Oz - Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz Part 4

"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 silly and small! I'm just an elf, I'm not myself, I'm just no one at all!"

"Oh, yes you are," Peter rea.s.sured 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 MoG.o.dore's mountain. "Let's all think."

"I can only think of poor little s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne, 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne 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 MoG.o.dore. Once in MoG.o.dore'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 MoG.o.dore'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, MoG.o.dore 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 I 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?"

"b.u.t.tered 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 MoG.o.dore 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 MoG.o.dore, 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 MoG.o.dore, 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 MoG.o.dore 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 MoG.o.dore, as s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne 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 MoG.o.dore 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 MoG.o.dore, 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, s.h.i.+rley 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 MoG.o.dore, 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 MoG.o.dore 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 "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 MoG.o.dore, 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 MoG.o.dore 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, MoG.o.dore 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 tomorrow morning.

"See that I'm called early," he bl.u.s.tered, 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 hoa.r.s.ely, 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 onel"

But s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne, with a horrified glance at the boisterous Baron, picked up her skirts and fled from the room.

"See that she does not escape," rumbled MoG.o.dore 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 sets 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 MoG.o.dore and, s.n.a.t.c.hing a broad sword from the wall, he swung it expertly round his head. "s.h.i.+ne up your s.h.i.+n 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, MoG.o.dore 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 MoG.o.dore. "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 MoG.o.dore, more amused than frightened by this terrible threat. "You'll make a splendid stick, old fellow." Laughing noisely, 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 I could only 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.