.
"The Iffin can carry me into the city," sighed Belfaygor, "but I cannot
let you share in the awful perils of this undertaking." If Peter
had not been in Oz, or addressing a baron, he might have answered,
"Applesauce." But feeling that such a word would only puzzle this
dignified nobleman, he seated himself on the nearest rock and looked
curiously across the chasm.
"I should think," mused Peter, "that the best plan would be to fly into
the city under cover of darkness and drop into the castle courtyard.
Once inside, I will open the pirate's sack and when it has swallowed
Mogodore and all the fighting men we can safely search for the Princess
and escape."
"How do you know the sack won't swallow her too?" questioned Belfaygor
uneasily.
"Because," said Peter looking up at the tallest tower in the castle, "I
believe she's locked up there. They always lock the Princess up in the
tower," he finished confidently.
"You think of everything." Jack Pumpkinhead stared down at the little
boy admiringly and Snif, who had been scouting around for a stray
geranium, waved an approving claw at Peter.
"If that's the plan, let's have a bite;
And quietly stay here till night!"
"But what shall we eat?" said Belfaygor, clipping at his whiskers
despondently. Jack chuckled at this, and drawing out the Red Jinn's
bell rang it imperiously. At once the little black slave, bearing his
silver tray, appeared before them. Placing the tray on Peter's knees he
faded out of sight so suddenly that Belfaygor dropped his shears with a
clatter. Though he had heard about the magic dinner bell the unexpected
appearance of the dinner quite upset him.
"You take this one," said Peter generously, "and if you sit with your
back to the chasm and throw your beard over your shoulder it will grow
down into the opening and let you eat in peace."
"How can I ever thank you?" exclaimed the baron, seating himself as
the little boy suggested. "Odds pasties, this looks most tempting!"
With a long, tremulous sigh, Belfaygor fell upon the appetizing repast
of roast beef and plum pudding. Then Jack rang the bell again and the
slave appeared with a tray for Peter. He was about to ring up another
dinner for Snif but the Iffin shook his head.
"I've had enough for one day," he told them firmly, "and if Peter will
give me that bunch of violets, everything will be perfectly perk!" As
an extra touch a small bunch of violets had been placed beside Peter's
dinner plate. Tossing them gaily to the Iffin and thinking as he did
so how curious it was for so huge a beast to dine upon flowers,
Peter started in on his own dinner. With both hands clasped behind him,
Jack watched the sun sink down behind the grim red mountain, and Peter
and Belfaygor were so hungry that neither spoke till all the plates on
their trays were empty. Then, with a satisfied sigh, Peter stood up and
as the trays disappeared began looking around for Snif. But there was
no sign of the Iffin anywhere!
"Oh!" gasped Peter anxiously, forgetting for the moment that Snif
could fly, "he must have fallen into the chasm." Calling to Jack and
the baron, he started to run along the edge of the ravine, striking
impatiently at a small creature that kept beating its wings in his
face. He thought he had brushed it aside when, with an angry screech,
it fastened its claws in his shoulder.
"If you hit me again, I'll bite your ear;
Attention! Pause! Stop! Look and hear!"
At the familiar verses, Peter did stop, and glancing down he saw a
creature no bigger than a squirrel perched on his shoulder.
"It's me," wailed a desperate voice, as the tiny beast leaned over and
rubbed its head against his cheek.
"Those violets," it choked bitterly, "those violets were shrinking
violets, Peter. Look at me! I've shrunk! I might just as well throw
myself away."
"Don't," gulped Peter, as the Iffin started to hurl itself from his
shoulder. "I like you little."
"Well I like him big," announced Jack unfeelingly. "And who's to carry
us over the chasm now, may I ask?"
"Oh!" groaned Belfaygor, tripping over his whiskers after one horrified
look at the little monster, "everything is over! Everything is over
now!"
"So's your old beard," mumbled Jack in an annoyed voice. Picking up
the shears Belfaygor had dropped he cut length after length from the
enchanted red beard, while the baron continued to wring his hands and
groan and Peter tried in vain to comfort the Iffin.
CHAPTER 8
A Way to Cross the Chasm
"I'll wager that old Jinn did this on purpose," declared Jack
indignantly. "I'll ring that dumb-bell again and the boy's neck, too!"
"It wasn't his fault," put in Peter, lifting Snif from his shoulder
and thoughtfully stroking the small red head. "I don't suppose those
violets were meant to be eaten."
"If I only hadn't eaten them," wailed the Iffin, as two tears rolled
down his cheeks. "You've no idea how it feels to shrink, boys.
"Why did I eat those violets? I feel so sil and small!
I'm just an elf, I'm not myself, I'm just no one at all!"
"Oh, yes you are," Peter reassured him hastily. "Why look, you'll fit
right in my pocket and I'll carry you for a change and when we reach
the Emerald City the Wizard of Oz will soon make you large again."
"Are we to reach the Emerald City?" inquired Jack, looking up from
snipping Belfaygor's beard. "And how do you know you won't shrink
yourself?"
Peter turned a little pale at Jack's question.
"The baron and I didn't eat any violets," he answered, swallowing
hastily.
"Yes, but how are we to cross the chasm?" Belfaygor, taking the shears
from Jack, rolled his eyes sadly at Peter.
"We'll just have to think of some other way," said Peter, staring off
at Mogodore's mountain. "Let's all think."
"I can only think of poor little Shirley Sunshine, locked up in that
dismal tower," retorted Belfaygor despondently.
"I can only think how far it must be to the bottom of this crevice,"
muttered Jack, looking sadly down into the ravine.
"It looks to me as if we'd have to do all the thinking for this party,"
murmured Snif, flying up on Peter's shoulder. "Never mind, I still can
think, even if I am little.
"If I do a little thinking and I think a little bit,
If there's any way to cross it, why I'll surely think of it!"
"I'm glad you can still make verses," said Peter with a sigh. "It
helps, and makes things seem a little less awful."
"Yes," said the Iffin, resting his cheek against Peter's. The sun had
dropped down behind the red castle and in the gray light of early
evening the grim city on the rocks looked more forbidding than ever.
Great black crows circled about the towers and turrets and their hoarse
crys drifted like threatening jeers across the chasm.
"If we had an ax," said Peter gloomily, "we might chop down a tree on
the edge of the chasm so it would fall across." He was just wondering
whether the ravine was narrow enough to jump at any point, when Snif
gave a little bounce and, flying off his shoulder, announced shrilly:
"I have thought of a way! We'll cross on the baron's beard!"
"You mean grow across?" asked Jack Pumpkinhead doubtfully.
"Impossible!" roared Belfaygor, throwing up his shears and hands
indignantly. "Wouldst jerk out my whiskers? Besides they grow down and
not up."
"Pause!" Holding up one claw, the Iffin looked solemnly from one to
the other. "First," explained Snif quietly, "Belfaygor must walk three
times around a tree. That will make his beard fast and keep it from
pulling. Then I will take the end of the beard in my claws, fly across
the chasm and fasten it to a tree on the other side. Then when Peter
and Jack have crossed, the Baron can snip off the beard close to his
chin and cross himself in safety. What think you of that, my brave
comrades?"
"Why, that's a perfectly splendid idea!" cried Peter, jumping up
enthusiastically. "How ever did you think of it?"
"Well," Snif reminded him gaily, "for five years I did nothing but
think--so thinking comes easy to me. How about it Baron, will you lend
us your beard?"
"Yes," answered Belfaygor readily enough, now that he had heard the
Iffin's plan, "even if it hurts I will do it. I'll do anything to save
Shirley Sunshine from that villainous bandit."
"Then everything's settled!" cried Peter, who hated delay or inactivity
of any kind. "Let's start!"
"Not now," said the Iffin, shaking his little head seriously. "We must
wait till morning Peter. As I cannot carry you all up to the castle
itself, you will have to climb over the rocks and cliffs to the city
gates. This will be bad enough by daylight, but impossible at night."
"That's so," agreed Peter regretfully.
"And what's to become of us when we reach the city gates?" quavered
Jack in a hollow voice. "Will not these Baffleburghers impale us upon
their spears?"
"Oh, I hope not," muttered the Iffin, settling down on Peter's
shoulder, "but we'll have to take a chance on it. My guess is that
the guards will seize and carry you to Mogodore. Once in Mogodore's
presence, Peter can open the sack, and after the sack swallows
everyone, we'll find the Princess and return to the capitol on foot."
"What about my beard?" asked Belfaygor nervously. "If they make us
prisoners and take away my shears, we'll all be smothered."
"Well, so will they," Snif reminded him philosophically, "and that will
be some comfort." Already Snif seemed to have forgotten his dreadful
mishap and to have recovered his former good spirits, and under the
influence of the merry little monster the whole party grew quite
cheerful and gay.
"Come along," he called, flying on ahead. "Let's find some place to
sleep. Is that a cave I see over there?"
Back among the rocks at the foot of a tall cliff there was a cave,
sure enough, and Peter, after a little exploring, decided it would
be just the place in which to spend the night. Lengths cut from
Belfaygor's beard and piled on the floor made splendid mattresses and,
as Jack Pumpkinhead required no rest, he offered to stand guard at the
entrance. The baron himself lay with his head just outside the cave,
and the obliging Pumpkinhead promised to cut his beard from time to
time and see that it did not choke up the opening, nor suffocate the
sleepers. So much had happened since Peter fell into the pumpkin field,
he was weary as a walrus and glad enough to rest. By the time the moon
had climbed to the top of Mogodore's mountain, he was fast asleep, the
Iffin curled cozily in the bend of his arm, and soon only the snores of
Belfaygor and the snip of Jack's shears broke the deep dark silence of
the night.
CHAPTER 9
The Forbidden Flagon
While Peter and his friends rested in their hidden cave, the lights in
the castle across the chasm burned far into the night, as the Baron
of Baffleburg sat in converse with Wagarag, his chief steward and
Major Domo. Biggen and Little, the baron's body guards, dozed stiffly
at their posts behind his chair, while the huge hunting dogs snored
upon the hearthstones. Flaring torches, set in stone holders in the
wall, flung a flickering light into the dim corners of the great stone
hall. Bear rugs were strewn about the flagged floor; swords, daggers
and glittering armor hung upon the walls and the furniture, the carved
chests, tables and chairs were big and clumsy, like the owner of the
castle himself.
With his chin resting in the palm of his hand, Mogodore stared moodily
into the fire, but Wagarag, a thin anxious little Baffleburgher, moved
about restlessly, straightening a tapestry here, a table cover there,
and never still for a moment.
"If I only knew what was in that miserable flagon," muttered the baron
for about the fiftieth time. "If I only knew! Why must it be hidden?
Why is it forbidden? What would happen if I broke the seal?"
"Buttered billygoats," spluttered Wagarag impatiently. "On the very eve
of your wedding must you still worry about that wretched flask? Can you
think of nothing but that miserable flagon?"
Flicking at a bit of gold dust on the mantel, Wagarag paused in
exasperation before his master.
"If your father and grandfather before you were able to guard and
keep it safely why cannot you let it rest where no one will discover
its secret? Is it not written in the Book of Baffleburg that if aught
disturbs the seal on the forbidden flagon, or one drop of the contents
spills, a dreadful disaster will befall? Are you not Mogodore the
Mighty, slayer of an hundred bears, subduer of an hundred barons and
Lord of this mountain? Have you not stolen for your bride the loveliest
Princess in the valley? Pray dismiss this mischievous flagon from your
mind. Think of something else," begged Wagarag earnestly.
"Something pleasant, this Princess for instance."
Wagarag clasped his hands and rolled his eyes upward. "A beauteous
damsel, if I may be permitted to say so!"
"But she refuses to marry me," growled Mogodore, crossing his legs
irritably.
"What difference does that make," sniffed Wagarag, poking the fire
energetically. "Your word is law in Baffleburg. Marry her anyway!"
"But I can't understand it," breathed Mogodore, taking up a mirror that
lay on the arm of his chair and surveying himself long and earnestly.
The reflection in the mirror stared as earnestly back, but Mogodore
could see nothing amiss with the red face, bristling black whiskers and
hair, small blue eyes, great nose and crooked mouth that confronted
him. "No, it cannot be my looks," grunted the baron, setting down the
mirror. "What does this precious Princess want?" he demanded fretfully.
"Why not ask her?" suggested Wagarag, prodding Biggen and Little
vigorously in the ribs. "Here, you lazy rogues, fetch down the Princess
from the tower!"
"Mayhap the Princess sleepeth," mumbled Biggen, rubbing his eyes and
yawning terrifically.
"Then wakeneth her and bringeneth her thither," commanded Wagarag,
giving Biggen a push and Little a poke.
But the Princess, as you may well imagine, was far from sleeping.
Pacing restlessly up and down the small tower room, she was trying to
think of some way to escape, and when Biggen and Little thumped on
the door and explained that her presence was desired below, she went
readily enough, hoping it might give her another chance to plead with
the baron for her liberty, or wheedle the guards into releasing her.
But Biggen and Little paid small attention to her entreaties. Roughly
thrusting back the ruby necklace she offered if they would help her
slip out of the castle, they picked her up bodily and carried her down
to their master.
"Well!" exclaimed Mogodore, as Shirley Sunshine drew herself up proudly
against one of the great stone pillars, "do you still refuse to marry
me?"
"Of course," answered the little Princess haughtily. "Release me at
once or my father and Belfaygor will come and destroy you utterly."
"Destroy me!" roared the Baron, with an evil wink at Wagarag. "Do you
not know that I am Mogodore the Mighty, boldest of all the barons and
Lord of this mountain?"
"Only one mountain," said the Princess shaking back her long brown
curls scornfully. "If you are as mighty as you pretend, I should think
you'd conquer several."
"There are no more mountains worth conquering," stormed Mogodore,
thumping the arm of his chair with his fist, "and you know that well
enough."
"Yes, but there are other countries," said the Princess haughtily.
Seeing the baron give a surprised start, and realizing that he was
as vain as he was cruel, Shirley decided to flatter her villainous
conqueror and delay the wedding by any trick or plan she could manage.
"If I had your strength and fighting ability, I'd conquer and keep on
conquering until I was a King," said the Princess, with an imperious
gesture.
"Would you like me better if I were a King?" asked Mogodore, leaning
forward eagerly. The Princess nodded so emphatically that her curls
danced briskly to and fro and with a cry that shook the very rafters
Mogodore leaped out of his chair.
"Then I'll be a King!" he shouted exuberantly. "I'll march across the
Red Mountains, capture the Emerald City, depose this foolish little
fairy Ozma and proclaim myself King of Oz."
"Better let well enough alone," cautioned Wagarag, running anxiously
after his master, who was striding excitedly up and down the hearth.
"There is a Wizard in the Emerald City who is exceedingly powerful and
Ozma herself is a practiced magician."
"Puff on their magic," cried Mogodore, snapping his fingers
contemptuously. "How can Ozma, who is small and weak, overcome a big
fellow like me? Nay--argue not. I'll conquer the Emerald City and be
a King, King Mogodore the First of Oz. I wonder I never thought of it
myself. You're going to be a great help to me, my dear!"
