"And WHAT?" queried Dorothy, looking at Jellia with round, scared eyes. Jellia, for reasons of her own, did not answer. The Scarecrow already had retrieved his balloons. Now he pressed the cord, still attached to the Cowardly Lion, into Wantowin's hand.
"You must pull him along with you," directed the Scarecrow, earnestly. "I am too light. And DO let's be starting!" The angry buzz of the crowd on its way to Half Moon Lake, already could be heard. So, without stopping to plan or reason, the travellers from Oz slipped through the back curtains of the Royal Pavilion and began running as fast as they could toward the other side of Strut's curious air realm. The Wizard, grasping his kit bag in one hand and Dorothy by the other, went first. Next came Jellia, carrying the two flying sticks; the Scarecrow clutched his bunch of balloons. Last of all ran Wantowin, dragging the growling and disgusted lion after him through the air. Fortunately Stratovania is long and narrow. In less time than they had dared hope, the little cavalcade came to the edge. Forbidding cliffs stretched along the whole coast and the moist, blue air seemed actually to be breaking in great waves against the rocks. As they all gazed unhappily outward, a terrific "BOOM" made them all shudder.
"Well—there goes the Ozpril," mourned Jellia, patting the Wizard compassionately on the shoulder. The Wizard, looking very angry and grim, nodded his head. "Come on," puffed Jellia stepping closer to the cliffs, "unless we want to go up with the ship we've got to jump! And really—it's not so bad as it sounds! I've seen the airlanders fly with these winged staffs, and these two will have to do for us all."
"How do they work?" asked Dorothy in a faint voice.
"Why, you tap them once on the ground to start, and once on the handle to stop," explained Jellia breathlessly! "Now, suppose Dot and I and the Scarecrow ride one, and Wiz and the Soldier, the other. And for cake's sake—don't let go our lion!" added Jellia.
"But suppose he deflates and pulls us all down with his weight," groaned the Soldier. "Why can't he float along by himself?"
"Because I'm not going to have it!" said Jellia determinedly. "You must hold on to him and risk whatever happens! And if anything does happen, the Wizard will think of something!"
"I have thought of something!" said the Wizard, composedly. "But first we must do as Jellia says. HARK! Isn't that Kabebe calling you?" As a matter of fact, it was. The Stratovanians, after witnessing the blow-off of the Ozpril, had rushed back to the Royal Pavilion. Furious at the disappearance of their victims, they now were rushing toward the crystal cliffs, the screams of Kabebe rising above all the rest.
"What do we do—ride 'em like broomsticks?" jabbered the Scarecrow, as Jellia with shaking hands held out one of the sticks to the Wizard.
"A good idea!" approved the little magician, watching with deep interest as the wings on the tip of the staff opened and spread. "Come along, Soldier, or the mob will get you yet!" With wildly beating hearts, Dorothy and Jellia watched the Wizard and the Soldier mount the flying stick and boldly leap from the cliff's edge. The Cowardly Lion let out a terrified howl as he was dragged after them, but Jellia, Dorothy and the Scarecrow, without further hesitation, mounted their own staff and hurled themselves into space, just as the Queen and her cohorts came panting into view.
Keeping the flying sticks in a more or less level position so they would not slip off, and at the same time pointing them downward, required no little skill. The Wizard, being used to magic appliances, mastered his in double quick time. But Jellia, who sat in front on the other staff soared up for seventy feet and across for fifty before she learned the trick of flying it. During the first twenty minutes of their flight, not a word was spoken. Each had enough to do to hold on, and the Cowardly Lion, hurtling through the air beside the Soldier with Green Whiskers, looked the picture of despair and discouragement. A dozen times Dorothy, after a glance downward, gave herself up for lost. But gradually the strangeness of their situation wore off. Passing out of the moist, clammy strata just below Strut's Kingdom into a dryer and less clouded area, the spirits of the little band of adventurers rose. The wings of each flying staff, though not large, were powerful as airplane propellers, and they flapped as rhythmically as the wings of a bird.
"Not exactly like riding in an Ozoplane!" called the Wizard, waving cheerfully to Jellia! "Still—it's better than falling, eh?" Jellia, who had maneuvered her staff to a position close to his, nodded emphatically.
"What worries me, is—the—altitude!" she called back presently. "Somewhere or other we lost our air helmets. Will the effects of those altitude pills wear off before we're out of the strat?"
"No, we'll be all right," promised the Wizard. "My altitude pills condition one for the upper areas for several days at a time!"
"Oh! Then everything's splendid!" sighed Jellia, pushing back her curly locks and smiling at Dorothy.
"Unless we meet a meteor, and then our flight will soon be o'er," quavered the Scarecrow, waving his arm in a doleful circle.
