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:
"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:
"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?"
"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!
"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:
"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.
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:
"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."
"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:
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?"
"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?"
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."
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.
"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.
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.