Pausing before the Princess, Mogodore patted her clumsily on the head.
"And what's more, you shall accompany me to the capitol, see this
capturing done, be married in the Emerald City and crowned with Ozma's
crown," he promised recklessly. "But now you must have some rest, for
we'll start to-morrow morning.
"See that I'm called early," he blustered, shaking his finger at
Wagarag. "See that my fighting men are roused at daybreak," he roared,
knocking the heads of Biggen and Little smartly together. "When I'm
King of Oz I can open that forbidden flagon," he confided hoarsely,
leaning down to whisper in Wagarag's ear.
"No more of this wretched wondering. What will Baffleburg matter when
I'm King of the realm? I'll put an end to this unbearable mystery. This
Princess has brought me luck. Come, kiss me little one!"
But Shirley Sunshine, with a horrified glance at the boisterous Baron,
picked up her skirts and fled from the room.
"See that she does not escape," rumbled Mogodore indulgently, and
Biggen and Little, clattering after the Princess, locked her securely
in the tower. Alone in the comfortless room, the captive Princess
leaned against the barred windows and, fixing her eyes upon one
steadfast star, wondered how long it would be before Belfaygor or
her father came to rescue her. Her heart sank at the thought of this
cruel baron marching upon the Emerald City, laying waste its parks and
palaces and enslaving all of its gay and gentle inhabitants. Terrified
by the frightful forces she had set in motion, the tired little
Princess threw herself upon the hard bed and cried herself to sleep.
Below in the castle hall, Wagarag endeavored to turn the baron from his
audacious purpose. "Listen not to this mischievous maiden," begged the
steward. "Stay here where you are known and powerful. It is better to
be a ruler among fools than a fool among rulers. Many have attempted to
conquer the Kingdom of Oz--not one has succeeded."
"Then I will be the first," boasted Mogodore and, snatching a broad
sword from the wall, he swung it expertly round his head. "Shine up
your shin guards, Waggy old Lad, for you're going with me and I hereby
appoint you Royal Chancellor of Oz! Keeper of the King's Custard and
Imperial Purveyor of Puddings!"
Laughing uproariously, Mogodore brought the flat of his sword down with
a resounding thwack upon the thin shoulders of his disapproving steward.
"Come to bed, Dunce!" he cried good naturedly. "You mean well, but know
nothing."
"At least I know my place," muttered Wagarag, shaking his head
gloomily. "We both belong on this Mountain and no good will come of
this expedition."
"You forget the flagon," exulted Mogodore. "I shall at last know the
secret of the forbidden flagon."
"Have it your own way," sighed Wagarag, with a resigned shrug. "But
don't blame me if we're all turned to sticks by the Wizard of Oz and
thrown into the fire."
"Ha! Ha!" shouted Mogodore, more amused than frightened by this
terrible threat. "You'll make a splendid stick, old fellow." Laughing
noisily, the bad, bold baron tramped cheerfully off to bed.
CHAPTER 10
The City of Baffleburg
A strange, shrill squeaking wakened Peter next morning, and starting up
he saw that it was the Iffin. Sitting on a flat stone, the tiny monster
was practising his gr--rrs. "If only I could growl again, I wouldn't
mind my size," mourned Snif, looking sadly up at Peter. "Can't fight!
Can't growl! A fine fix for a fabulous monster!"
"But you can think," answered Peter cheerfully. "And you're free. Just
wait till we've conquered this silly old baron and come to the Emerald
City. You'll be a sure-enough griffin then. But I kinda like you
little," he added loyally, "and I should think it would be rather an
interesting experience."
"Well," acknowledged the Iffin, scratching his ear reflectively
with his third hind claw, "at least it will be something to tell my
grandchildren, if I ever have any grandchildren." Raising his voice to
a tiny roar he rushed to the front of the cave calling loudly, "What ho
without!"
"I do not see a hoe of any kind," answered Jack Pumpkinhead blandly.
"But the sun is up and the wind is changing and unless we move away
from here we'll be buried in whiskers."
Stepping outside Peter saw a red mound as huge as ten hay stacks rolled
into one. All night Jack had faithfully cut Belfaygor's beard and raked
the cut lengths neatly together, but now the wind was whirling the
top off the stack and filling the air with a blinding tangle of red
strands. Hastily waking the Baron, the four adventurers hurried to the
other side of the cliff and watched the great red cloud sweep into the
chasm.
"And now to beard this baron in his den," proposed Snif, swinging
himself gaily back and forward on the branches of a small tree.
"Yes, let us be off at once," sighed Belfaygor, taking the shears from
Jack and starting in on his weary work of clipping.
"Let's have breakfast," suggested Peter, who was always hungriest in
the morning. "Ring the old bell Jack."
"Then goodbye," quavered Snif, flying into the air. "I'll be back when
those trays have disappeared and not before. No more magic repasts for
me!"
While Peter and Belfaygor breakfasted royally on beef steak and fried
potatoes, Snif nibbled daintily at the red honeysuckle that clung to
the rocks and muttered little iffish verses to himself.
"Have you ever been to Baffleburg," asked Peter, after the trays had
vanished and Snif came back to perch upon his shoulder. "Is it so very
dangerous?"
"I have flown over Mogodore's mountain many times," said Snif
thoughtfully, "and from what I have seen, it must be pretty bad.
"But if we stick together and most bravely persevere,
This mountain's dangers we'll surmount and tweak yon bandit's ears!"
"No tweaking," advised Jack Pumpkinhead nervously. "Let us just sack
the city and leave."
"All right," agreed Snif good naturedly, "but we can't leave till we
start, so let's get started." He looked inquiringly at Belfaygor and
Belfaygor, after a nervous glance across the chasm, stepped to a tree
on the edge of the ravine and walked solemnly three times round, till
his beard was securely fastened. Now that the time for action had come,
the adventurers said little. Belfaygor stood proudly erect, waiting
for his beard to grow long enough to stretch across the chasm and soon
it did, and Snif, taking the ends in his claws, flew over the deep
ravine and fastened the beard tightly to a tree on the other side. Now,
all was ready and Peter, dropping boldly over the edge, swung himself
skillfully across on the swinging red cable. He dared not look down and
once safely over watched uneasily while Jack pulled himself across.
"Whatever you do, don't lose your head," breathed Peter, leaning
forward nervously. Halfway over, Jack's wooden fingers almost lost
their hold, and his Pumpkin head spun about upon its peg, but Snif,
flying valiantly to the rescue, held it in place and, when at last Jack
came near enough for Peter to reach, he clutched both wooden arms and
dragged Jack thankfully to safety. Belfaygor now clipped off his beard
close to the chin and crossed himself without mishap or difficulty.
[Illustration: _Belfaygor clipped off his beard and crossed, himself,
without mishap or difficulty._]
The first step of the dangerous undertaking had been made in safety
but straight ahead was a steep wall of rock. If it had not been for
Belfaygor's beard they would never have been able to scale this
dreadful precipice. But Snif, taking the beard in his claws, flew up
till he found a boulder or sturdy sapling. Then, winding the beard
several times round, he would signal to Belfaygor who would immediately
snip off his end of the beard and climb expertly up the swinging rope.
Peter, hoisting himself up after him, could not help but think what
a splendid Alpine guide the baron would make. But Jack, tremblingly
following Peter, resolved that if ever he reached the Emerald City
again he would stay peaceably at home for the rest of his unnatural
life.
In this interesting but perilous fashion they finally reached the
top of the cliff, only to find the gates of the city still farther
up. A rocky opening into a narrow tunnel apparently led directly to
Baffleburg and, with many misgivings, the travellers entered the
tunnel. Although it was dark and clammy inside and exceedingly rough
underfoot, they reached the end without trouble. In the dim murky
light Peter saw a wooden door with an iron ring in the center. He was
about to grasp the ring, when the tunnel, without any warning, tipped
downward and shot them headlong from the opening. Snatching at a tree
just in time, Peter saved himself from pitching over the precipice.
Belfaygor's beard, catching on a jagged rock, saved him and fortunately
the baron had hold of Jack. His head did bounce off, but by some
miracle rolled into a hollow in the rocks. Snif went over the edge of
the cliff, but spreading his wings flew back to safety.
"Something else to tell my grandchildren," grumbled the Iffin, shaking
himself angrily, while Peter hastily recovered Jack's pumpkin head and
put it back where it belonged. "I'll pay him up for that slide. Come on
boys, let's try it again. Can a trick tunnel hold us back now?"
Peter looked inquiringly at Belfaygor and Belfaygor clipping a length
from his beard looked doubtfully at Peter but Jack, holding his
head with both hands, expressed in no uncertain terms his complete
unwillingness to ever enter the treacherous tunnel again.
"But we must go on," said Snif stubbornly:
"If we will just consider, we'll find some simple way
To tread this tipsy tunnel, and we'll try it, come what may!"
"Well I'm not May, and I think the way we came was simple enough,"
complained Jack. "I never felt more simple in my life, and look at the
dent in my head!"
"Maybe if we run through as fast as we can and get hold of the iron
ring in the door before the tunnel tilts we won't spill out," suggested
Peter, examining a long scratch on his knee. "I'll go first," he
volunteered gamely, "and all of you can hold on to me." Snif and
Belfaygor immediately approved of this plan and Jack finally, not
desiring to be left, consented to go. First Peter put Snif in his
pocket, then Belfaygor caught hold of Peter's coat-tails and Jack
caught hold of Belfaygor's. Taking a long breath, Peter dashed into
the tunnel and never, even when he was making a home run, had he
sprinted along any faster, Jack and the Baron clattering along as best
they could behind him.
Just as Peter reached the tunnel end and grasped the iron ring, the
tunnel tipped a second time. But Peter hung on to the ring and the
others hung on to Peter. Several coat seams ripped, but when the tunnel
finally righted itself they were still inside. Before it could tilt
again, Peter turned the ring, opened the wooden door and stepped into a
large cobble-stone courtyard.
Straight ahead rose the grim gray walls and buttressed towers of
Baffleburg. As they tip-toed nearer, they could hear the sharp ring of
horses' hoofs on the other side of the wall.
"Shall I fly over and see what's going on?" asked Snif, fluttering
excitedly out of Peter's pocket.
"No! No!" begged the little boy hurriedly. "Let's all stay together.
I'll ring that bell over the city gates and when the guards carry us
to Mogodore we'll open the sack as we planned!" Running forward, Peter
seized the chain attached to a huge bell over the gates and gave it a
tremendous pull. It was impossible to see into Baffleburg, as the gates
were backed with panels of wood and the walls themselves were high as
sky scrapers. As the wild clanging of the bell died away, the four
adventurers drew closer together. But nothing at all happened. Again
Peter jerked the iron chain but still no one came to open the gates.
"They refuse to admit us," puffed Belfaygor, with a furious clip at his
whiskers. "What now?" Before they had time to decide upon any plan,
four towers rising from the city's walls suddenly tilted downward,
and shooting from their tops came a perfect shower of golden spears.
Throwing themselves flat upon the cobbles, Peter and his companions
managed to escape injury. Time and again the tilting towers rose and
fell, spraying the courtyard with spears. By crawling close to the
walls and lying perfectly flat, the four adventurers were able to keep
out of their way, but as Peter reflected gloomily, they could not lie
under the wall forever. He was considering whether or not to open the
pirate's sack and see if it would swallow the spears, when Belfaygor
touched him on the shoulder.
"When the tower nearest me tilts again, I shall jump in the window,"
whispered the baron. "You and Jack must follow. By keeping directly
under the tower you will avoid the spears."
"Wait!" gasped Peter, horrified at Belfaygor's daring scheme. But
Belfaygor, shaking his head determinedly, leaped to his feet, and as
the tower came tilting down he plunged headfirst into the window
nearest to the ground.
"Hooka-ma-roosters!" choked the Iffin. "How did he do that?"
"How are we to do it?" panted Peter, as all four towers shot up into
place again. Motionless and terrified they waited for them to descend,
but the Baffleburghers, evidently deciding that their visitors were
utterly routed, had turned off the machinery and all four towers
stopped tilting. There was no possible way into the city now, and
completely baffled Peter stared angrily up at the thick gray walls.
"Now I'll have to fly over," muttered Snif nervously. "Maybe I can open
the gates."
"A signal!" called Jack suddenly. "A signal! Squash and turnip tops!
It's Belfaygor's beard!" Looking where Jack pointed, Peter and the
Iffin saw Belfaygor himself outlined in the window of the nearest
tower. And pouring over the sill and growing steadily downward were the
wonderful and ever dependable red whiskers.
"We can climb his beard," cried Peter excitedly. "Come on, it's almost
long enough!" This was evidently what Belfaygor intended, for when they
looked again, they could see him twining his beard round a huge spike
on the sill. Then he waved his hand, and Peter, tightening his belt,
climbed boldly aloft, looking back now and then to call encouragement
to Jack Pumpkinhead. In less than a minute they were all safely inside
the tower, for the Iffin had flown up with no trouble at all. The
tower room was cheerless and without furniture. A spiral stairway in
the center led downward. At the thought of conquering another city,
Peter's impatience and excitement grew. If only some of the boys could
be along, or his grandfather! He tried to picture Belfaygor's amazement
when the pirate's sack should come into action, and seizing the baron's
arm fairly dragged him to the stair.
"I suppose if we go down these steps we'll come out in the courtyard,
for this certainly is the fort," puffed Peter, clattering ahead.
"All we do is climb up and down," groaned Jack Pumpkinhead. "I'll bet
it's a million steps to the bottom.
"Oh, not that many," grinned Peter, looking down at Snif, who was
comfortably seated on his shoulder. Quietly cutting his beard Belfaygor
stepped after Peter and Jack resignedly brought up at the end of the
procession.
CHAPTER 11
In the Castle of Mogodore
"Now to get ourselves captured," whispered Peter eagerly, as they
finally reached the bottom of the stair.
"It should not be difficult," answered Snif, who had flown ahead and
now come back to rest on Peter's shoulder. "Behold! Be bold! Look!
Gaze and tremble!" Stepping out of the dim tower into the courtyard of
the fort, Peter gave a little whistle of consternation and surprise.
Drawn up in glittering rows were a thousand mounted men in armor, each
holding a golden spear.
"Something's afoot here," muttered Belfaygor behind his waving whiskers.
"You mean ahorse, don't you?" corrected Jack, straightening his head
and dusting a cobweb off his chin. "Is that sack quite ready Peter?"
Peter nodded and as one of the armored riders caught sight of the
intruders and galloped furiously forward, he called boldly, "Conduct us
to your chief. We have important tidings to impart."
"Impart them to me," ordered the horseman, lifting his visor and
frowning down at the little boy. "Impart them to me, or I'll prick ye
over yon wall."
"If you so much as raise your spear. I'll bite your nose, I'll chew
your ear!
You'll vanish, melt and disappear. We're all magicians, do you
hear?"
shrieked the Iffin, flying in dizzy circles about the rider's head.