"Now, now, don't anticipate!" advised the Wizard, guiding the staff with one hand and opening his kit bag with the other. For several moments he had been anxiously regarding the Cowardly Lion. The buoyancy resulting from the wind pudding was at last subsiding, and the swelled and bloated appearance of the unfortunate beast was fast disappearing. At almost any time now, the lion would become a dead weight. His poundage—added to the Wizard's and the Soldier's—would be too much for the flying staff and they all would plunge like plummets to the earth. Feeling hurriedly around in the kit-bag, the Wizard pulled out a small, black bottle. Uncorking it with his teeth, he turned it upside down and held it out at arm's length until not a drop of its oily contents remained.
"Now, don't be alarmed at a sudden bump!" he warned, as his companions watched him with surprise and curiosity! "Whatever happens—hold on to your staff!" Scarcely had the Wizard issued his warning when the air directly beneath them froze into a solid block of blue ice on which they landed with a series of bumps, and began sliding around in great confusion. "Nothing to worry about! Nothing to worry about!" panted the Wizard, keeping a firm hold on his flying stick and at the same time managing to extract a large envelope from the kit-bag. "Hold on to that stick, Jellia, and keep it down!"
The Cowardly Lion, completely deflated by his smack against the ice, was sprawled flat as an animal skin in the center of the berg. Dismounting from his own staff, the Wizard scurried perilously round the edges of the rapidly falling block of ice scattering seeds from his envelope with a lavish hand. Instantly, or so it seemed to Dorothy, a thick green hedge sprang up, enclosing them snugly inside.
"To keep us from tumbling off," explained the Wizard, sliding anxiously after Wantowin Battles, who was galloping round and round on his flying stick like a child on a merry-go-round. "Whoa, whoa!" cried Ozma's chief magician, grabbing the Soldier's coat-tails. "We need these sticks to act as brakes to stop our fall!" Unseating the Soldier, the Wizard lifted the flying stick and stuck it through the top branches of the hedge. Bidding the others dismount from their staff, he thrust it through the hedge on the opposite side. The wings of both staffs kept up their steady beating and, as the Wizard had predicted, acted as strong brakes on the plunging cake of ice.
"I was afraid we'd lose the lion," explained the Wizard as the little company of adventurers gathered breathlessly round him.
"I'd just as lief be lost as frozen!" Sneezing plaintively, the lion pulled himself to his feet and slid over to the hedge, bracing his back against its stouter branches.
"It won't be long before we strike solid earth now, old fellow," the Wizard observed brightly.
"Strike the earth!" roared the lion. "Well, good-bye, friends! I'll say it now—before I'm squashed and scattered to the four points of the compass!"
"Never mind, you'll make a lovely splatter!" teased the Scarecrow. "Better stamp your feet, girls, to keep from freezing!"
"Here, stand on my coat," offered the Wizard, gallantly. "Not YOU!" Indignantly he pushed the Soldier with Green Whiskers aside. "You can stand on your own coat!"
"But it's against regulations for a soldier to appear without his jacket," shivered Wantowin, piteously. "The manual of arms says—"
"How about the manual of feet?" snorted the Scarecrow, thankful he was stuffed with cotton and incapable of feeling the cold. "Say, Wiz, I guess this is about the oddest flying trip a band of explorers ever had?"
"Did those magic drops freeze the air into ice?" called Dorothy. "And how'd you grow the hedge so fast?"
"Yes, the drops froze the air," the Wizard bawled back, for the rush of air as they shot downward made it difficult to hold polite conversation, "And I just happened to have some of my instant sprouting saplings in that kit-bag."
To keep up their spirits they continued to shout back and forth as they fell. "I don't suppose we'll ever catch up with Strut and Nick Chopper now," screamed Jellia, hooking her arms securely through the hedge.
"Why not?" cried the Wizard. "As soon as we land, we can fly these flying sticks straight to the Emerald City, and be there before the Oztober arrives. Remember now, the first one up after we hit the earth is to snatch a winged staff."
"And how do you suppose we will be able to rise, after striking the earth at one hundred and forty miles an hour?" roared the lion, a trifle sarcastically.
"Well, it won't hurt me!" boasted the Scarecrow, holding to his hat with both hands. He had lost the balloons long ago. "And I promise to pick up the rest of you as soon as possible. Is—there—anything in that kit-bag for breaks, sprains and bruises, Wiz?"
"Oh, hold your tongue!" snapped Jellia, trying to peer over the hedge. "We're not going to crash at all! We'll probably get stuck on a steeple or tower!"
"How'd Nick manage with his flying?" shrieked the Wizard, who was anxious to change the subject. The less said about their landing the better. Of course, they could take to the flying sticks and abandon the Cowardly Lion, but that did not seem exactly sporting. So he resolutely put the thought of it out of his mind.
"Grand, just grand!" answered Jellia, making a megaphone of her hands. "Nick had the Oztober going smoothly as a swallow."
"That's good!" boomed the Wizard, beating his arms against his breast to keep warm. "Maybe he'll get the best of Strut yet and bring the Oztober safely down. I'd certainly like to have one ship left to present to Ozma!"
"How long'll it be before we do get down?" called Dorothy, as the Wizard paused for breath. "Seems to me we're falling faster. FASTER AND FASTER!"
"Any minute now," predicted the Wizard, popping his head over the top of the hedge. "Oh! It's going to be all right!" he shouted joyfully. "We're coming down right in the middle of a great big—"
SPLASH!!!
Before the Wizard could finish his sentence, the block of ice struck the smooth surface of a large, mountain lake, and went completely under. As it came bobbing to the top, its drenched and shivering passengers looked at one another with mingled dismay and relief. Dorothy, picking up the Wizard's coat, handed it back and then went slipping and sliding over to help the Scarecrow, who was too water-soaked and sodden even to move.
"Wring me out! Hang me up to dry, somebody!" gurgled the straw man dismally.
"Grrr—rah!" The Cowardly Lion, outraged at the cold plunge after all the other shocks and indignities of the day, jumped over the hedge and began to swim grimly for the shore. The Soldier with Green Whiskers, better at carrying out orders than the others, already was pulling one of the flying sticks from the hedge. As it came loose he took a brief glance over the top, gave an agonized shriek and fell backward, stepping all over the Wizard who was just behind him.
"An army!" shivered Wantowin, clutching his dripping beard—"Thou—sands of them!"
"It is an army, too!" echoed Jellia, who had parted the hedge to have a look for herself.
"What do they look like?" demanded the Wizard, shoving past the soldier and grabbing the winged staff which was on the point of flying off by itself.
"Like trouble!" said Jellia, reaching for Dorothy's hand. "They have long bows and pointed red beards and—my goodyness—their beards are pointed straight at us!"
"Bearded Bowmen, eh?" grunted the Wizard. "Well, that doesn't prove they're unfriendly." The Wizard stuck his head over the hedge, barely avoiding the arrow that sped past his ear.
"I suppose you'd call THAT friendly," sniffed Jellia, flopping on her stomach and pulling Dorothy down with her. The Wizard had no time to answer, for Wantowin Battles had one of the winged staffs and was preparing to ride by himself.
"Drop it! Drop it at once!" commanded the Wizard sharply. "How dare you fly off without us? Why it's plain desertion, that's what!"
"I was just going to do a bit of reconnoitering," mumbled the Soldier, looking terrible abashed and then diving to a place beside Jellia as three more arrows came hissing over the hedge. Quickly recovering the staff, the wet little Wizard crouched down.
"Now girls!" he directed, panting from the exertion of holding down both sticks. "When I give the signal, you and the Scarecrow mount one staff, and Wantowin and I will mount the other, and fly high over the enemy lines!"
"The higher the better," said Jellia, as a perfect shower of arrows whizzed over their heads.
The Wizard's plan worked very well, at first. He and the Soldier astride one stick, Dorothy and Jellia, holding the poor, sodden Scarecrow between them on the other, shot high into the air, across the lake and over the amazed ranks of Bowmen drawn up on the bank. Before the Red Beards had recovered from their surprise, the travellers were winging strongly toward the turretted red castle that crowned the mountain top. The Cowardly Lion, to escape the flying arrows, had swum under water. Now, scrambling up the bank, he neatly skirted the enemy and ran swiftly beneath the two, flying staffs.
"As soon as we're safely past this castle, we'll descend, rest, dry our clothes and then proceed to the Emerald City," called the Wizard, turning to wave encouragingly at the two girls.
But at that moment a dreadful thing happened. Sprawled on a huge camp chair on the sloping terrace before the castle, its huge, red-bearded owner suddenly sighted the flying sticks and their riders. Seizing the long bow that lay beside him on the grass, he sent two arrows speeding upward, one right after the other. Each arrow found its mark and splintered a flying stick. With spine-shattering suddenness the travellers crashed to earth. Dorothy, describing it to Ozma later, explained that although she never had been in a battle, she knew exactly how a warrior felt when his horse was shot from under him. Except, of course, that a horseman would not have had so far to fall. The Scarecrow, tumbling off first, softened the bump for both girls. The Wizard and Soldier plunged headlong into a red-pepper bush. While not seriously injured, they were grievously scratched and shaken. But the worst was not the blow to their pride and persons, the worst was to see the upper and winged halves of their precious sticks flying away without them.
"Oh! Oh!" groaned the Wizard, leaping out of the pepper bush and running for an anguished yard or two after the vanishing staffs. "This is awful, AWFUL! Come back! Come down!" he implored, realizing even as he shouted that the sticks could neither hear nor obey.
"Noo then, whew are yew?" The startled Red Beard hoisted himself out of his camp chair. "W—itches riding on br—hoom sticks? Noo then, call off yewer dog!" The Cowardly Lion, noting the mischief already done by the Red King's bow, had seized it in his teeth and backed rapidly into the bushes. The Wizard, reluctantly withdrawing his gaze from the sky, now stamped over to the astonished owner of the castle.