"Avaunt varlet," rasped Belfaygor, tossing his beard over his shoulder
with a lordly gesture, "our business is with your Master!" The circling
little Iffin, the strange appearance of Jack Pumpkinhead and the wildly
waving whiskers of Belfaygor all tended to bewilder the horseman. For a
moment he hesitated, then galloping back, conferred anxiously with one
of his companions. After much head shaking and arm waving, they both
rode forward, and beckoning for the travellers to follow them, trotted
briskly under a stone archway that led up to the town itself.
"That was easy," chuckled Peter, trudging gaily after the mailed
riders. "They think we're magicians, Snif."
"We'll have to be to get out of here," muttered the little monster
uneasily. "Be careful, boy, be carefuller than careful!"
"Every step brings us nearer to the Princess," said Belfaygor, tripping
over his beard and fixing his eyes hopefully on the castle tower. But
it was many weary steps to the palace, and the one cobbled street of
Baffleburg was both steep and narrow. Red stone cottages perched on the
cliffs at either side, and now and then a curious head was stuck out,
as the little procession went pounding by. But at last they came to the
red gates of the castle itself, and after a short parley with the
guards were admitted. Leaving their horses in the courtyard, the two
warriors hustled their charges into the baronial hall of the mountain
chief. Looking around the great hall, Peter decided that it was just
the kind of castle he had always dreamed of owning. His eyes shone as
they rested on the jewelled swords and armor that decorated the walls.
But he was quickly brought back to the dangerous business in hand by
the stern voice of their guide.
"Magicians with an important message to impart," announced the first
man, dipping his spear in a salute to Mogodore. In full fighting
regalia, the Baron of Baffleburg sat at a long table in the center of
the hall, poring over an old map of Oz and trying to decide at what
point to attack the capitol. Back of him stood Wagarag, in a hastily
assembled armor of iron pots and sauce pans. Next to Wagarag lounged
Bragga, Captain of the Guard and Smerker, Chief Scorner of the realm.
"Magicians!" rumbled Mogodore looking up impatiently. "That accounts
for them getting into the city. Magicians, eh! Well they look like a
pack of peddlars. Scorn them," he ordered, contemptuously jerking his
thumb at Smerker. Now Peter had never been scorned in his life and
wanted to see how it was done. So instead of immediately opening the
pirate's sack he stood staring curiously at Smerker. Leaning forward,
the Chief Scorner seized a key-like handle that seemed to be attached
to his nose and turned it straight upward. At the same time he curled
back his lips in a truly astonishing manner.
"Ho! Ha! Ha!" roared Snif, holding on to Peter with both claws:
"If this be scorning, we are scorned!
With what a nose he is adorned."
Peter felt like laughing himself, but the Chief Scorner, paying no
attention at all to the Iffin, now snatched a sauce box from his sleeve
and opening it with a quick jerk, held it out toward the travellers.
Immediately the sauce box began to scold and berate them in the most
harsh and abusive terms making more noise than a dozen radios and
filling the air with such a horrid racket that Peter covered his ears
and the others, without meaning to, backed toward the door. Satisfied
that his Chief Scorner had subdued the intruders, Mogodore motioned for
Smerker to close the sauce box.
"Now throw them out," he barked with a wave at Bragga. "I've wasted
too much time already." But as Bragga stepped forward to obey this
command, Belfaygor, snipping a long piece from his beard stepped
boldly up to the baron and thumping his fist on the table demanded in
a loud voice, "What have you done with my Princess? Where is Shirley
Sunshine?"
Boldened by this spirited action, Jack Pumpkinhead stepped up beside
him. "Release this maiden at once, you rude, rash robber, you--you
Princess snapper," he cried.
"Have the sack ready, quick," whispered Snif to Peter, as Mogodore
stared angrily at the strange pair.
"So that's it," grunted the Baron of Baffleburg. "I see now that
you are Belfaygor of Bourne, hiding like a coward behind false
whiskers. Well, you shall not marry this Princess, for she is to marry
me--Mogodore the Mighty!"
"Mighty what?" inquired Jack Pumpkinhead curiously.
"Mighty mighty, you impertinent fool, mighty important you ridiculous
pumpkin head. Smite him," bellowed the Baron with a wrathful wave at
Jack. "Remove this whiskered pest," he roared in the next breath with
another wave at Belfaygor.
"So you're Mogodore the smite-y. Well don't you dare smite me,"
challenged Jack, shaking his wooden fist under Mogodore's nose. "There
stands Peter, the pitcher from Philadelphia. On his shoulder sits a
fabulous monster who may devour you any minute."
As Mogodore, rather startled by this long rigamarole, half rose in
his chair, Jack vigorously rang the Red Jinn's bell and down upon the
table flashed the little black slave, set down his tray and vanished.
Mogodore's retainers screamed with fright, and the Baron himself
blinked with astonishment, but when Jack rang the bell a second time,
Biggen and Little sprang forward and seized the little slave by the
wrists. In a twinkling the slave disappeared. Biggen and Little, also
disappeared.
"You see," quavered Jack in a slightly unsteady voice, "I am a great
magician!"
"Then bring back my guards," yelled Mogodore, stamping his foot
furiously.
"Give back my Princess," retorted Belfaygor just as furiously. Thinking
it about time to put an end to this dangerous discussion, Peter pulled
the pirate's sack from his shoulders and was about to unfasten the
cord, when he was seized suddenly from behind and both arms pinioned
closely to his sides.
"This pitcher's trying some more magic tricks," panted the spearman
indignantly. He had crept up quietly behind Peter, and in spite of the
little boy's struggles, Mogodore's big soldier held him fast.
"We hang pitchers on the wall here!" boomed Mogodore, glaring fiercely
at Peter. (I regret to say the big baron did not know the difference
between picture and pitcher.) "Hold that pitcher--seize that whiskered
rascal and behead that pumpkinheaded dunce! Enough of this nonsense.
When I return from the Emerald City I'll make them produce Biggen and
Little and behead them all!" promised Mogodore, striding up and down
with a great clash and clatter of armor. "Is Princess Shirley ready? I
wait for no man and precious few women!"
"I will see, your Highness!" Touching the iron pot he was wearing for
a helmet, Wagarag hurried from the hall and while Peter in helpless
rage looked on, Bragga seized Belfaygor, the other spearman caught
Jack and flung him across the center table and unfeelingly struck off
his head. Such was the force of the blow, Jack's pumpkin bounced to
the floor, rolled through a tapestry-curtained door and disappeared.
At this dreadful turn of affairs, Peter gave a groan and Snif almost
succeeded in growling, but being unable to open the pirate's sack they
were completely at the mercy of Mogodore and his men.
"Lock them up on the North tower till my return, and know that I will
return a King," boasted Mogodore, placing his hand proudly upon the
hilt of his sword. "We march upon the Emerald City this very morning,
I'll marry Shirley Sunshine in the capitol and be crowned King of Oz
before night fall."
"What!" gasped Peter, scarcely believing his ears.
"You'll be sorry for this," bawled Belfaygor, slashing with his shears
at the Captain of the Guard. Poor Jack said nothing, for without a head
what could he say? Threatening and struggling, Peter and Belfaygor were
dragged off to the dungeons in the North tower, Snif doing what he
could to release them by biting and scratching the hands and faces of
the guards, but he was too little to help much and both were securely
locked up. In his struggle with the spearman, Peter had dropped the
pirate sack, and exhausted and discouraged he sank down on the stone
bench in his dark little dungeon. The window was high above his head
and let in only a feeble ray of light and the stone cell so small he
could touch both sides by extending his arms. Snif had come with him,
but Belfaygor had been locked in a dungeon higher up in the tower.
Things certainly had not gone as planned--in fact they were in worse
plight than anyone could have imagined.
"Isn't this doggone?" groaned Peter glumly. "Jack's lost his head,
I've lost the sack and Belfaygor will probably smother in whiskers! If
someone doesn't warn Ozma, the Emerald City will be taken in no time.
There's only one Knight and one soldier in the palace and the soldier
can't fight at all. If Ozma doesn't know Mogodore is coming, so that
she and the Wizard can start up their magic, they'll all be captured
and the whole city destroyed. I wonder whatever put the notion of
conquering Oz in Mogodore's head? Darn! Doggone! I wish I could get out
of here!" Doubling up his fists, Peter pounded on the dungeon door.
"Maybe I can squeeze through the bars and fly off to warn Ozma of this
villain's coming," said the Iffin, but the bars were so close together
that even Snif could not slip through and in great discouragement the
two prisoners sat side by side on the hard stone bench. Presently ten
shrill blasts from the bugles and the clatter of hoofs on the cobbles
below told that Mogodore had really started for the Emerald City.
"Now I'll never have any grandchildren," choked the Iffin, a tear
trickling off the end of his nose.
"And I'll never get back to Philadelphia, or be an air mail pilot,"
sighed Peter, clasping his hands behind his head and staring gloomily
at the wall.
And I am sure each of you would have felt gloomy, if you had been in
Peter's plight.
CHAPTER 12
The Escape from Baffleburg
As the rattle of hoofs and sound of bugles died away, Peter, looking
down at Snif noticed that his eyes were growing larger and larger.
"Stop!" breathed Peter, nervously edging away and brushing his hand
cross his forehead.
"Stop what?" grunted the Iffin crossly. "I'm not doing anything."
"But your eyes," screamed Peter, edging still further away, "and your
ears! Why your ears are as big as you are. Help! Help! Look out. Are
you going to explode?"
Before Snif could touch his ear with his claw or wonder what Peter was
yelling about, he expanded like a balloon, filling the entire dungeon
and squeezing Peter flat against the wall. The effect of the shrinking
violets had worn off at last, and with the Iffin rapidly reaching his
former size and strength, there was not room in the box-like cell. To
keep from crushing Peter, he pressed against the bars of the dungeon.
The force with which he shot up to his full and former size, tore the
door from its hinges and bent out the bars like wax. While Snif stood
terrified and trembling with surprise, Peter, with great presence of
mind, pressed past him, slipped through the bent bars and unlocked the
dungeon door.
"We're free," gasped the little boy, as Snif tumbled head first from
their cell. "We're free and you're big and strong again. We can fly to
the Emerald City right away and save Ozma and everybody."
"If--I--ever--get--my--breath, you mean," wheezed Snif, leaning against
the wall and puffing like a porpoise. "Wh--ew! Growing up is almost as
bad as shrinking down."
"Did it hurt," asked Peter, eyeing his friend with lively curiosity.
"Well, not exactly," explained the Iffin, raising first one foot and
then the other, "but I've had lots more pleasant experiences. Did I
hurt you?"
"Not much," said Peter, feeling a bruise on his elbow where he had been
pressed against the wall. "Say, it's great to have you a monster again.
Don't ever eat another violet as long as you live."
"I never will," shuddered the Iffin, shaking his head solemnly. "Out of
my way, lump!" Pushing over a startled jailer who had run out to see
what was the matter, Snif rushed along the corridor.
"First we'll find Belfaygor, then we'll hunt Jack's head and the
pirate's sack and next we'll fly to the capitol and put an end to
Mogodore's mischief. I can out-fly a thousand horses without even
trying," boasted Snif, pushing over another guard who darted out to
intercept them.
"If I'd only opened that pirate's sack right away," puffed Peter
running to catch up with Snif, "if I only had, all this would never
have happened. Goodness, what's this?"
"Good news to me," chuckled Snif galloping along gaily. "It is
Belfaygor's beard and will lead us straight to his dungeon." Snif was
right. Trailing the flowing red whiskers of the baron, they came to
the topmost cell in the tower. Out from the dungeon bars poured the
enchanted beard of Belfaygor. Belfaygor, himself was leaning against
the door, too discouraged and unhappy to even clip them once. But when
Peter called him by name, and he saw Snif grown to full size and power
again, he snapped his shears joyfully and in a trembling voice demanded
to know how they had come there.
"We burst our bars," cried Peter exuberantly. "At least Snif did."
While the Iffin brushed the torrent of whiskers aside, the little boy
unlocked the dungeon door, and after a hearty embrace told the baron
all that had happened. Overjoyed at his release, Belfaygor followed
them down the grim tower corridors. Each jailer who appeared was
scornfully pushed aside by Snif, and when they came to the bottom
Belfaygor and Peter seated themselves on his back and Snif rushed into
the great stone hall of the castle. The few guards who had been left
behind took to their heels as the Iffin flew screaming over their
heads, and with no one to bother them the three began a systematic
search for Jack's head. Jack's body still sprawled over the center
table. The top of his peg neck had been chopped off with his head, but
whittling another point on the end, Peter gently dragged the headless
figure to a chair and sat him down. Snif soon found the famous sack
behind a screen, and remembering Jack's pumpkin had rolled through
the door, Peter pushed aside the hanging and tip-toed into a long dim
entry. It slanted slightly and Peter hurried along looking anxiously
to the right and left, but the pumpkin head was nowhere to be seen.
The hallway was growing narrower every minute, curving round and round
like a spiral slideway and leading continuously downward. Peter was
about to go back and call the others, when the moist nose of Snif
appeared round one of the curves back of him.
"What's this?" demanded the Iffin. "And whither doth it lead?"
"I don't know," said Peter, "but Jack's head must have rolled down here
and be lying somewhere at the bottom."
"Then let us join it by all means," chuckled the Iffin sitting down
and sliding calmly after Peter. "Look out, here I come, and take this
pirate's sack will you? It makes me positively shudder." Peter reached
back and relieved Snif of the sack. Above they could hear Belfaygor
treading cautiously down the hallway, but the curved passage soon grew
so steep, Peter and Snif began to slip, roll and finally coast like
children on a playground slide. "Now you've done it," coughed the Iffin
as they finally somersaulted into a dark cellarway, lit by one feeble
lantern. "Out of one dungeon into another!"
"But there's Jack's head!" cried Peter, picking himself up joyfully.
The sudden arrival of Belfaygor immediately knocked him down again,
but while the baron mumbled apologies, Peter sprang to his feet, and
hurrying over to the corner of the cellar pounced upon Jack's pumpkin.
"Oh Jack, we've been so worried about you," said the little boy,
holding the head tightly in both arms, "but now we'll soon fix you up
and fly to the Emerald City, for Snif has grown big again and we've all
escaped from the tower."
"So I see," observed Jack as Peter held his head toward the others.
"And I'm very glad they chopped off my head and not yours, Peter, for
yours would not so easily be put back, and it's lucky they did chop
it off too, for otherwise I would never have learned of the forbidden
flagon."
"Forbidden flagon!" exclaimed Peter, sitting down on an overturned keg
and staring earnestly down at Jack's head. "What has that to do with
us?"
"Everything," confided Jack mysteriously. "Has Mogodore started for the
Emerald City?" Peter nodded and Snif and Belfaygor both drew nearer,
while the little boy explained how they had escaped and how they were
now about to fly to the capitol to warn Ozma of Mogodore's wicked
intentions.