"Just see what you've done," he cried angrily. "Destroyed the only winged staffs in Oz. We flew them all the way from the Strat and now, how are we to reach the Emerald City in time to stop the airlanders? Don't you realize—but how could you?" In sudden discouragement the Wizard broke off and stared despondently around the rugged mountain top. "I must tell you," he began again in a hoarse and desperate voice, "that Ozma and the Emerald City are in great danger. Strut of the Strat and a host of his flying Stratovanians are descending to conquer Oz and carry off Ozma's treasure. If we fail to warn her the city is lost—doomed—I tell you! Since you have shattered our flying sticks you must quickly supply us with some other means of travel. We must reach the capital before morning!"
"MUST!" roared the Bearded Bowman. "Are yew shouting 'must' at ME?"
"Be careful!" cried Dorothy. For the Wizard, in his earnestness, had stepped closer and closer to the red King. But her cry was too late. Without any warning, the King's pointed beard, rising with his wrath, pointed straight out and struck the valiant Wizard to the earth. For a whole minute he lay perfectly still, staring up at this curious phenomenon. Though he had seen many a beard in his day, he had never been knocked down by one before.
"Whew are yew?" demanded the burly mountain monarch again. "How dare yew fly over my castle and swim in my lake without permission?" Stroking his beard which gradually resumed a vertical position on his chest, he stared from one to the other of the adventurers. "No use to run," he sneered as Wantowin Battles began to back toward the bushes. "My bowmen will be here any moment now! But WHEW are YEW?"
"Wheww!" groaned Jellia, propping the bedraggled Scarecrow against a rock. "A body'd hardly know, after such a welcome. Whew are yew, yewerself, yew old Redbeard!"
"I?" roared the Bowman, taken completely by surprise. "Why, don't yew know? I am Bustabo, King of the Kudgers and Red Top Mountain."
"I don't believe it," said the Wizard, leaping agilely to his feet and shaking his fist under Bustabo's long nose. "A real King would not treat travellers as you have done, shoot away valuable flying sticks and keep two lovely girls standing out here in the wind."
"How dew yew know what a King would dew?" demanded Bustabo, puckering his forehead in an uneasy frown.
"Because," stated the Wizard, folding his arms disdainfully, "I personally know all the most important rulers in Oz, and none of them would behave as you have done. If you are a King, act like a King!"
"Whew are yew?" repeated the Ruler of Red Top, walking around the little group with hands clasped behind his back.
"Oh, for Oz sake—tell him!" snarled the Cowardly Lion, poking his head out of the bushes. "If he asks that question again I might eat him up, pointed beard and all!"
"Well, this is the Wizard of Oz," explained Dorothy, as the Lion stalked grimly out of the bushes, "Chief Magician for Ozma of Oz. This—" Dorothy, with a wave of her hand, indicated the trembling soldier, "This is Wantowin Battles, the Grand Army of Oz. Beside him is our famous, live Scarecrow. I am Princess Dorothy of Oz and this is Jellia Jam, First Lady in Waiting to Ozma. Coming toward you is the Cowardly Lion of Oz."
"He doesn't look very cowardly to me," muttered Bustabo, putting the camp chair between himself and the approaching beast.
"Oh, but I am cowardly," growled the lion growlishly, "and when I'm frightened I never know what I'll do. I might even chew up the King of this Mountain! Whoever heard of a King pointing his beard at harmless travellers! Whoever heard of a King with a beard as hard and red as yours, anyway! It's hard as iron from the looks of it."
"Harder!" agreed the King, evidently considering the lion's remark a compliment. "All we Kudgers have red beards—not of soft hair like his—" The Red King gazed contemplatively at the Soldier with Green Whiskers, "but of hard hair like mine. I don't suppose yew've ever seen a beard like this before. The point's sharp as a dagger, too," he warned, as the lion sprang a pace closer.
"Oh, I'm sure it is," said Dorothy nervously. "And it's dreadfully handsome, too. But could your Majesty please let us dry out in your castle and then could you show us the quickest route to the Emerald City? If you don't," finished Dorothy, clasping her hands anxiously, "the ruler of this whole country of Oz may be captured and carried to the Strat."
"What do I care about the Ruler of Oz?" sniffed Bustabo, scratching his head in a most unkingly manner. "Ozma never does anything for me! Even if she were conquered I'd still have my Mountain. Why should I help yew or her or them?" His scornful wave included the whole little group. "What can yew dew for me?" he asked sullenly. "Can yew sing?" His dull eye brightened momentarily as it rested inquiringly on Dorothy.
"Well, a little," confessed Dorothy, smoothing down her damp dress. Clearing her throat and fixing her eye on the top of a red pine, she started in rather a choked voice:
"There, there! That will dew!" Bustabo snapped his fingers impatiently, and taking out a little book scribbled hastily: "Can't sing."
"Can yew dance?" he demanded, addressing himself to Jellia. "We are short of good dancers on this mountain." Jellia by this time was in such a state of cold and temper, she stamped her foot and turned her back on the unmannerly monarch. "Can't dance," wrote Bustabo under the first entry.
"Well, then—what dew yew dew?" he asked, turning in exasperation to the Wizard.
"I?" said the Wizard, twirling his water-soaked topper, "I, am a Wizard. Naturally I supposed a King like yourself would have everything he desired. But if that is not the case, tell me what you wish and perhaps I can help you. Only be quick!" he added earnestly, "for we have no time to lose."
"Sooo, yew really are a Wizard!" Bustabo's expression became almost agreeable. "Well, then," he drew himself up pompously. "The Princess whom I wish to wed has unaccountably disappeared. Find and return her to this castle, and I will speed yew and yewer friends to the Emerald City by the safest and swiftest route!"
"But that would take too much time," objected the Wizard, rubbing his chin anxiously. "Who is this Princess? Why has she gone? What is her name and what does she look like?"
"If yew were a real Wizard yew would know all these things without my telling yew," answered Bustabo, looking suspiciously at Ozma's Chief Magician. "I'll tell you this much, though. The Princess whom I would marry is called Azarine, the Red. Not three days ago she was in this castle, but on the morning of our wedding day she ran off into the forest, and though all my Bowmen have been searching ever since, not a trace of her have they found!"
"Humph, the girl showed very good sense, if you ask me," sniffed the Cowardly Lion, shaking his mane, "What did you do? Point your beard at her? Come on, Wiz! Let's go. We're just wasting time here."
"Aha, but yew cannot leave! Look behind yew!" Bustabo, with an enormous laugh, pointed over his shoulder. Silently as Indians the Bearded Bowmen had crept up and entirely surrounded the little company on the green. Standing in a circle with bows raised and beards pointed, they fairly dared anyone to take a step. "Soo, then, it's all settled!" The Red King clapped the Wizard heartily on the back. "Don't think I have not heard of yewer skill, Mister Weezard. Even here on Red Top we've heard rumors of the wonderful Weezard of Oz. Now all yew have to dew is walk into that forest, find the Princess and bring her back to me. Meanwhile, I shall treat these others as my guests. They shall rest and warm themselves and have all they wish to eat. If by morning yew have failed to return, I shall regretfully be forced to throw them off the mountain. If yew dew return, yew will find that Bustabo will keep his word and bargain."
The Wizard hardly knew what to say.
"If he knows so much, why does he not help himself?" demanded one of the Red Beards, stepping insolently out of the circle. "People who can fly through the air on icebergs and sticks do not need help from ordinary folk like us. Why doesn't he fly to the Emerald City if he's so smart? I'll tell you why—because he's not the Wizard of Oz! He's a fraud, that's what!"
"If he's a fraud then you're a rascal!" cried Jellia Jam, remembering suddenly that she recently had been a Starina. "Your Princess is as good as found, Mister King! Isn't that so, Wizard?" Meeting Jellia's firm gaze, the Wizard nodded quickly.
"This young Oz maid is right, your Majesty! Before the sun rises Azarine will return to this castle!"
"Yes—and now bid your vassals lead us into the castle!" ordered Jellia sharply. "Bring us soup, meat, bread, vegetables, salad and plenty of fruit and cake!"
Bustabo, after a long look both at Jellia and the Wizard, motioned for the Bowmen to lead the visitors into the castle. The Cowardly Lion trailed suspiciously along in the rear, keeping a sharp watch to see that no beards were pointed at his friends. The Wizard accompanied them part way, conversing in earnest whispers with Jellia and Dorothy. Wantowin Battles supported the dripping and still helpless Scarecrow, and each tried not to show the anxiety he felt when the Wizard finally turned to leave them.
"Goodbye, all!" he said, lifting his dripping hat. "Goodbye, Jellia—here is your bag!" Tapping the kit-bag significantly, he pressed it into Jellia's cold hands. Then, without a word to Bustabo or his Henchmen, he strode resolutely toward the dark forest that covered the sides and more than half of the top of the mountain. Relenting a little, the Red King sent a Bowman running after him with a basket of provisions. Taking the basket with a brief nod of thanks, the Wizard waved again to his friends and marched straight into the gloomy and forbidding woods.
The late afternoon shadows made the forest seem even gloomier. The little Wizard, trudging along under the rustling red trees, hands thrust deep into his pockets, never had felt more depressed or unhappy. He had hated to leave his friends with a Monarch as cruel and untrustworthy as Bustabo. Still, he had the utmost confidence in Jellia Jam. The Young Oz Miss doubtless had some plan in her clever little head and had chosen this way for him to escape, meaning to follow with the others at the first opportunity. Anyway, he reflected, dropping down on a heap of fallen leaves and resting his back against a tree, they had the kit-bag to help them, if worst came to worst. Perhaps if he concentrated and thought very hard, he could recall the powerful incantation for locating missing persons and articles.