"But we must not go without that flagon," insisted Jack, after
listening attentively to Peter's recital. "Listen: As I was lying here
a while ago, hoping that no rats would come to gnaw my fine features,
or make a nest in my head, an armed guard came creeping up that ladder
you see over in the darkest corner. As he did, another came sliding
down from above, and stopping under the lantern they began to converse.
"'What a bitter waste of time it is, guarding this foolish flagon,'
fumed the guard who had climbed the ladder. 'Who ever could find their
way to the enchanted cavern through the lost labyrinth, anyway?'
"'Only one as knows the tricks,' grinned the fellow who had come down
to relieve him. 'Left turn left, and always left, and as for the
enchanted cavern itself, bah, what a joke! But have you heard the
latest news Do-ab? Mogodore has gone to capture the Emerald City and
make himself a King.'
"'A King,' roared the second, 'Ha! Ha! 'Tis well those foolish folk
at the capitol know nothing of this flask. One tip of that forbidden
flagon and--'"
"What?" demanded Peter, who had been listening breathlessly to Jack's
story.
"Well," admitted the Pumpkinhead regretfully, "he didn't say, but from
the nudge he gave his comrade, I imagine there's something in that
flask to destroy Mogodore's power."
"But we have the sack, and the Wizard and Ozma have plenty of magic,"
objected Peter impatiently. "I don't think we'd better stop to hunt for
it, Jack. We had better go on to the Emerald City just as fast as we
can."
"We had the sack before and Mogodore captured us. Don't forget that,"
sighed the Pumpkinhead gloomily. "What's happened before may easily
happen again."
"It will not take longer than an hour to fly to the capitol, and
Mogodore riding at his best speed cannot reach there until afternoon.
Perhaps we had better find this flagon, Peter, and make sure of victory
this time," murmured Snif thoughtfully, and as Belfaygor sided with the
Iffin, Peter rather reluctantly agreed to descend into the enchanted
cavern.
"We may lose our way in the labyrinth," said Peter looking down the
ladder without much enthusiasm.
"Not while I have my whiskers," smiled Belfaygor, stroking his famous
beard, "We'll let them grow along with us and then we'll follow them
back."
"If it weren't for those whiskers
We'd never be here!
Hurrah for your beard!
Three hurrahs and a cheer!"
roared Snif, saluting the baron with his front paw.
"Not so loud! Not so loud!" begged Belfaygor, looking around nervously.
"Someone might hear you."
"Do you want to come with us?" asked Peter, looking doubtfully at the
Pumpkinhead.
"Better leave me here," advised Jack seriously. "You'll need both hands
to fight the guard. Now don't forget, when you are in the labyrinth
turn left and keep turning left."
"And you're sure you'll be all right?" asked Peter, placing Jack's head
gently on the cellar floor.
"I certainly cannot be all right if I'm left, but I'd rather be left
than right this time," muttered Jack to himself, as his three friends
disappeared down the ladder into the labyrinth.
CHAPTER 13
The Enchanted Cavern
"This is about as exciting as rice pudding without any raisins," said
Peter, treading closely after Snif. For five minutes they had been
trudging solemnly through the labyrinth at the foot of the ladder.
Every few rods the chilly tunnel would branch off into three or more
tunnels, but Belfaygor, always taking the left turn, marched hopefully
onward, his red beard trailing like a long and lively vine behind him.
"Are you sure we've been turning left all the time," asked Peter, after
five more minutes of this weary winding. "We don't seem to be getting
anywhere at all." Belfaygor nodded emphatically and taking another left
turn, gave a sharp exclamation of surprise and dismay. Coming quickly
around the bend, Peter and Snif saw that they had reached the enchanted
cavern itself.
"Horrors!" shuddered Peter, catching hold of Snif's mane.
"You're right," wheezed the Iffin, rearing up on his hind legs. "Open
the sack! Open the sack! These are worse than Scares!" The enchanted
cavern was small and dim and lit only by a flickering red light, but
ranged around the walls was such a company of Ugly Muglies that Peter's
fingers, fumbling with the strings of the pirate's sack, shook so he
could hardly untie the knots. He finally did get the cord unfastened
and opening the sack he advanced a step into the cave. As he did, the
Ugly Muglies advanced a step toward him and in a panic Peter realized
that the sack was not going to swallow them. Belfaygor turning to run,
tripped over his whiskers and fell flat. Peter looked round desperately
for a rock or stone to fight with, but Snif, muttering dreadful
denunciations in the Grif language, hurled himself bodily at the enemy.
There was a dull thud as Snif met the enemy, and next instant he lay
stretched on the floor. Peter was almost afraid to look, but forced
himself to move forward.
"Come away," begged the little boy in a hoarse whisper, trying at the
same time to tug the Iffin to his feet. "Hurry! Hurry! Here they come
again."
"Again," moaned Snif, opening one eye, "they were never there at all."
"But I see them," insisted Peter. "What knocked you down?"
Instead of answering, Snif lurched to his feet.
"Myself," panted the Iffin, planting his claw in the middle of a
red monster's nose. "The walls of this cave are mirrors, boy, magic
mirrors. They multiplied us fifty times and in fifty frightful ways.
There's nobody here but us." Rubbing his eyes, Peter looked again,
then, tip-toeing forward, touched the walls of the cavern. Just as
Snif said, they were mirrors, and remembering how he had often laughed
at his distorted reflection in the mirror maze at Willow Grove, Peter
began to laugh now.
"No wonder the sack wouldn't work," said Peter, jerking the cords tight
and tossing the sack over his shoulder. "But it's a pretty good trick
at that. Look at me. I'm enough to frighten my own grandfather."
"Oh, come on," grumbled Belfaygor, who was vexed to think he had been
so easily scared. "Let's find this miserable flagon and begone. It's
stifling in here."
The scowling reflections cast by the mirrors were so confusing, they
had to go slowly and carefully, but after circling the cavern several
times, they discovered an opening into a still smaller cave. Peter went
first, and poking his head under the arch between the caves saw the
guard Jack had mentioned, asleep beside a fountain of fire. The fire
fountain jetted up from the center of a deep green grotto and in the
middle of the fountain, Peter could just make out a small black flagon.
With a little cry of triumph he darted into the rocky room.
"You'll burn yourself," puffed Belfaygor, as Peter leaned forward to
snatch the flagon from the flames. At his cry of warning, the guard
awakened and with spear upraised sprang to his feet. But Belfaygor was
ready for him. Seizing his spear, Belfaygor ran 'round and 'round the
startled soldier, till he was wound up like a mummy in the baron's red
beard. Calmly cutting off his end of the whiskers, Belfaygor dragged
the helpless guard out of the way. "Let us get this flagon and depart,"
cried the baron.
"Maybe this fire isn't real," suggested Peter. "Maybe it's a trick like
the mirrors." Taking a piece of paper from his pocket, Peter tossed it
into the fountain. But it caught fire at once and burned up with such a
snap and crackle the three friends jumped back in a hurry.
"I don't mind singeing a few feathers for the cause," said Snif, as
Peter and Belfaygor looked longingly at the strange black flask.
"No you don't," said Peter firmly. "You've done your share." With a
little smile he touched the lump Snif had raised on his head when he
ran into the walls of the cave. "You discovered the mirrors, Belfaygor
captured the guard. Now it's my turn." While Snif grumbled his
disapproval and the baron stroked his beard uneasily, Peter gazed into
the sparkling fountain of fire. Then with a sudden snap of his fingers,
he seized Belfaygor's shears, and clipped a long piece from the Baron's
red and ever ready whiskers. "Now," said Peter, "you take one end, and
I'll take the other." Looking much mystified, Belfaygor did as he was
told. They were standing back of the fire fountain and one on each
side. At a signal from Peter both rushed forward. The baron's beard,
passing through the flames, knocked the flagon from its stand, before
it went up in smoke and the flagon itself rolled into a dark corner of
the green grotto. "Wait till it cools off," warned Peter as Snif made a
pounce at the flask.
[Illustration: _The flagon rolled into a dark corner of the Grotto._]
"Gee, I do wonder what's in it and why it's hidden down here?"
Impatiently they looked down at the smoking black bottle and after what
seemed to be hours, Peter, covering his hand with his handkerchief,
ventured to pick it up. It was still smoking hot, but by changing hands
frequently, Peter managed to hold it and read aloud the curious legend
on the red label.
"The Forbidden Flagon,
To be guarded by each successive
Baron of Baffleburg.
Who breaks the seal upon this flask
Or spills its contents red,
Brings woe to Baffleburg and dire
Disaster on his head."
"Now that's nice," said the Iffin, wiggling his nose very fast. "We
break the flask to subdue Mogodore and bring a disaster on our own
heads. Don't drop it lad, whatever you do, don't drop it. I'd like to
have a few more geraniums and see a few more sunsets before a disaster
hits me."
"It is my place to break the seal," announced Belfaygor in a determined
voice. "Give me the flagon. What care I for disaster if Shirley
Sunshine is saved?"
Peter was really alarmed at the threatening tone of the red verses.
"Not now, Belfaygor, wait till we reach the Emerald City and then maybe
we won't have to break it at all."
"That's the talk," said Snif, waving his tail gently to and fro. "Come,
let's start back."
Peter tucked the flagon into his pocket. "We'll go right away," he
said. Leaving the guard still swathed in whiskers, the three friends
stepped from the small cavern into the large cavern and from the large
cavern into the labyrinth.
Going back they turned right and kept turning right, but it was slow
and tedious and seemed much longer than before. At last, dusty and
weary, they came to the end and climbed the ladder into the cellarway.
"Thank the stars, you're here!" cried Jack's Pumpkinhead.
"Not the stars," wheezed Snif, heaving himself up the ladder and
dropping heavily on the cellar floor, "not stars, whiskers!"
"They lead us down, they lead us back;
They tied the guard up fast;
They pulled the flagon from the flames,
Long may they wave and last!"
"They have been pretty useful," admitted Belfaygor, giving his beard a
thoughtful stroke before he cut it off short.
"Useful," rumbled the Iffin, raising one claw. "They're wonderful. I'm
positively attached to them."
"Not half so much as I am," smiled the baron, with another quick clip.
"So you found the flagon," said Jack, as Peter picked up his head
and started up the long steep slideway. Peter nodded and with what
breath he had left told Jack all about the enchanted cavern and the
inscription on the magic flask. There was a rail beside the slide
and by holding on to this they managed to pull themselves up without
slipping backward. But they were now so impatient to be off that the
slide seemed simply endless. Finally they reached the top and hurried
down the hallway leading into Mogodore's room of state.
"Here's somebody you'll be glad to see," chuckled Peter, pointing to
the stiff figure seated in the chair.
"Some body!" exclaimed Jack's head as Peter held it up. "Why it's
mine. Reunite us at once, my boy. Oh, how I have missed me!" It was
the matter of but a moment to place the pumpkin head back on its peg.
At once Jack arose to his feet and executed a lively jig, in which the
Iffin, with more gusto than grace joined him, while Peter and the baron
looked amusedly on. The search for the flagon had taken just an hour,
and feeling well repaid for their trouble the four valorous rescuers
prepared to leave the palace. Jack took out the famous dinner bell to
see that it was safe, Belfaygor gave his beard a last cheerful clip,
Snif ate the tops of a pot of geraniums and Peter, putting the flagon
in his pocket and tightening his hold on the pirate's sack felt ready
for any adventure. But as he prepared to jump upon Snif's back, there
came a sudden splutter screech and roar.
"Stop!" screamed a threatening voice. "Stop! Or you shall be boiled
like eggs, stewed like prunes, fried like fish." Snif swallowed a
geranium whole, Jack's knees knocked together and bent outward, and in
spite of himself, Peter clutched at a chair for support.
"Who speaks?" boomed Belfaygor, snatching a sword from the wall and
swinging about like a tee-too-tum.
"Die!" thundered the voice again. "Die you knaves!"
Trembling a little, Peter looked all around but could see no one. As
the dreadful threats kept up, Belfaygor went to look behind a screen.
But one of Mogodore's hunting dogs, rising from its place by the fire,
moved majestically across the floor, picked up a small red box in
its teeth, and with an impatient grunt dropped it at Peter's feet.
Then with a satisfied yawn, the great dog rubbed against his knee and
returning to its post immediately dozed off again.
"It's the sauce box," cried Peter with a gasp of relief. Closing the
lid, he smiled cheerfully at the Iffin.
"I'd like to smash its lid," grunted Snif vindictively. "I nearly
choked on that geranium."
"Don't do that," advised Jack, leaning down to straighten his knee
joints. "Take it along. What frightened us may easily frighten others."
"That's so," laughed Peter, helping Jack to mount Snif's back. "Well,
we surely have enough magic now. A dinner bell, a forbidden flagon, a
magic sack and a sauce box."
"Don't forget Belfaygor's beard," said Snif slyly, as Peter climbed up
behind Jack.
"I wish I could forget it," sighed the baron, seating himself next to
Peter.
"Oh, well," Peter reminded him cheerfully, "it won't be very long now,
Belfaygor!"
"No, not if he keeps cutting it," said Jack calmly.
"I mean it won't be long before we reach the Emerald City," laughed
Peter, as the Iffin raised his mighty wings and swooped out the wide
open castle doors. "Here we go!"
CHAPTER 14
High Times in Swing City
"As soon as we see Mogodore, I'll open the pirate's sack, no fooling!"
declared Peter, looking down at the whirling red landscape. Like tiny
toys under a Christmas tree, the villages and towns spread out below,
and some country people dancing about a May pole looked no larger than
dolls.
"Swallowing's too good for him," objected Belfaygor, stroking the sword
he had taken from the castle hall. "Let me have one good swing at
him--one good thrust, before you open that sack!"
"If we trust to a thrust, we may all be undone,
'Tis better to sack him than whack him, my son!"
Called Snif, looking over his shoulder to wink at Peter.
"Much better," approved Jack Pumpkinhead. "Let us open the sack, break
the forbidden flagon and throw the sauce box at his head."
"Yes, and bring a dire disaster on our own," said Peter, remembering
the warning on the magic flask. "We'll give the flagon to Ozma and let
the Wizard of Oz decide what is to be done with it."
"Well, I hope he can do something with my beard," groaned Belfaygor,
looking ruefully at the blisters on his thumbs. "I cannot keep on
cutting it forever. Besides it will frighten the Princess."
"He'll fix it," promised Peter confidently. "The Wizard of Oz can fix
anything. Oh boy, I can hardly wait to see them all again. Is Scraps as
funny as ever and has Kuma Party visited the Emerald City since I left?"
"He lent Ozma a hand just the other day," said Jack, throwing both
arms around Snif's neck, as he made a sudden dive through a cloud.
"She was having trouble with the Hammerheads and needed a strong hand
to subdue them." Peter had met Kuma Party on his first journey to Oz.
This singular gentleman can really send his hands, feet, head or body
wheresoever he wishes. Belfaygor listened politely, as Peter told how
Kuma's hand had guided him to the Kingdom of Patch, helped him escape,
and how it had afterward arrived at the Emerald City in time to catch
the Gnome King.
"If we had it now, we could send it down for some apples," sighed the
little boy, peering hungrily over the Iffin's wing. Snif was flying
low, to be sure not to miss Mogodore, and the orchards, laden with
rosy red fruit, looked tempting indeed.
"Why not order lunch," asked Jack, as Peter continued to gaze longingly
at the apples. "Eat as you fly!"
"Why not?" chuckled Belfaygor, slipping his shears into the pocket
of his coat. "I could make some food fly right now." As Peter was
wondering just how they would manage the trays, Jack rang and up beside
the Iffin flashed the faithful slave of the bell. But he did not carry
the tray this time. It was borne by Biggen, Mogodore's bodyguard, and
the great fellow trod clumsily through the air, his eyes rolling with
fright and fury. At a haughty gesture from the slave, he set the tray
on Peter's lap. Then raising his fist, he was about to pound Peter on
the head, when the little black seized him by the coat-tails and both
disappeared.
"Wh--ew," whistled Peter ducking his head, "what do you think of that?
Look out, here comes the other one!" As Jack rang the bell again,
Little, just as angry as Biggen, came hurling toward them with the
baron's dinner. The slave winked mischievously at Peter as the enraged
bodyguard placed the tray on Belfaygor's knees; then catching the surly
fellow by the ear, he vanished before Little could do any harm.
"Good enough," roared Snif, who had witnessed the whole proceeding over
his shoulder. "What sweet little sprites they do make.
"If Mogodore could see them skipping lightly through the sky,
He'd shiver in his great red boots, and shake like custard pie."
"That's what we have for dessert," said Peter, lifting the cover off
his tray. "Say, it's too bad you don't eat pie, Snif."
"Or roast guinea," murmured Belfaygor, between rapturous bites. "I'll
give you three horses and a couple of hunting dogs for that bell,
Peter."
Peter smiled to himself, for he could not help thinking how crowded
three horses and a dog would make the small back yard at home. But
he tactfully said nothing, for he had decided to present the magic
dinner bell to Ozma. Enjoying the Red Jinn's delicious dinner, looking
dreamily down at the lovely mountain scenery beneath, Peter concluded
that this was even more exciting and interesting than eating on the
train.
"I shall think nothing of airplane trips after this," mused the little
boy, sipping his chocolate complacently. "I don't believe anything
could ever surprise or frighten me again; not even a highwayman."
Finishing off his pie, Peter closed his eyes and was fighting an
imaginary duel with a Mexican bandit, when he was suddenly seized by
the shoulders, jerked from the Iffin's back and hurled like a ball
through the air. His first thought was that Biggen, returning for the
magic tray, had taken this means of revenge, but there was no sign of
either bodyguard. In spite of his recent boast, Peter's heart beat with
dreadful thumps as he turned over and over in the air. But just as he
gave himself up for lost, he was skillfully caught by the ankles.
"Howde-do!" called a pleasant voice, and looking up Peter saw a jolly
fellow in silk tights swinging by his heels from a high trapeze. He
wore a crown, which was held in place by ribbons tied beneath his
chin. Now hanging head down, if you are not accustomed to it, is
terribly upsetting and Peter was too upset to say a word. "Welcome to
Swing City," said this strange sovereign in his high, jolly voice. "I
am the King and the highest Swinger here. In fact, Hi-Swinger's my
name," he coughed self-consciously. "But you must meet the Queen, Tip
Toppsy the Tenth!" As he said "Meet the Queen," Hi-Swinger flung Peter
carelessly downward. Any desire Peter had ever had to do circus stunts,
he lost in that second dizzy drop through space. Fortunately, he did
meet the Queen, somewhere in mid air. Like the King she was hanging
head down from another swing, and grasping both of Peter's wrists swung
him gently to and fro.
"Isn't he perfectly precious," cooed her Highness, smiling amiably
down at the little boy. "I hope he'll stay with us always. What lovely
hair! What sweet red cheeks. He'll make a perfectly splendid swinger,
Highty." Now if there was one thing Peter detested it was being fussed
over, and the Queen's speech made him squirm with embarrassment and
rage. But before he could do more than mutter, Tip Toppsy swung him
back to her husband. "Shall we dress him in pink or blue?" she called
anxiously.
"Blue," answered the King, catching Peter and drawing him up close so
he could look into his eyes. "But, my dear, see what's coming now.
Who is this pomiferous person?" Throwing Peter carelessly aside, the
King caught Jack Pumpkinhead, who had just been tossed up by someone
below. Peter himself was seized by a smiling trapezist, some twenty
feet beneath. Before the fellow could throw him further, Peter pulled
himself desperately up on the trapeze, and holding tight to the side
rope stared dizzily around. Over his head, and under his feet, pink and
blue clad figures swooped and darted like birds. With lightning speed
they shot from swing to swing, skipped recklessly across spidery ropes
and balanced perilously on swaying cords.
"Trapleased to meet you," murmured the owner of the trapeze, swinging
up beside Peter. "Hang around a while. You'll like it. 'Tis an easy
life we lead--trapeasy," he added with a sly wink. "Have you met the
Queen?"
"Yes! Yes!" shuddered Peter, moving as far from the tumbler as he
could. "I'm looking for my friends."
"Is that one of them?" inquired the acrobat, pointing off toward the
left. "Ha! Ha! Ha! The tight rope walkers will never let that fellow
go. They are great cut-ups, you know, great cut-ups. Why, look at his
beard! It's growing longer every minute. They can cut rope after tight
rope from it. Ha! Ha! Ha! Rope after rope!"
"No they can't," shouted Peter angrily, "and you'd better be careful.
We're wizards, and will destroy you like that." Letting go of the side
rope with one hand, Peter snapped his fingers sharply.
"Will you?" said the trapezist in an interested voice. "Then that means
a battle, an acrobattle. Hello! It's begun already. Look at that old
Nibblywog down there. Come on, we're missing all the fun!"
Jerking Peter from the swing, the acrobat hurled him to the next
trapeze and the next and the next, until everything turned topsy-turvy.
Peter could no more have opened the pirate's sack than he could have
counted the somersaults he took in the air. Jack had long since lost
his head, and Peter could see the acrobats tossing it about like a
ball. Below that a troupe of tight-rope walkers were dancing merrily
on Belfaygor's beard, which had been stretched between two swings. The
baron himself was held fast by a dozen swing citizens and Snif, trying
to help first Peter then Belfaygor, was buffetted and banged with the
hard fists of the aerialists.
"How dare you hold us up in this high handed manner," roared the Iffin,
nearly beside himself with rage and indignation. There is no telling
how long Peter and his friends would have been tossed about had not
a sudden shake dislodged Mogodore's sauce box from the little boy's
pocket. Opening as it fell it immediately filled the air with such
a thunder of screams, threats and brazen screeches, several swing
citizens lost their hold upon the swings and fell trembling through
space.
"Magic," squealed Hi-Swinger, clutching his crown with both hands. "Drop
them! Drop them at once!" So Peter and his companions were dropped as
suddenly as they had been taken up by these fickle folk of the air,
and with sickening speed went whizzing downward. Peter was too dizzy
to realize he was falling again, and Snif, trying to catch all of them
at once succeeded only in rescuing Jack's head as it whirled past. But
he need not have worried, for under this strange city a great net was
suspended and into this net they all landed with a bounce that promptly
sent them skyward again.
"Score one for the sauce box," panted Peter as he fell back.
"Gee-whiz--I never want to see another swing as long as I live!"
"Neither do I," muttered Belfaygor, unwinding himself from his long
red whiskers and feeling for his shears. Snif said nothing, for he was
trying to hold Jack's body steady and place his pumpkin back on its
peg. Peter hastened to assist him and soon Jack was himself again.
"Ups and downs," he mused sadly. "Nothing but ups and downs! And how
are we to get out of this net, may I ask?"
"I'll cut a hole in the net and we'll drop through," said Belfaygor
promptly. "It's not far to the ground!"
"Another fall," groaned Jack, holding his head with both hands. "Oh,
think of something else!"
"If we stay here," said the Iffin, "the Swingers will probably come
back and if we don't hurry, we'll miss that rascally baron and he'll
capture the Emerald City before we catch him."
"I'll fall," quavered Jack, crawling toward the opening Belfaygor was
cutting in the net. "I'll do anything for Ozma!"
"We've certainly done a lot of falling for her so far," sighed Peter,
scrambling after Jack. "Let me fall first and then I can help you."
Holding for a moment to the edge of the opening, Peter dropped lightly
to the ground. Then reaching up he caught Jack under the arms and
carefully eased him down. Belfaygor quickly followed Jack and Snif
bounced through in short order.
"Well, we've lost the sauce box and a lot of time but we've met a new
and curious kind of people," said Peter, pulling down his jacket.
"And so did they," smiled the Iffin, giving himself a shake and
examining two places where he had lost some fur. A hurried search
proved that the magic bell, the sack and flagon were still in their
possession. Jack was no worse for his swinging and though Snif,
Peter and Belfaygor still felt dizzy and shaken by their unexpected
experiences in Swing City, they decided not to stop and rest but to
push straight on for the capitol.
"From now on," said Snif gravely, "we must keep a sharp look out for
trouble."
"I'll watch the air," said Jack, seating himself quickly.
"I'll watch the ground," promised Peter, springing up briskly behind
him.
"And I'll see that we're not followed," said Belfaygor, climbing on
last of all.
"Then off we go," rumbled Snif. "What a lot I shall have to tell my
grandchildren, if I ever have any grandchildren. I hope they'll be
just like you, Peter," he added with an affectionate glance over his
shoulder. Peter smiled faintly to himself, for he did not see how this
could be but he was too polite to argue the question, and fixing his
eyes upon the road below looked eagerly for some sign of Mogodore and
his men.
CHAPTER 15
Peter Opens the Pirate's Sack
"What a curious existence," mused Belfaygor, as Snif came to the end of
Swing City's net and soared joyfully into the air. "Well, everybody has
his own idea of comfort, but as for me, I prefer a castle with someone
to serve the soup and bring on the venison." Snipping off his beard,
the baron gave a homesick sigh and looked glumly at the tiny farms and
villages below.
"A place where a fellow can keep his feet on the ground and his head on
his shoulders suits me," declared Jack in a weary voice. "I've never
lost my head so often as on this trip. Did you see those savages using
it for a ball?"
"They used my beard for a tight rope," said Belfaygor in an exasperated
voice, "so what could you expect?"
"And they called Snif a Nibblywog," laughed Peter, "and threw me around
like an old shoe. All they need to make them monkeys is tails!"
"Don't insult a monkey," said Snif, looking reprovingly over his wing.
"I've known some polite monkeys in my day. But those highwaymen!" Snif
gave a disgusted grunt. "I've a notion to fly back and settle with them
after this other affair is all over."
"I hope we didn't miss Mogodore while we were being held up there,"
worried Peter. "It must be nearly four o'clock now and we certainly
ought to overtake him soon. Are you sure we are flying in the right
direction, Snif?"
"Yes," said the Iffin expertly circling a dark cloud. "Why there he is
now!" Flapping both wings violently together, Snif pointed with his
claw. "There, coming out of that forest--Mogodore and all his men! See
the sun shining on their spears." With a swoop that nearly unseated
his riders, the Iffin hurled himself over the wood and the next instant
they were hanging motionless over a tossing sea of spears.
"The Princess," cried Belfaygor, leaning far over. "There's Shirley
Sunshine riding out ahead. Fly lower, Snif, fly lower and we'll snatch
her up and be off!"
"No we won't," muttered the Iffin grimly. "We'll open the sack and
catch this kingdom stealer, first. Open the sack, Peter! Open the sack,
there's no one to stop you now." So intent upon their purpose were the
warriors below, they never saw the red monster above their heads. Now
Peter had untied the pirate sack. Now it was ready to open. Seizing
Snif's wing to balance himself, Peter stood up in order to hold the
sack directly over the enemy. As he did a great gust of wind, tore the
sack from his hands, filled it full of air and sent it spinning up like
a balloon high above their heads.
"Oh," choked the little boy, nearly losing his hold on Snif, "nothing
ever happens right. Doggone that sack anyway!"
"The flagon," screamed Jack. "Throw the flagon. Quick before he gets
away!"
"I'll do it," whispered Belfaygor eagerly. "Give it to me, Peter.
Quick!" Tugging the forbidden flagon from his pocket, Peter was about
to pass it to the baron, when a hoarse scream from the Iffin, made him
pause.
"The sack," panted the red monster, flapping his wings desperately.
"It's coming straight for us! Look! Look! Look out! Look up! Hold on!
"If that comes nearer, we are gone!" Jack took one startled glance
upward, and then instead of holding on, snatched the flagon from
Peter's hand and dove recklessly to earth. As he did, and as the last
of Mogodore's army galloped out of danger's way, the wretched sack,
its mouth wide open came hurling down upon the rescuers. Jack had been
wise to jump. Before Peter or the baron could follow him, they were
snapped up, I mean down. An ear-splitting growl came to Jack as he
turned over and over in the air. The fright of vanishing had restored
Snif's gu--rrr! And it was a real Griffin, not an Iffin who disappeared
into the fathomless depths of the pirate's grab bag. Then floating
calmly to the ground, the terrible sack settled calmly against a pink
hay stack and was still. Not far away, Jack lay face down on another
soft mound of pink hay. So tightly had he held to his head and the
flagon, he lost neither during the fall and the hay had saved both
from smashing, but when Jack rolled over and started to rise, he found
that his left leg had bent under and broken off at the knee. Being of
wood, Jack suffered no pain, but it was frightfully inconvenient, and
it was now impossible for him to walk, or even hobble. Shaking his
fists as the last of Mogodore's riders disappeared in a cloud of dust,
Jack sank dejectedly against the hay mound and tried to collect his
scattered thoughts. His purpose in plunging from the Iffin's back, had
been to break the flagon over Mogodore's head and save the Emerald City
at any cost, even if he himself were destroyed. But now it was too
late! Mogodore was gone, Peter, Snif and Belfaygor had vanished and he
himself, was a broken man. The wicked Baron of Baffleburg, with none to
stop him, would march boldly to the capitol, fall upon its unsuspecting
inhabitants, enslave them all and seize the magic treasures for
himself. This dark picture fairly made Jack groan and when he spied the
magic sack resting against the next hay stack he positively shuddered.
"All that is left of three faithful friends," mourned Jack. "I hope
there's room for Belfaygor's beard in that bag or they'll all be
smothered. I hope they're not mixed with Scares. I must get that sack.
Whatever happens I must get that sack and take it to the Wizard of Oz."
At thought of touching the enchanted bag, Jack shook like a tree in a
hail storm, but controlling his fear and distaste, he dragged himself
to the haystack. First he pulled the cords that closed the top, then
hanging it carefully over one shoulder, dragged himself back. His
broken leg and the forbidden flagon lay side by side in the straw, and
raising his voice Jack shouted loudly for help. But the pink hay field
was a long way from the farm house and no one heard him except a few
curious crows who answered his cries with dismal screeches. Finally
Jack grew so hoarse he could shout no more and, holding his head in
both hands, he tried to think of some way to reach the Emerald City.
"If the Scarecrow were only here," sighed Jack dolefully, "he would be
sure to hit upon some clever plan, but I am only a poor stupid pumpkin
head with only a few dried seeds for brains." Realizing that the whole
fate of the Kingdom of Oz depended upon him, poor Jack pressed his
head with his wooden hands and thought so hard that the seeds inside
skipped about like corn in a corn popper. And one must have been a seed
of thought, for presently Jack gave a little bounce and feeling in his
pocket drew out the Red Jinn's bell. "I'll make that slave help me,"
muttered Jack determinedly. Just how the slave could help him Jack did
not stop to figure out, but anything was better than sitting foolishly
on a haystack while little Ozma was facing capture and possible
banishment. So Jack tucked his broken leg under one arm, tightened his
hold on the pirate's sack, put the precious flagon in his coat pocket
and boldly rang the silver bell.
"I hope he does not bring those meddlesome bodyguards," muttered Jack
leaning forward anxiously. The slave of the ball appeared so promptly
this time that his tray almost hit Jack in the nose. Placing the tray
on Jack's lap the little fellow backed away and was preparing to vanish
when Jack sprang to his feet, and scattering dishes in every direction
seized the small servitor by the arm.
"Stop," cried Jack Pumpkinhead desperately. "Stop! You must help me."
But Jack might as well have tried to stop the wind. With a shrill cry,
the Red Jinn's slave vanished. Jack also vanished. Now, there was no
one in the pink hay field at all. Only a pink rabbit, who wiggled his
nose anxiously and then began nibbling at a stalk of celery that had
fallen from the magic tray.
CHAPTER 16
In the Palace of the Red Jinn
In about three whirls and one spiral Jack found himself on the steps of
a glittering red glass palace. It stood on the edge of a green glass
sea, whose waves broke with a melodious tinkle and crash on the beach
below. The beach itself was a gleaming stretch of glass splinters, most
dangerous to the tread of unwary travellers. Jack was so confounded by
his sudden arrival in this strange place that for several moments he
was scarcely aware that the slave of the bell was addressing him.
"Be pleased to enter the castle of the Red Jinn," murmured the little
black boy politely, repeating the words till Jack at last did hear him.
"Is the owner of this palace also the owner of the magic dinner bell?"
asked Jack uneasily. The slave nodded brightly and after an inquisitive
glance at Jack's broken leg which he still carried under his arm, he
offered his shoulder to Jack. With his assistance, Jack began hopping
doubtfully upward. There were nearly a hundred steps, and moving up and
down was a vast and colorful company of turbaned gentlemen, who might
have stepped directly from the Arabian Nights. As each one passed he
took off his slipper and tapped Jack smartly on the head.
"What, what have I done?" stuttered Jack, trying to protect his head
with his arm. "Why do they strike me and why do they smile as they do
it?"
"It is the custom in this country to take off the right shoe and tap a
visitor upon the head as a polite method of salutation and greeting,"
explained the slave calmly.
"Greeting," groaned Jack, ducking back to avoid another slipper waver,
"well, if we meet many more of your countrymen my head will be a squash
instead of a pumpkin. Why can't they shake hands, like we do in Oz?"
"Every country has its own customs," answered the slave stiffly. "Why
do you wear such a soft head, pray?"
"Because I'm accustomed to it," replied Jack a little sulkily. "It's
the kind of head that goes with my kind of person."
"A turban would help," observed the slave as another citizen greeted
Jack boisterously with his slipper.
"I don't need a turban," said Jack, hopping desperately up the last
step. "But I do need help. My friends have disappeared into an
enchanted sack and my country is in danger of destruction. I must have
help. Do you think your master is powerful enough to help me?"
"It depends on how you strike him," murmured the slave indifferently.
"There he is now. You might ask him." The glass doors of the palace
were wide open, and Jack looked anxiously into the great red glass
throne room. The doorways and arches were hung with strands of strung
glass triangles and the musical tinkle of these strange curtains was
both pleasant and delicate. All of the furnishings were of sparkling
red glass and a double line of tall vases led directly to the
throne. A strange drowsy incense rose in pink clouds to the ceiling.
At first Jack thought the Jinn was merely another vase, but as with
the black boy's aid he hopped nearer, he saw that the vase-like figure
on the throne had legs crossed on the spun glass cushions and hands
clasped round his fat and shiny middle. No head was visible; nothing
but a lid with a round knob on the top. A sleepy black wielded a
great fan drowsily over this portly person, and Jack after pausing
uncertainly took the leg he still carried under his arm and tapped the
Jinn sharply on the lid. Instantly it raised up and from the vase-like
interior of this strange sovereign rose an enormous red head with an
exceedingly pleasant, round face. He blinked curiously at Jack and then
turning to the slave wheezed good naturedly, "Well, well! Ginger, my
boy, what have you brought me this time? I am delighted that our bell
was stolen. It keeps us in touch with the outside world and has already
got us two extra slaves. But this one is the best yet." He looked Jack
up and then down. "I haven't been so amused in a thousand years."
"Don't you want the bell back?" asked Jack, holding it out uneasily.
He had expected the Jinn to be very angry at the holder of his magic
treasure.
"No! No! Keep it and welcome! Just to look at you is worth a hundred
dinner bells," said the Jinn, smothering a chuckle behind his fat hand.
"An odd enough appearing gentleman, Ginger, is he not? And so polite!
Where we but remove the slipper he has taken off the entire leg to do
us honor. Tell me, who and what are you, most curious sir?"
"You struck him exactly right," whispered the slave encouragingly.
"Speak up and he may help you."
"I am Jack Pumpkinhead, your Majesty," said Jack, balancing himself
with great difficulty, "and a simple citizen of Oz."
"I believe you," puffed the Jinn and forthwith broke into such a series
of strange sounds that Jack drew back in dismay.
"What language is that?" he asked in a faint voice. "I do not seem to
understand your Majesty's remarks." The Red Jinn's lid, which he wore
quite jauntily for a hat, was still quivering, but controlling himself
with a great effort he wiped his face on a red silk hanky.
"'Tis the laugh language, Jack," he confided with a wink at the little
slave. "The ha, ha, and ho, ho, of great merriment. Do you not speak
this language in your country, fellow? The guffaw and the snicker, the
giggle and roar of pure hilarity! Ho! Ho! You are doing me good, great
good! Come join me in a little roar and we'll speak the laugh language
in all its branches."
"But I do not feel like laughing," said Jack wearily. "I have lost my
best friends and will lose my country too, if your Highness does not
help me. Are you very powerful? Are you important enough to help me?"
"Terribly important," answered the Jinn, pursing up his lips. "At least
to myself." He nudged the slave of the bell, who nodded delightedly,
and Jack, without further parley, held up the pirate's sack.
"In this bag," said Jack solemnly, "are a little boy, a baron and a
flying red monster."
"No?" murmured the Jinn leaning forward incredulously. "How did they
get in the bag? How will they get out again and if they stay in an
age will they become baggage? Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!" The Red Jinn's mirth
was extremely distressing to poor Jack, but feeling that everything
depended upon the wizard's help, he smothered his resentment and
patiently told the whole story of his adventures since Peter's arrival
in Oz. As he proceeded the Jinn's expression grew more sober and at
the conclusion of the story he clapped his hands sharply. Immediately
Jack's broken leg snapped back into place, and with a surprised skip,
Jack began marching up and down.
"That is the first step toward helping you," smiled the Jinn, holding
up his hand to silence Jack's outburst of gratitude. "Now we must
find a way to send you to Oz, release the prisoners from the sack and
break the forbidden flagon without disaster to yourself. My magic
looking-glass would show us where your friends are but not how to
rescue them, my magic umbrella would carry you to Oz, but I need that
myself. Let me think! Let me think!" Wrinkling his brows, the Red Jinn
retired into himself and shut the lid.
"Will he come out again?" asked Jack, turning nervously to the little
slave. The slave nodded impressively. So Jack, fixing his eyes
earnestly on the Jinn's red lid, waited for him to reappear. And
presently his head popped up and with snapping eyes he leaned forward.
First he whispered nine words in Jack's carved ear and next, eight
more. Then, leaning back, he regarded Jack with a pleased and satisfied
smile.
"Now all we have to do is to arrange for your journey to Oz," said the
Jinn, tapping his fingers upon the arm of his glass throne. "I believe
I'll send you off in my Jinrickasha. Would you like that?"
"Why he's gone," shouted Ginger, leaping into the air. "Gone! Vanished!
Departed!"
"So he has," spluttered the Jinn, lurching forward and rubbing his eyes
with astonishment.
"Was it by your Majesty's magic?" queried the Slave of the Bell
breathlessly.
"Not by my Majesty's magic, but some other meddlesome magic. Hash and
horseradish! Now I shall never hear the end of the story!" Pulling in
his head so suddenly that the lid came down with a crash, the Red Jinn
dropped back on his cushions, and the little slave, having experienced
the extreme of his master's temper when disappointed, tip-toed
hurriedly from the royal presence. What had become of our hero? Who had
spirited Jack Pumpkinhead away from the palace of the Red Jinn?
CHAPTER 17
The Capture of the Emerald City
In that delightful hour before dinner, when it is too early to go in
and light the lamps and too late to go for another picnic or swim,
it is a pleasant custom in Ozma's palace to gather in the garden for
games. Almost any fine evening at dusk, if you were to peep over the
wall of the green castle, you would see all the celebrities and most
of the courtiers playing hop scotch or prisoner's base. The ruler of
Oz, as most of you know, is a little girl fairy and Ozma is quite as
fond of fun and good times as you are. Dorothy, Betsy and Trot, Ozma's
best friends and advisers are little girls too, so that life in the
Emerald City is bound to be interesting and gay. And how could it be
otherwise, with so many unusual and amusing people living in the palace?
The Scarecrow spends most of his time there, though he has a splendid
residence of his own, and for fun and good comradeship there is no one
like this jolly straw-stuffed gentleman. He was lifted from a pole and
brought to the Emerald City by Dorothy on her first journey to Oz.
Dorothy, herself, was blown to Oz in a cyclone and has had so much fun
and so many adventures that she would not think of living anywhere
else. Betsy and Trot are from the United States, too, but prefer life
in the Emerald City to life in America, as indeed I should myself.
Almost everybody has heard of Tik Tok, the copper man. Tik Tok is not
alive, but very lively and when properly wound can walk, talk and run
as well as anybody.
Justly famous, is the Tin Woodman. Whole books have been written about
him, for Nick Chopper is Emperor of the Winkies and almost any child
in Oz can tell you the strange story of Nick and the enchanted ax that
chopped off his arms and legs, severed his trunk and finally chopped
off his head. After each accident, Nick had himself repaired by a tin
smith, till he was entirely a man of tin, and like the Scarecrow he
spends more than half his time in the capitol. Then we must not forget
Sir Hokus, a real Knight, who was rescued after seven centuries of
imprisonment in Pokes. Now where, but in Oz, could a Knight last for
seven centuries, and be so spry, so bold and so full of interesting
stories? Where, but in Oz, could one find a Wizard able to whisk one
about with magic wishing pills and conjure up Ozcream and pop-overs by
a mere puff of magic powder?
Another prime favorite in the palace is Scraps. Made from an old
patchwork quilt and magically brought to life, Scraps adds a touch of
fun and gaiety to all the palace parties, for Scraps is wholly without
dignity and can think up verses faster than little boys can think up
excuses. The Soldier with the Green Whiskers is a fine fellow, too.
He is the whole grand army of Oz, and though not very brave has such
a splendid uniform and long shining green beard, just to look at him
gives one pleasure and satisfaction. Recently a live statue and a
medicine man have come to Ozma's court. The medicine man's chest is
a real medicine chest, full of helpful remedies and although no one
in the Emerald City ever falls ill Ozma has graciously conferred upon
Herby the title of Court Doctor. Add to all of these famous characters
the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger and a dozen other strange pets,
fifty or more splendid courtiers and servants and you will have a fair
idea of the merry company romping in the garden on this early evening
in May.
Dorothy had just won an exciting foot race and sinking into a green
hammock called gaily to the Scarecrow, "Let's play blind-man's buff
and blind-fold everyone but Betsy Bobbin. Then we'll all try to find
her and first one who does shall have three pieces of strawberry short
cake!"
"A lot of good that will do me," sighed the Scarecrow, patting his
straw stuffed stomach, "but if I win, you shall have my cake, Dorothy."
"You'll never win," teased Betsy, beginning to hop up and down with
impatience. "None of you will. Remember now, Wizard, no fair using
magic to find me."
"Haven't a bit of magic with me. My black bag's inside," laughed the
little Wizard of Oz, fitting a big green handkerchief around his
head. In less than a minute, Ozma and everyone in the garden was
blind-folded. Even the Cowardly Lion had Dorothy's hair ribbon tied
securely over his eyes.
"All ready," called Betsy, and tip-toeing over to an enormous butterfly
bush, she climbed into the center and sat still as a mouse. But the
others were very far from still. With shouts, screams and little roars
of merriment they ran to and fro, bumping into each other and throwing
their arms around trees and statues and making so much noise that
they never heard the tramp of feet on the other side of the wall. For
Mogodore had at last arrived in the Emerald City, and with a rush and
without opposition, captured the famous fairy capitol. At sight of his
spearmen, the peaceful inhabitants fled into their houses and slammed
windows and doors. Unk Nunkie, a brave old Munchkin who had started
on a run to warn the people in the palace, was caught by Bragga, tied
up securely and carelessly tossed into a greenberry bush. Shirley
Sunshine, who had leaped from her horse for the very same reason, was
overtaken and put under guard.
[Illustration: _With shouts, screams, and little roars of merriment,
they ran to and fro._]
"A fine way to help," muttered Mogodore, shaking his finger at her
accusingly. "What were you about Princess?"
"I was anxious to see the castle," stuttered poor Shirley, twisting her
handkerchief miserably.
"You'll see it soon enough," promised Mogodore. "Just wait till I've
conquered this silly little fairy." About forty paces from the castle
itself Mogodore dismounted and called a council of war. Leaving five
hundred men to hold the city he took five hundred with him to storm the
palace and overcome the famous celebrities whom he had read about so
often. Shirley Sunshine was left behind until the fighting should be
over. Mogodore and his five hundred picked soldiers marched boldly upon
the castle.
"High time for a new King here," sniffed Mogodore scornfully. "A city
without defenses! No army! No guards! What can they expect but capture?"
"There may be an army inside the castle walls," warned Wagarag, jogging
wearily along at the baron's elbow. "Before we rush the gates we had
better look about a bit and see that everything is safe."
"Very good," grunted Mogodore, taking a pinch of snuff. "You and I will
go forward. The others may remain here. My spear tossed into the air
will be the signal for them to advance." It was a short walk to the
walls of the palace, and hoisting himself with great gasps and puffs
the Baron of Baffleburg raised his head cautiously over the top of
the wall and looked down into the royal gardens. What he saw astonished
him exceedingly, and with a soundless chuckle he dropped to the ground.
"The silly dunces are playing a game," whispered Mogodore to his
trembling steward. "They're blind-folded and all we have to do is to
jump over the wall and seize them."
Tossing his spear into the air, Mogodore waited impatiently for his men
and when they came hurrying forward, he raised his hand for silence.
"Drop over the wall, one at a time, join in this game of blind-man's
buff. Each man take one prisoner and tie him to the nearest tree. When
all are taken, I will march into the palace, seize the crown jewels
and magic belt and proclaim myself King of Oz. All ready." With only a
slight scraping of boots on the stones, Mogodore and his men slipped
over the wall and into the garden. Betsy Bobbin, sitting breathlessly
in the center of the butterfly bush, became suddenly aware of a change
in the gay uproar around her. The joyous shouts and good natured
exclamations turned to frightened screams and indignant protests and
finally to loud shouts for help.
"What can have happened?" gasped Betsy, poking her head out of the
bush. What she saw, as you can well imagine, made her sink back in
a faint heap. The garden was swarming with armed warriors and Ozma
and all of her friends and courtiers were tied to the trees with gold
chains and struggling in vain to free themselves.
"I am the only one left," panted Betsy. "I must try to slip out
unnoticed and get the magic belt!" In this famous belt, as most of you
know, there is such power that the wearer can transform anyone to any
shape at all. "I'll turn them to old shoes and door knobs," sobbed
Betsy, with another frightened peek out of the bush. The chances of
her reaching the palace were slim indeed and finally she gave up all
hope, but she could not help feeling proud of the way Ozma of Oz was
conducting herself.
"What does this mean?" demanded the little fairy, tearing the bandage
from her eyes and stamping her foot as well as she could with so many
chains around her ankles. "Who are you and what do you want? Release us
at once, or my Wizard and my Army will destroy you!"
"Ho! Ho! ho!" roared Mogodore, looking cheerfully down at the furious
Princess. "Hand over the keys of the castle my dear, for you are
completely conquered and absolutely captured. I, Mogodore the Mighty
and Baron of Baffleburg, am the future King of Oz!"
"I'll crown you with my fist," sputtered Sir Hokus, tugging at his
chains till the tree he was tied to rocked as if by a tempest. "I'll
thump thee on the bean." (Sir Hokus has picked up a lot of slang
from Trot and Betsy Bobbin and mixes it fluently with his knightly
conversation).
"We'll change you to a fritter,
We'll fry you in a pan,
You rude uncultured critter----,
Do you call yourself a man?"
yelled Scraps defiantly, and all the other celebrities joined their
voices to hers, till the din was so dreadful that even Betsy had to
cover her ears. But it had no effect upon Mogodore. Quite calmly he
continued to gaze down at Ozma and the longer he looked the broader
grew his ugly grin.
"A little beauty," he mumbled half to himself, "prettier far than this
Shirley Sunshine. I shall marry Princess Ozma," he shouted, suddenly
clapping Wagarag so heartily upon the back that the poor steward's iron
pot helmet fell over one eye. "Into the palace, fellow, and prepare a
feast for the wedding! Farewell for the moment, slaves!"
[Illustration: _"A little beauty," he mumbled, "far prettier than
Shirley Sunshine."_]
Shaking his spear at the furiously struggling Ozites, Mogodore tramped
off to the palace, followed by two hundred and fifty of his men. The
others he left to watch the prisoners, and Betsy continued to crouch
uncomfortably in the butterfly bush. As the Baron of Baffleburg strode
into the castle, Ozma began to speak quietly and comfortingly to her
people.
"For the moment," sighed the little sovereign sadly, "we are
overpowered and at the mercy of these rude ruffians. But let us be
patient and brave and surely some help will come to us."
"I hope there will be no shooting," quavered the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers, trembling so his chains rattled dismally.
"If I only had my black bag," fumed the Wizard, trying desperately to
free himself. From the screams and crashes indoors, the anxious company
in the garden knew that the servants were being overpowered. Presently
a long file of them came out between two lines of Mogodore's men, who
marched them to a small summer house and carefully locked them in.
"I hope they don't find the magic belt," breathed Dorothy, wriggling
into a more comfortable position and trying to smile reassuringly at
the Scarecrow who was tied to the next tree. But even while Dorothy
was hoping, out dashed Mogodore waving the belt. His helmet had been
removed and Ozma's small emerald crown perched ridiculously upon the
top of his head.
"I beg that your Majesty will be careful," cried Wagarag, running
anxiously after the excited baron. "Remember that belt is very
powerful, very dangerous. Have a care."
"I haven't a care in the world," shouted Mogodore, fastening the belt
round his arm, for it would not begin to go 'round his waist. "Am I not
a King and about to marry a fairy? Go play marbles, Waggy, and let me
alone! I am a King and if I choose can destroy this entire country."
And then as Wagarag continued to plead and beg him to be cautious he
yelled angrily, "Go, attend to the feast, you meddlesome weasel and
leave this magic to me. I shall test the powers of this belt at once.
Do you know that I can transform anyone here to anything I wish?
Begone, before I turn you to a bone and throw you to the dogs." Now
indeed did the helpless Oz folk tremble, and as Wagarag, shaking his
head sadly, backed away from his foolish master, Mogodore began to
look around the garden for someone to transform. Perhaps, because the
Patchwork Girl was the oddest and most amazing person he had ever seen,
his eye rested longest upon her.
"I command this ridiculous maiden to become a bird," called Mogodore in
a loud voice. And instantly, Scraps was a bird, an exceedingly scrappy
bird, too. Wildly flapping her patchwork wings she quickly disengaged
herself from the gold chains that bound her to the tree. Then swooping
down upon Mogodore, she snatched Ozma's crown from his head and hurled
herself into the air.
"Quick! Quick! Change her back! I knew you'd do something silly,"
groaned Wagarag, as Mogodore stared dumbly upward. "Now she'll fly off
and spread the alarm!"
"You bet I will," screeched the Patchwork Bird, and with an
ear-splitting screech she soared over the castle and disappeared.
"I told you something would happen," whispered Ozma, smiling quietly
at Dorothy. Now if Mogodore had been more practiced in magic, he would
instantly have changed Scraps into a stone and she would have dropped
heavily and helplessly to earth. But utterly confused and mortified by
the unfortunate outcome of his first transformation, the baron pushed
his steward furiously aside, rushed into the castle and slammed both
gold doors.
CHAPTER 18
Mogodore Meets More Magic
Soon the fragrance of an appetizing repast began to float out to the
unhappy prisoners in the garden. Dusk turned to darkness, lights shone
from every room in the palace, and in dreadful suspense and discomfort
they waited for Mogodore's next move.
"That robber baron really means to marry you," groaned Trot, who was
tied to a tree near Ozma, and as if to confirm her words two spearmen
came marching determinedly toward them.
"Her Majesty, Queen Ozma is wanted within," bawled the first man,
looking around. "Ozma of Oz, this way please." Immediately the little
fairy was released from her chains.
"Never mind," she whispered as Trot burst into tears, "remember, Scraps
is free and will find a way to help us."
"She'd better hurry," shivered Dorothy, and with sinking hearts
they all saw their little leader marched away between the guards.
Well-filled plates were being brought out to the soldiers in the
garden, but no refreshment of any kind was offered to the prisoners,
nor did Betsy Bobbin, crouched in the center of the butterfly bush,
find any opportunity to escape from her hiding place. Inside a great
feast was laid in the banquet hall and the rude warriors were already
seated and banging on the table with their gold forks and knives.
Wagarag, an apron tied hastily over his armor, was supervising the
festivities and Mogodore, seated at the head of the table, without
even rising waved Ozma to a place beside him. With a little sigh of
despair, Ozma slipped into the green throne chair.
"Your future Lady in Waiting," grunted Mogodore, pointing rudely to
Shirley Sunshine, who sat on his other side. "I did truly intend to
marry this Princess, but find you so much more charming I have chosen
you instead."
"Hurrah for the Queen of Oz and Baffleburg!" yelled the spearmen
boisterously. Shirley, under cover of the rattling knives and forks
tried to whisper her story to Ozma, but Mogodore's loud roars for food
soon put an end to that and, pale with distaste and fright, the two
little Princesses sat silent, scarcely touching a mouthful of the food
that was unceremoniously dumped upon their plates. With a shudder, Ozma
looked around her tidy castle. Mud had been tracked over all the velvet
rugs, pictures hung sideways and the floor was strewn with broken
vases and plates that spearmen playfully hurled at one another between
courses. If Scraps succeeded in reaching the castle of Glinda, the good
Sorceress who ruled over the South, Ozma knew this powerful ally would
immediately fly to her assistance. With agonized ears, she listened for
the wings of Glinda's swan chariot. But time went on and no one came.
Now that the hunger of the rough company was appeased, they grew more
noisy than ever.
"Call this a battle," wheezed Bragga to Mogodore, "are there to be no
hangings, no bon fires, no killings of any kind? You promised us a real
war. This is as tame as a taffy pull." Tugging discontentedly at his
long mustache, the Captain of the Guard looked sulkily at his chief.
"After the wedding you may kill whom you please," promised Mogodore
indifferently, "but now I'm going to have another try at that magic
belt."
"Take care! Take care!" bleated Wagarag, from the other end of the
banquet hall. "I'll wager you're thinking of that forbidden flagon
again."
"Right," boomed the baron, sweeping a dozen plates to the floor with
his arm. "And right now, I'm going to transport that flagon to this
castle and find out what is in it and why it is forbidden. What will
happen if the seal is broken? It cannot harm me now. I am no longer
Baron of Baffleburg, but King of OZ--King by right of seizure and
conquest."
"You'll not be the lawful King till you marry this Princess," quavered
Wagarag, raising a trembling finger and pointing to Ozma.
"The old bone is right," grumbled Bragga. "Why not marry her now and be
done with it?"
"Marry her now," echoed all the spearmen, "and let us get on with
the killing." Pushing back her chair, Ozma jumped up and glanced
desperately around the table. Would no one save her from this robber
baron and his band? Mogodore, too, rose to his feet.
"I'm King now, I tell you," he insisted stubbornly, "and I'll marry
when I'm ready, but now I am going to end the miserable mystery of
the forbidden flagon. I command the forbidden flagon and its guard
to appear before me," bellowed Mogodore, staring around defiantly.
Scarcely had the sound of his voice died away before there came a crash
and splinter of glass and in through a window back of the baron burst a
strange flying figure. It was Jack Pumpkinhead, clasping the precious
flagon in one hand and holding to his head with the other; brought all
the way from the Red Jinn's palace by the mysterious power of the magic
belt. With a hysterical little cry, Ozma rushed forward.
"Jack! Jack!" panted Ozma, "have you come to save us?" Solemnly Jack
nodded and before a man at the table could move, he whisked off his
head, set it on a chair and then and not till then did he hurl the
forbidden flagon straight at the Baron of Baffleburg. How he ever
managed to aim so true without his head to help him I have no idea, but
with a resounding crack the flagon splintered to bits on Mogodore's
nose and a thin red liquid began to pour down his cheeks and drop off
his chin.
No longer need Mogodore wonder what would happen, when the seal on the
forbidden flask was broken! For what would happen, had happened! Stars!
Yes!
CHAPTER 19
The Forbidden Flagon Acts
The great banquet hall seemed suddenly deserted, and except for faint
squeaks and muffled screams quite silent. Shirley Sunshine, hurrying
around the table, clasped Ozma's hands and both girls stared in stunned
silence at Jack, who was calmly replacing his head.
"Why, where have they gone?" cried Ozma. Then all at once she saw, for
tumbling from the chairs, scurrying under tables and vainly trying to
hide themselves, was a host of men no bigger than brownies.
"They're shrunk," shouted Jack delightedly. "Ha there, Mogodore the
Mighty, mighty little you are now!" Fuming and raging, the midget baron
tried to quiet his frightened retainers, but when Toto, Dorothy's
little dog, came bounding through the doorway, he fled ignominiously
and hid behind the hearth broom.
"Good dog Toto, drive them in the corner," approved Jack and Toto,
much as a shepherd dog chases sheep, drove the terrified horde of
invaders into a corner and gravely sat down to watch them, snapping
at any who tried to escape and snuffing at one and then another most
curiously.
"It was the forbidden flagon," explained Jack, as Ozma dropped into a
chair and looked in complete bewilderment at the brownie baron and his
band. "Is anyone hurt? Did I come in time?"
"Yes! Yes!" sighed Ozma, pushing back her tumbled curls. "But how did
you know? Where have you been, Jack dear?"
"Where haven't I been," puffed Jack Pumpkinhead, striding excitedly up
and down. "Say, what's that noise? Where is everybody?"
"Oh!" cried Ozma, jumping up hurriedly. "The others are in the garden.
We must free them at once." But before Shirley Sunshine, Ozma or Jack
were halfway to the door it burst open, and the whole company of
courtiers and celebrities came charging into the banquet hall.
"Surrender, villains," bellowed Sir Hokus, glaring around furiously.
"Where is that braggart Baron!"
"We'll pull his nose! We'll tweak his ears!
Glinda the Good has come, she's here!"
exulted Scraps, shaking her cotton fists joyfully, for she had been
immediately restored to her own cheerful self by the Good Sorceress
of the South. Glinda, in her lovely red robes and head-dress, peered
sternly over Scraps' shoulder, ready to bring her strongest magic into
play. Seeing no one in the room but Ozma, Jack and Shirley Sunshine,
they all stopped short; then catching sight of Mogodore and his
midgets, cowering in the corner, they surged forward in still greater
astonishment.
"What happened?" demanded Dorothy, seizing Ozma's hands. "The spearmen
in the garden suddenly disappeared. Scraps reached Glinda's castle and
Glinda came and released us. But whatever happened in here? How did
that monster grow so tiny?"
"Perhaps Jack can tell you," sighed Ozma, who was as puzzled as anyone
over the curious occurrences of the last few minutes.
"I can," announced Jack, stepping forward importantly, "but it is a
long, long story."
"Then do let's sit down," groaned Trot, for she was mortally tired from
the long stand in the garden.
"Are we saved?" quavered the Cowardly Lion, as the stiff and weary
company fell into the chairs so recently vacated by the conquerors of
Oz. Jack nodded emphatically.
"Then I will attend to the prisoners," boomed the Soldier with the
Green Whiskers, springing out from behind a pillar, and very brave
since the enemy had been reduced. Striding over to the corner, he stood
over the disconsolate warriors, his gun sternly pointed downward. Now
Betsy picked up the magic belt from the floor, where it had fallen when
Mogodore shrunk, and fastened it thankfully round Ozma's waist. Scraps
set the emerald crown upon her curly head, and with great gentleness
and ceremony the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman conducted the little ruler
to her rightful place at the head of the table. Then the Scarecrow ran
out to release the servants, who were locked up in the summer house,
the Wizard ran to see if his black bag was safe, Trot wound up Tik Tok,
who was completely run down by his terrible experiences, and everybody
settled back expectantly to hear what Jack Pumpkinhead had to say.
"Now tell us exactly what happened," begged Betsy Bobbin, as the
Scarecrow and all the servants came marching into the dining hall and
the Wizard, tightly clutching his black bag, slipped into a seat beside
Dorothy.
"Well," said Jack, with a dignified little cough, "before I begin to
tell you that, there is something I must do and three brave comrades to
be released from an enchantment. The advice of my friend, the Red Jinn,
worked once and I shall therefore try it again."
"Before he speaks he must act," chuckled the Scarecrow, who had
completely recovered his good humor. "Well, my boy, actions speak
louder than words." Leaning on both elbows, the Scarecrow looked on
with great interest as Jack snatched the pirate sack from his shoulder,
turned it inside out and gave it three quick shakes.
CHAPTER 20
The Wedding Feast
"Is it a nightmare?" shivered Betsy, clutching Trot's arm, "or a
Hallowe'en party? Am I really here, and are they?" And well might she
ask, for the last shake of the pirate's sack had filled the room with
Fraid Cats and Scares. Screaming, groaning snatching at one another and
the Oz folk, the Scares swarmed this way and that, until the confusion
was terrible.
"Actions speak louder than words," mumbled the Scarecrow. "Well, I do
not like their actions at all. Call these comrades, friend Jack? Help!
Begone! Away with you!" Jumping up the Scarecrow waved his napkin
wildly around his head, and all the others, hastily pushing back their
chairs, rushed to the assistance of Ozma, who was completely surrounded
by the ugly intruders. Jack Pumpkinhead was so stunned and startled by
this unexpected happening that he stood perfectly still. Then, resolved
to go through with the matter, he shook the sack three times more and
this time with the desired result.
"Why it's Peter!" roared Sir Hokus, disentangling himself from ten
Scares and hurrying over to the little boy who had just tumbled out of
the sack. "Peter, the pitcher--and--" Thumping Scares both left and
right, the Good Knight looked doubtfully at the Iffin and Belfaygor,
who had rolled out of the bag after Peter himself. "Who are these?"
muttered Sir Hokus, making ready to whack the great red monster if it
showed signs of attack.
"Don't mind us," begged the Iffin, glaring around the banquet hall.
"Keep working! Keep working. I'll help you!" And help he did, with
teeth, tail and claw.
"Where am I? How did I get here? How did they get here?" muttered
Peter, rubbing his eyes dizzily and trying to collect himself, for he
remembered nothing since he had been swallowed by the sack. But he soon
recovered, and fighting his way through the frenzied crowd till he
reached Ozma's side, cried excitedly. "They're Scares, your Highness.
Quick! Send them back to Scare City, before they break everything to
pieces!" Glinda and the Wizard had already started an incantation to
rid the castle of the horrible horde, but before it was half spoken,
Ozma, without waiting for Peter to explain, arose and in a slightly
trembling voice called, "I command these people and creatures to
return to Scare City at once." And at once, and all together they did.
And now straightening their collars and settling their ties, for the
encounter had been rough and furious, the Oz folk gazed at Peter and
his comrades as curiously as they had gazed upon their pigmy conquerors
and the unlovely citizens of Scare City.
"If someone will just explain," said Ozma. "Everything's so terribly
mixed up."
"If someone doesn't explain, I shall burst," declared Betsy Bobbin,
bouncing out of her chair. "Have you come back to stay, Peter dear, and
who are these others?" Peter was a bit breathless and confused himself
and looked anxiously around for the baron. But Belfaygor had slipped
off unnoticed with Shirley Sunshine.
"Well this," began Peter, placing his hand on the red monster's head,
"this is Snif, an Iffin, I mean a Griffin."
"If Snif's an Iffin or a Griffin,
I s'pose at us he'll soon be sniffin!"
ventured Scraps, putting her finger in the corner of her mouth.
"If I should snif at folks so kind,
I'd be most rude and unrefined."
replied the Iffin, with a wink at the Patchwork Girl, and this little
exchange of verses relieved the strain that the whole company had been
under.
"Shall I tell the story, or will you?" whispered Jack Pumpkinhead,
stepping closer to Peter.
"You," begged Peter, staring with round eyes at Mogodore and his little
men.
"They've been eating shrinking violets," muttered the Iffin, rubbing
his eyes with one paw and staring even harder than Peter.
"No, it was the flagon," explained Jack, "the forbidden flagon reduced
them to midgets. But what became of Belfaygor's beard!"
"It disappeared into the magic sack," grinned Belfaygor, coming into
the room at that moment with the little Princess on his arm. "And glad
I am that it's gone. I'll never wear another beard as long as I live."
"Beard," put in the Soldier with the Green Whiskers eagerly, "did you
have a beard as long and splendid as mine?"
"Did I!" groaned the baron, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Ask
Peter!" Taking another look at the Soldier with Green Whiskers, he
shuddered and turned away. "You remind me of something I'm trying to
forget," said Belfaygor.
Now all of this only served to increase the interest and curiosity
of the already curious company. "Tell us! Tell us!" cried Dorothy
impatiently. So, after Belfaygor and Shirley Sunshine had been properly
introduced, Jack Pumpkinhead began the strange story of their journey
from Scare City to Baffleburg and from Baffleburg to Swing City and
his own transportation to the capitol. And while he spoke, the footmen
and other servants moved quietly about, sweeping up broken glass,
clearing away the table and removing all traces of the rude baron's
short reign in the palace. Guarded over by Toto and the Soldier with
Green Whiskers, Mogodore and his men crouched miserably together,
wondering what would become of them. Being merciless themselves, they
expected no mercy from their captors. In small hoarse voices, they
berated Mogodore for meddling with the forbidden flagon and bitterly
denounced him for the terrible misfortune that had overtaken them.
The rest of the midgets had been discovered and marched in from the
garden and soon after word had been sent out through the city that the
baron was captured, Unc Nunkie and his nephew Ojo arrived, driving the
rest of the baron's tiny warriors and horses before them, so that the
entire army were now rounded up in the corner of the banquet hall.
But so intent was the company upon Jack's amazing story they scarcely
heard the grumbling and complaining of the little men or the frightened
neighs of the toy-size steeds.
In the kitchen another banquet was soon under way, more and more
candles were lighted and soon the castle began to reflect its old time
cheer and friendliness. Little gasps and exclamations of astonishment
punctuated Jack's recital and he had to tell over and over how they had
escaped from Baffleburg, how Snif had dwindled down when he ate the
shrinking violet; how Belfaygor's enchanted beard had helped them out
of difficulty and how the mischievous pirate sack had swallowed three
of the company, when they were needed most of all. Peter, Belfaygor and
Snif were as interested as the others in Jack's visit to the Red Jinn
and in the advice that jolly wizard had given.
"You remember the label on the forbidden flagon said that whoever broke
the seal would bring a disaster upon his own head?" said Jack, turning
to his comrades. Peter and the baron both nodded and Snif waved his
tail to show he remembered, too.
"Well," smiled Jack, "the Red Jinn told me to remove my head before
throwing the flagon and thus avoid the disaster."
"So that's why you took off your pumpkin," murmured Ozma, who had been
puzzled by this strange action of Jack's.
"And he also told me that to release the prisoners from the pirate
sack, I must turn it inside out and shake it three times," went on Jack
impressively. "So when Mogodore transported me suddenly to the palace,
I did both of these things."
"You certainly did," agreed the Scarecrow, shaking his finger at Jack
Pumpkinhead, "and brought a horde of horrors about our ears."
"I forgot about the Scares," admitted Jack apologetically, "but they're
back where they belong, now, and everything has turned out for the
best."
"It certainly has," exclaimed Ozma, jumping up impulsively. "You and
Peter, Snif and this brave baron have saved the Kingdom of Oz!" Jack
was so overcome by these words that he lost his balance and sat down.
But he was quickly pulled to his feet, and next instant the rafters
rang with rousing cheers for the four valiant rescuers.
"I wish my grandchildren could hear this," sighed the Iffin, resting
his chin on one claw.
"Oh! Have you grandchildren?" asked Ozma, leaning forward politely.
"No," murmured the Iffin in an embarrassed voice, "but I may have. And
they'll be interested to hear about this."
"Take my advice and never have any grandchildren," whispered the
Scarecrow confidentially. "I'm a grandfather, and I know." Before he
had time to explain what he meant, two footmen came grandly forward to
announce that dinner was ready, and no one, I assure you, was sorry for
that.
"I know what to do," cried Dorothy as the green coated servitors began
marching in with trays of savory meats and vegetables. "Let this be a
wedding feast for Belfaygor and Shirley Sunshine."
"Hurrah for a wedding feast," shouted the Iffin. "Grr--rah!" forgetting
he had recovered his growl, the red monster let out such a terrific
roar that the Cowardly Lion swooned away and had to be revived with
a jug of cider. But he soon recovered and a wedding feast it was and
fit for a royal bride, I do assure you. Snif had eight geranium plants
and an Easter lily and was happier than he had ever been in his whole
fabulous existence. Never in the history of Oz was there a merrier
banquet nor a happier crowd. Delighted to have Peter with them again,
the Oz folk forgot their recent capture and had such a time as only
those dear and delightful folk can have. Jack Pumpkinhead insisted upon
being lit up for the celebration, so he was. Snif and Scraps kept the
company in gales of laughter with their rollicking rhymes and when the
wedding was solemnized by the highest judge in Ozma's court, Belfaygor
and his bride were toasted in tall tumblers of Ozade and simply
showered with emeralds and quickly gathered gifts of every sort and
description.
"What did it feel like to disappear into that sack?" asked Trot, in a
little pause following the wedding.
"Well, once," said Peter, fixing his eyes thoughtfully on the Iffin,
"once I had a tooth pulled and took gas. It was like that, Trot. I
just went out, that's all." At once the others began to recall their
own experiences with vanishings and disappearances and not till
daybreak did any one think of retiring. Then the Baron of Baffleburg
and his grumbling little army were locked up in the pantry for safety
and Peter, snuggling down in his emerald studded bed, decided that this
adventure was even more exciting than the last one.
"I wish I could take Snif back to Philadelphia with me," sighed the
little boy as he finally dozed off to sleep.
CHAPTER 21
Peter's Return to Philadelphia
Next day the festivities continued, and all day long Peter's old chums
and acquaintances were calling at the palace, while the celebrities
outdid one another to make things pleasant for Belfaygor and his bride.
At noon they rode off on the Saw Horse, for the baron was anxious to
return to his castle. Peter bade the baron goodbye and promised to pay
him a long visit on his next trip to Oz, to ride the horse Belfaygor
agreed to keep for him and even wear the armor the baron had promised
him as a reward for rescuing the Princess.
Snif spent a happy morning in the royal stable with the famous beasts
of Oz and they listened so politely to his experiences he decided to
stay on indefinitely at the capitol. The pirate's sack was locked up
in the Wizard's strong box and the magic dinner bell stored with the
other treasures of the realm, for as Ozma remarked to Dorothy it would
be mighty handy for picnics and unexpected visitors. The Fraid Cats
and Statues in Scare City were released from their enchantment by the
Wizard's long distance magic and Peter and Snif, looking in the magic
picture, had the satisfaction of watching them return to their various
homes.
"The only thing that still puzzles me," sighed Ozma as they all sat
cozily under the trees in the garden late that afternoon, "the only
thing that puzzles me is the forbidden flagon. What strange spell could
have reduced Mogodore and his followers to midgets?"
"I think I can explain that," answered Glinda, setting her tea cup down
on a small green table. "When Scraps flew to my castle yesterday and
told of the capture of the Emerald City, I at once turned to my magic
record book to discover something about this Baron of Baffleburg. You
are all, I am sure, familiar with brownies?" Dorothy and Betsy Bobbin
nodded sagely, and all the others quickly inclined their heads. "Well,"
said Glinda with a wave toward the South, "in the Red Mountains of Oz
there are large bands of reddies, who are quite similar to brownies,
except for the color of their coats, which are red. To one of these
tribes Mogodore and his men really belong. But Mogodore's great
grandfather, Jair, was a brave and determined little reddy, whose good
deeds and brave actions greatly exceeded his size and strength. So,
long ago, a neighboring wizard, whom Jair had done a great service,
rewarded Jair by making him and his followers as large in size as
they were in deeds and in action. But the enchantment only held so
long as the mysterious red liquid remained in the forbidden flagon.
Mogodore's father and grandfather guarded the flagon well, but Mogodore
knew nothing of its secret power nor of his own ancestry or origin.
Being by nature, discontented and greedy he was always puzzling about
the strange black flask and at the first opportunity he satisfied his
curiosity."
"Well, it's a good thing he did," said Peter, looking thoughtfully at
the little band of captives who were being marched up and down one of
the garden paths by the Soldier with Green Whiskers. "Now the other
barons will have a little peace."
"Let's keep them for toys," proposed Scraps, who was never weary of
watching the tiny army.
"No," said Ozma, shaking her head at the Patchwork Girl, "that would be
cruel. Has their city grown small too, Glinda?" The sorceress smiled
and nodded.
"Then I shall send them back to Baffleburg," declared Ozma, "for they
are now too small to harm anyone and there they will be safe and
comfortable." As everyone heartily approved of this plan, Ozma touched
her magic belt, spoke the few words necessary, and away whisked the bad
little baron and his band, to their tiny red city on the rocks.
"Just the same, I wish we could have kept him," sighed Scraps to
Dorothy. "He looks so funny when he's mad."
"Hush!" whispered Dorothy, for Peter had risen and in an embarrassed
voice was asking Ozma to send him back to Philadelphia.
"Still like baseball better than Oz?" rumbled Sir Hokus, shaking a
teasing finger at Peter.
"Well," admitted the little boy, blushing a bit at the question,
"the fellows sorta depend on me, Hokus, and then you know there's my
grandfather."
"Of course," smiled Ozma, "of course there is. Goodbye, dear Peter,
come back soon and as often as you will."
"Goodbye," sobbed the Iffin, overcome at the thought of losing his
chum. "If you were my own grandchild, I couldn't love you any better."
"Goodbye!" called Jack Pumpkinhead and Scraps and all the others and
before their gay voices had quite died away, Peter was standing in the
dim library of his own house.
"Oh grandfather," cried Peter, "I've been to Oz again and flying is
grand, grandfather!"
"Then we must try it some time," observed the old gentleman calmly, and
saying nothing at all about Peter's strange absence.
"Oh, may we?" Peter dropped on the arm of the big chair. "May we,
really?"
"Well, why not?" demanded grandfather, glancing around the room
belligerently and letting his specs fall the full length of the black
cord. "Why not? 'Tis a free country and flying's no crime."
"Hurrah!" shouted Peter, bouncing off the chair arm and right that
instant he decided that even in Oz there was no better chum nor braver
adventurer than this grandfather of his so straightway he told him all
that had happened in Baffleburg and other places--indeed all of this
story that I have just told to you.
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