But a Wizard without his books and equipment, is almost as helpless as a doctor without his pills and medicine bag. Try as he would, the Wizard could not remember the proper combination of words to bring back the missing Princess. His short nap in Stratovania had rested him a little, but he still was dreadfully weary from his gruelling flight and the recent shocks and mischances. The loss of the Ozpril had been the worst blow of all and now his tired brain simply refused to work. So, sitting sadly under the tree, he munched the sandwiches from the basket, drank from the bottle of cold tea and wished fervently for a fire to warm himself, for his clothes were still damp and clammy from the dive in Bustabo's lake. It comforted him a little to know that the others were drying out and enjoying a good supper in the castle. But it was no comfort at all to realize that Strut and his legions were winging their way toward the Emerald City—the city he had built and lived in so long it seemed more like home than any place he had known in America.
The Wizard crammed the rest of the sandwiches into the basket and started recklessly through the forest, tripping over tough vines and rocks, bumping into trees and peering desperately about for traces of a Princess, or for any sign that might tell him in which direction the Emerald City lay. From the slant of the ground he knew he was travelling down the mountain, and the deep, red foliage told him he was somewhere in the Quadling country of Oz. But with night coming on and the shadows growing deeper and darker, he probably would lose his way entirely and never get out of the forest at all. He felt uneasy at leaving his comrades behind in the Red King's Castle. Was it better to try to save Ozma and the Emerald City, or to stay in this forest and help Dorothy and Jellia and the devoted friends who had embarked on this unexpected adventure with him?
Stopping short, the Wizard pressed both hands to his forehead in an effort to make up his mind. Night already had overtaken him and it was now so dark, it was impossible to see more than a foot or so in any direction. Occasional roars, the snapping of twigs and the gleam of yellow eyes from the thicket, caused him no little anxiety. At an especially savage roar, he suddenly stopped worrying about Ozma and the others and began to do considerable worrying about himself.
How humbling for a Wizard to be devoured by a hungry beast. Backing softly away from the approaching monster, he began looking sharply about for a hollow tree, a cave or even a clump of bushes where he might conceal himself. On the tip of his tongue and ready for instant use was the magic word which would render him invisible. Fortunately he did remember that. But the Wizard never wasted words, magic or otherwise. Resolving to wait till the last possible moment, he continued to back rapidly and cautiously. Then, unexpectedly from behind him came another distraction—the clear ringing of a silver bell. At the same time the gloom was pierced by a dancing ray of light. Swinging round, the Wizard flung up both arms and not knowing whether to dash into the teeth of the monster in front of him, or risk the lowered horns of the huge beast behind him, the startled magician uttered the word that rendered him invisible.
"Brr—rah!" raged the burly, bear-like creature, rearing up on his hind legs. "Where is that pesky man-creature? I saw him a moment ago, but now, though I still catch his scent, he has hidden from me. And why must you, Shagomar, come horning in to spoil my supper? Why cannot you mind your own business, Br-rrah!"
"I am minding my own business," roared the creature addressed as Shagomar. "AWAY—you Entomophagus monster! Haven't I told you time and again to keep away from the cave of the Princess? The very next bug-bear that comes prowling 'round shall have a taste of my antlers! Get on with you now, and after this—leave harmless travellers alone!"
The great red stag made a short rush at the ugly beast blocking his path. Large as a Grizzly, half insect and half bear, it held its ground uncertainly for a moment, then shuffled off into the darkness, grunting angrily.
The Wizard, who had jumped hastily from between the two beasts, had listened to the stag's words with lively interest and astonishment. Huge and sandy, with antlers of tremendous breadth, the huge creature now stood quiet as a statue. From one antler prong hung a flashing silver lantern. From another dangled the bell which had so startled the Wizard.
"Well, friend! Are you still there?" whispered the Stag, softly. Instead of answering, the Wizard uttered the word that would make him visible. "Come with me!" directed the Stag, showing neither surprise nor curiosity at the Wizard's sudden reappearance. "You will be safer with us in the cave. Surely you are a stranger on Red Top or you would know it is dangerous to wander in this forest at night."
"Oh, I don't mind danger," said the Wizard, striding sturdily beside the Stag. "I am used to danger—and I must reach the Emerald City before morning! Ozma and her whole capitol are threatened by a band of ruthless Airlanders, and unless I can give them some warning, the Emerald City certainly will be captured by Strut of the Strat. I am Ozma's Chief Magician, fallen by great misfortune into this forest."
"I thought you might be a Wizard," murmured Shagomar, pausing to nibble at a few tender leaves. "And you say the Ruler of the whole Land of Oz is in danger? Hah, well—we all have our troubles." Exhaling his breath noisily, Shagomar looked off between the trees with a troubled frown. "I cannot direct you to the Emerald City, but I'm sure the Princess can help you."
"What Princess do you mean?" asked the Wizard, curious to hear what Shagomar would say.
"Azarine!" whispered the Stag, looking around carefully to see that no one was listening. "Azarine the Red—Ruler of Red Top Mountain!"
"But I thought Bustabo was ruler of the mountain! I just came from his castle!" sputtered the Wizard. "He certainly told me he was King of the Kudgers."
"King of the Kudgers—pfui!" The stag shook his head as if a bee were in his ear, while his bell played a regular roundelay. "Bustabo was, till a week ago, Chief Bowman in Her Majesty's Guard. Using his position and his men to help him, he has wickedly seized Azarine's throne, insisting that Azarine permit him to be the King of all the Kudgers. When our little Princess refused, she was locked up in the tower. But, with the assistance of a faithful servant, she managed to escape, and has been hiding in this forest ever since. I, being an old and trusted friend, have been looking out for her and will protect her with horn and hoof until her own loyal subjects unseat this miserable imposter!"
"Whew—so that's the way it is?" The Wizard thrust his hands more deeply into his pockets. "Well, that settles that! I won't do it—no matter what happens!"
"Won't do what?" questioned the Stag, looking down sideways at the little man.
"Oh—nothing!" Kicking at a stone, the Wizard walked along in a depressed silence. Surely no one ever had been in a worse dilemma. If he managed by a trick or by force to carry Azarine back to the Red Castle, Dorothy and his friends would be released instantly and all of them speeded on their way to the Capitol. If he did not return the Princess to the castle, his brave and faithful companions would be flung off the mountain, Strut would conquer the Emerald City and everything would be lost. LOST!
But when, a few minutes later, the Stag pushed through a cluster of bushes that concealed the entrance to the cave, and the Wizard stepped into the presence of Azarine herself, he knew he never would force her surrender to the infamous Bustabo.
Seated pensively on a rough boulder beside a small fire was the prettiest little Princess the Wizard had almost ever seen. Her hair, long and red as Glinda's, fell in satiny waves to her feet. She wore a little mesh cap of pearls and a white satin, Princess dress. A long, red velvet cloak hung loosely from her shoulders. Not exactly the costume for a cave, but vastly becoming. Azarine's pale and flower-like face was sweet and gentle and, when she saw the wet and weary traveller with Shagomar, she jumped up to welcome him as graciously as though she still were mistress of her castle.
"Why, it's the Wizard of Oz!" she cried joyfully, after a second look at the guest. "Oh, we all know the Wizard of Oz! I have a picture of you right over the grand piano in my castle. Wherever did you find him, Shaggy dear? Has he come all this way to help us?"
"It will be a great pleasure and privilege, if I may," said the Wizard, sitting on a rock opposite the Princess and placing his high hat between his knees. "Just now, I happen to be in as much trouble as your Highness. But perhaps—" the Wizard looked thoughtfully at the Stag standing motionless at the entrance of the cave—"can Shagomar run?"
"Oh, yes! Terribly fast!" Azarine assured him, eagerly. "Faster than eagles can fly, than water can fall down the mountain, faster than any creature on Red Top. Shaggy can do anything!" Jumping up, the Princess ran over to lean her head against the Red Stag's shoulder. "He goes to the village each day and returns with food. He has brought me blankets for my bed, pillows for my head, and has kept away the fierce Bug-bears and all other wild beasts that roam the Red Wood. I don't know what I should have done without him!" The Princess added softly, "Shaggy's such a dear!"
"You're both dears!" agreed the Wizard.
"Are we?" Azarine twinkled her eyes at the Wizard, "But Shaggy's the biggest, and we've always been friends, haven't we?" The Stag, looking down at Azarine with his bright, steadfast eyes, nodded so vigorously that the bell on his antlers rang a veritable medley, and the rays from the silver lantern danced into every corner of the dreary cavern.
"Well then," the Wizard rubbed his hands briskly together, "Shaggy shall carry us straight to the Palace of Glinda, the Good Sorceress of the South. As Red Top Mountain is in the Quadling Country, her palace must be somewhere quite near."
"Oh, it is! It is!" beamed Azarine. "I've often seen her lights, from the towers on Red Top. It's just a mile or two from the base of this mountain. I never have seen Glinda, but I have heard she is very good and a Powerful Sorceress. Do you think she can force Bustabo to give me back my castle and my Kingdom?"
"I know it!" declared the Wizard, picking up his hat and clapping it on the back of his head. "But before we start for Glinda's, I must go back and rescue my friends from that thieving Red Beard."
Marching forth and back before the fire, the Wizard related all that had happened since he and his party had started off in the two Ozoplanes. Hearing the strange tale, Azarine almost forgot her own troubles. When the Wizard told how Bustabo had broken the winged staffs on which they hoped to ride to the Emerald City, and of the wicked bargain he had driven, the little Princess generously offered to return to the Red Castle so that Ozma and Oz might be saved. But the Wizard would not hear of such a thing. "No!" he decided—"Shaggy and I will go back and manage, somehow, to release my comrades from the castle. Then, we all can start for Glinda's together."
"Wait," whistled the Stag, who had been listening to the Wizard's story with distended eyes and nostrils. "Wait, first I will fetch Dear Deer."
"Who in Oz, is Dear Deer?" inquired the Wizard, as Shagomar melted like a shadow through the dark opening of the cavern.
"His wife," explained Azarine with an excited skip. "And that will be just splendid, for Dear Deer shall carry all of your friends, and we can ride Shaggy!"
And now let us peek into the doings of Jellia, Dorothy and the others, after they mournfully watched the Wizard stalk off into the forest.
With Bowmen ahead of them and Bowmen closely following, the prisoners marched slowly into the castle. Afraid not to hurry on account of the sharp-pointed beards of the Guards, the little party progressed almost at a run.
Hurrying them through the beautiful throne room and other cheerful apartments on the first floor, the Bowmen lead them to a covered stone stairway curving up from the back courtyard. Up, up, and up, tramped the Bowmen, and up, up, and up trudged the weary travellers. It seemed to Dorothy they had climbed a thousand steps before they reached the top. Both girls were frightened, but holding their backs straight and their chins high, they stepped haughtily along without even a glance at their red-bearded captors. Unlocking an iron door at the head of the stair, the Guards gruffly ushered them into a round, stone-walled room at the very top of the tower. Relocking the door just as gruffly, they took their departure.
"Thank gooseness, there's a fire!" shivered Jellia, running across the room to hold out her hands to the crackling blaze. "As soon as we're warm and dry we can decide what to do. Pull up a couple of those benches, Wantowin, and for cake's sake, don't look so glum! Nobody's been hurt yet!"
"Ah—but what of the morning?" The Soldier with Green Whiskers wagged his head, dismally. "That rogue of a Red Beard will pitch us off this mountain quick as that!" Wantowin snapped his cold fingers. "One toss from this tower and we're done!" groaned the Army, turning away from one of the barred windows with a positive shudder. Glancing out the window nearest her, Dorothy saw that the tower had been built at the very edge of the mountain. Jagged rocks far below, and long-dead trees jutting out from the sides of the sheer precipice, made it even more formidable.
"I'm going to sleep," mumbled the lion, settling himself near the fire. "What I don't see, won't make me feel more cowardly."
"How true," thought Dorothy. Backing away from the window and resolutely keeping her mind off the precipice, she began to help Jellia drape the Scarecrow over a bench close to the fire.
"Not too close, girls," begged the Straw Man nervously. "Fire's almost as bad for me as water. One little spark and—pouff! Nothing but a bonfire of your old friend and comrade!"
At this point a sharp tap on the door made them all jump, but it was only a servant carrying a large tray. At least, Bustabo was keeping his promise about supper. The servant was round and jolly. He looked sympathetically at the little company, but evidently was afraid to speak to them. Placing his tray on a table in the center of the room, he bowed stiffly and withdrew, locking the door carefully behind him.
"Not bad," said Jellia, lifting cover after cover from the silver serving dishes. "Not bad at all! Give us a hand, Wanny, and we'll pull the table over to the fire. My gooseness, this is almost as good as a party!"
Seating herself next to Dorothy who already was busy, Jellia bit rapturously into a crisp roll. "Mmm—mmm! This is the first food I've tasted since we left the Emerald City. Draw up, Liony! This roast lamb will make you forget that wind pudding. You may have all the roast, and we'll manage with the vegetables, the soup, salad and dessert!"
Dusk was falling and the tower room was hardly cheerful, but sitting on their hard benches close to the fire, the prisoners dined almost as well as though they had been in the Emerald City. Now that his hunger was satisfied, even the Soldier with Green Whiskers began to look less desperate. The Scarecrow, now completely dry though a little wrinkled, was his old, witty self again.
As it grew darker, Jellia lit the rusty lantern on the stone mantel, and Wantowin placed another log on the fire. There was a heap of blankets on one of the benches. No other beds being visible, the girls spread several on the hearth. Resting their backs comfortably against the sleeping lion, they conversed in low and guarded whispers. Wantowin, considering it his duty to stand guard, dragged a bench across the doorway. Wrapping himself up in a blanket, he was soon snoring louder than the Cowardly Lion. The servant had removed the tray, and sounds from below had long since ceased. They knew it must be way past midnight, but Dorothy and Jellia were unable to relax.
"I wonder how the Wizard's getting along!" mused Dorothy, pulling the blanket a little closer. "It must be awfully dark in that forest."
"Oh, Wiz'll be all rights—depend on that!" Jellia spoke with a heartiness she was far from feeling. "He'll have that Princess here before sun-up. If he doesn't, we'll just light out and find him!"
"Light out?" inquired the Scarecrow, drawing back still further from the fire. "How do you mean?"
"Yes," echoed Dorothy, moving closer to Jellia as a board creaked somewhere below. "How do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't just know," admitted Jellia, frankly. "But there might be something in this kit-bag to help! Let's have a look, anyway." Dragging it from under a bench where she had stowed it on their arrival, Jellia zipped it open and began feeling inside, curiously. "I never have had a chance to examine it properly," Jellia said. "But that cheer gas certainly came in handy, and the freezing fluid and sapling seeds were pretty neat, too! My, whatever are these, now?" Folded neatly on the very top were four suits of blue pajamas, with hoods and feet attached like those in an infant's sleeping garment.
Holding one near to the blaze so she could read the pink placard on the pocket, Jellia gave a little gasp. "Oh, listen!" she whispered, catching Dorothy's sleeve. "It says: