"Have you ever been to Baffleburg," asked Peter, after the trays had vanished and Snif came back to perch upon his shoulder. "Is it so very dangerous?"

"I have flown over MoG.o.dore's mountain many times," said Snif thoughtfully, "and from what I have seen, it must be pretty bad.

"But if we stick together and most bravely persevere, This mountain's dangers we'll surmount and tweak yon bandit's ears!"

"No tweaking," advised Jack Pumpkinhead nervously. "Let us just sack the city and leave."

"All right," agreed Snif good naturedly, but we can't leave till we start, so let's get started." He looked inquiringly at Belfaygor and Belfaygor, after a nervous glance across the chasm, stepped to a tree on the edge of the ravine and walked solemnly three times round, till his beard was securely fastened. Now that the time for action had come, the adventurers said little.

Belfaygor stood proudly erect, waiting for his beard to grow long enough to stretch across the chasm and soon it did, and Snif, taking the ends in his claws, flew over the deep ravine and fastened the beard tightly to a tree on the other side. Now, all was ready and Peter, dropping boldly over the edge, swung himself skillfully across on the swinging red cable. He dared not look down and once safely over watched uneasily while Jack pulled himself across.

"Whatever you do, don't lose your head," breathed Peter, leaning forward nervously. Halfway over, Jack's wooden fingers almost lost their hold, and his pumpkin head spun about upon its peg, but Snif, flying valiantly to the rescue, held it in place and, when at last Jack came near enough for Peter to reach, he clutched both wooden arms and dragged Jack thankfully to safety. Belfaygor now clipped off his beard close to the chin and crossed himself without mishap or difficulty.

The first step of the dangerous undertaking had been made in safety but straight ahead was a steep wall of rock. If it had not been for Belfaygor's beard they would never have been able to scale this dreadful precipice. But Snif, taking the beard in his claws, flew up till he found a boulder or st.u.r.dy sapling. Then, winding the beard several times round, he would signal to Belfaygor who would immediately snip off his end of the beard and climb expertly up the swinging rope. Peter, hoisting himself up after him, could not help but think what a splendid Alpine guide the baron would make. But Jack, tremblingly following Peter, resolved that if ever he reached the Emerald City again he would stay peaceably at home for the rest of his unnatural life.

In this interesting but perilous fashion they finally reached the top of the cliff, only to find the gates of the city still farther up. A rocky opening into a narrow tunnel apparently led directly to Baffleburg and, with many misgivings, the travellers entered the tunnel. Although it was dark and clammy inside and exceedingly rough underfoot, they reached the end without trouble. In the dim murky light Peter saw a wooden door with an iron ring in the center. He was about to grasp the ring, when the tunnel, without any warning, tipped downward and shot them headlong from the opening. s.n.a.t.c.hing at a tree just in time, Peter saved himself from pitching over the precipice. Belfaygor's beard, catching on a jagged rock saved him and fortunately the baron had hold of Jack. His head did bounce off, but by some miracle rolled into a hollow in the rocks. Snif went over the edge of the cliff, but spreading his wings flew back to safety.

"Something else to tell my grandchildren, grumbled the Iffin, shaking himself angrily, while Peter hastily recovered Jack's pumpkin head and put it back where it belonged. "I'll pay him up for that slide. Come on boys, let's try it again. Can a trick tunnel hold us back now?"

Peter looked inquiringly at Belfaygor and Belfaygor clipping a length from his beard looked doubtfully at Peter but Jack, holding his head with both hands, expressed in no uncertain terms his complete unwillingness to ever enter the treacherous tunnel again.

"But we must go on," said Snif stubbornly: "If we will just consider, we'll find some simple way To tread this tipsy tunnel, and we'll try it, come what may!"

"Well I'm not May, and I think the way we came was simple enough," complained Jack. "I never felt more simple in my life, and look at the dent in my head!"

"Maybe if we run through as fast as we can and get hold of the iron ring in the door before the tunnel tilts we won't spill out," suggested Peter, examining a long scratch on his knee. "I'll go first," he volunteered gamely, "and all of you can hold on to me." Snif and Belfaygor immediately approved of this plan and Jack finally, not desiring to be left, consented to go. First Peter put Snif in his pocket, then Belfaygor caught hold of Peter's coat tails and Jack caught hold of Belfaygor's. Taking a long breath, Peter dashed into the tunnel and never, even when he was making a home run, had he sprinted along any faster, Jack and the Baron clattering along as best they could behind him.

Just as Peter reached the tunnel end and grasped the iron ring, the tunnel tipped a second time. But Peter hung on to the ring and others hung on to Peter. Several coat seams ripped, but when the tunnel finally righted itself they were still inside. Before it could tilt again, Peter turned the ring, opened the wooden door and stepped into a large cobble-stone courtyard.

Straight ahead rose the grim gray walls and b.u.t.tressed towers of Baffleburg. As they tiptoed nearer, they could hear the sharp ring of horses'

hoofs on the other side of the wall.

"Shall I fly over and see what's going on?" asked Snif, fluttering excitedly out of Peter's pocket.

"No! No!" begged the little boy hurriedly. "Let's all stay together.

I'll ring that bell over the city gates and when the guards carry us to MoG.o.dore we'll open the sack as we planned!" Running forward, Peter seized the chain attached to a huge bell over the gates and gave it a tremendous pull. It was impossible to see into Baffleburg, as the gates were backed with panels of wood and the walls themselves were high as sky sc.r.a.pers. As the wild clanging of the bell died away, the four adventurers drew closer together. But nothing at all happened. -Again Peter jerked the iron chain but still no one came to open the gates.

"They refuse to admit us," puffed Belfaygor, with a furious clip at his whiskers. "What now?" Before they had time to decide upon any plan, four towers rising from the city's walls suddenly tilted downward, and shooting from their tops came a perfect shower of golden spears. Throwing themselves flat upon the cobbles, Peter and his companions managed to escape injury. Time and again the tilting towers rose and fell, spraying the courtyard with spears. By crawling close to the walls and lying perfectly flat, the four adventurers were able to keep out of their way, but as Peter reflected gloomily, they could not lie under the wall forever. He was considering whether or not to open the pirate's sack and see if it would swallow the spears, when Belfaygor touched him on the shoulder.

"When the tower nearest me tilts again, I shall jump in the window," whispered the baron. "You and Jack must follow. By keeping directly under the tower you will avoid the spears.

"Wait!" gasped Peter, horrified at Belfaygor's daring scheme. But Belfaygor, shaking his head determinedly, leaped to his feet, and as the tower came tilting down he plunged headfirst into the window nearest to the ground.

"Hooka-ma-roosters!" choked the Iffin. "How did he do that?"

"How are we to do it?" panted Peter, as all four towers shot up into place again. Motionless and terrified they waited for them to descend, but the Baffleburghers, evidently deciding that their visitors were utterly routed, had turned off the machinery and all four towers stopped tilting.

There was no possible way into the city now, and completely baffled Peter stared angrily up at the thick gray walls.

"Now I'll have to fly over," muttered Snif nervously. "Maybe I can open the gates."

"A signal!" called Jack suddenly. "A signal! Squash and turnip tops! It's Belfaygor's beard!" Looking where Jack pointed, Peter and the Iffin saw Belfaygor himself outlined in the window of the nearest tower.

And pouring over the sill and growing steadily downward were the wonderful and ever dependable red whiskers.

"We can climb his beard," cried Peter excitedly. "Come on, it's almost long enough!" This was evidently what Belfaygor intended, for when they looked again, they could see him twining his beard round a huge spike on the sill. Then he waved his hand, and Peter, tightening his belt, climbed boldly aloft, looking back now and then to call encouragement to Jack Pumpkinhead. In less than a minute they were all safely inside the tower, for the Iffin had flown up with no trouble at all. The tower room was cheerless and without furniture. A spiral stairway in the center led downward. At the thought of conquering another city, Peter's impatience and excitement grew. If only some of the boys could be along, or his grandfather! He tried to picture Belfaygor's amazement when the pirate's sack should come into action, and seizing the baron's arm fairly dragged him to the stair.

"I suppose if we go down these steps we'll come out in the courtyard, for this certainly is the fort," puffed Peter, clattering ahead.

"All we do is climb up and down," groaned Jack Pumpkinhead.

"I'll bet it's a million steps to the bottom."

"Oh, not that many," grinned Peter, looking down at Snif, who was comfortably seated on his shoulder. Quietly cutting his beard Belfaygor stepped after Peter and Jack resignedly brought up at the end of the procession.

CHAPTER 11.

In the Castle of MoG.o.dore.

NOW to get ourselves captured," whispered Peter eagerly, as they finally reached the bottom of the stair.

"It should not be difficult," answered Snif, who had flown ahead and now came back to rest on Peter's shoulder. "Behold! Be bold! Look!

Gaze and tremble!" Stepping out of the dim tower into the courtyard of the fort, Peter gave a little whistle of consternation and surprise. Drawn up in glittering rows were a thousand mounted men in armor, each holding a golden spear.

"Something's afoot here," muttered Belfaygor behind his waving whiskers.

"You mean a horse, don't you?" corrected Jack, straightening his head and dusting a cobweb off his chin. "Is that sack quite ready Peter?"

Peter nodded and as one of the armored riders caught sight of the intruders and galloped furiously forward, he called boldly, "Conduct us to your chief.

We have important tidings to impart."

"Impart them to me," ordered the horseman, lifting his visor and frowning down at the little boy. "Impart them to me, or I'll p.r.i.c.k ye over yon wall."

"If you so much as raise your spear. I'll bite your nose, I'll chew your ear! You'll vanish, melt and disappear. We're all magicians, do you hear?"

shrieked the Iffin, flying in dizzy circles about the rider's head.

"Avaunt varlet," rasped Belfaygor, tossing his beard over his shoulder with a lordly gesture, "our business is with your Master!" The circling little Iffin, the strange appearance of Jack Pumpkinhead and the wildly waving whiskers of Belfaygor all tended to bewilder the horseman.

For a moment he hesitated, then galloping back, conferred anxiously with one of his companions. After much head shaking and arm waving, they both rode forward, and beckoning - for the travellers to follow them, trotted briskly under a stone archway that led up to the town itself.

"That was easy," chuckled Peter, trudging gaily after the mailed riders. "They think we're magicians, Snif."

"We'll have to be to get out of here," muttered the little monster uneasily. "Be careful, boy, be carefuller than careful!"

"Every step brings us nearer to the Princess," said Belfaygor, tripping over his beard and fixing his eyes hopefully on the castle tower. But it was many weary steps to the palace, and the one cobbled street of Baffleburg was both steep and narrow. Red stone cottages perched on the cliffs at either side, and now and then a curious head was stuck out as the little procession went pounding by. But at last they came to the red gates of the castle itself, and after a short parley with the guards were admitted.

Leaving their horses in the courtyard, the two warriors hustled their charges into the baronial hall of the mountain chief. Looking around the great hall, Peter decided that it was just the kind of castle he had always dreamed of owning. His eyes shone as they rested on the jewelled swords and armor that decorated the walls. But he was quickly brought back to the dangerous business in hand by the stern voice of their guide.

"Magicians with an important message to impart," announced the first man, dipping his spear in a salute to MoG.o.dore. In full fighting regalia, the Baron of Baffleburg sat at a long table in the center of the hall, poring over an old map of Oz and trying to decide at what point to attack the capitol. Back of him stood Wagarag, in a hastily a.s.sembled armor of iron pots and sauce pans. Next to Wagarag lounged Bragga, Captain of the Guard and Smerker, Chief Scorner of the realm.

"Magicians!" rumbled MoG.o.dore looking up impatiently. "That accounts for them getting into the city. Magicians, eh! Well they look like a pack of peddlars. Scorn them," he ordered, contemptuously jerking his thumb at Smerker. Now Peter had never been scorned in his life and wanted to see how it was done. So instead of immediately opening the pirate's sack he stood staring curiously at Smerker. Leaning forward, the Chief Scorner seized a key-like handle that seemed to be attached to his nose and turned it straight upward. At the same time he curled back his lips in a truly astonishing manner.

"Ho! Ha! Ha!" roared Snif, holding on to Peter with both claws: "If this be scorning, we are scorned! With what a nose he is adorned."

Peter felt like laughing himself, but the Chief Scorner, paying no attention at all to the Iffin, now s.n.a.t.c.hed a sauce box from his sleeve and opening it with a quick jerk, held it out toward the travellers, Immediately the sauce box began to scold and berate them in the most harsh and abusive terms making more noise than a dozen radios and filling the air with such a horrid racket that Peter covered his ears and the others, without meaning to, backed toward the door. Satisfied that his Chief Scorner had subdued the intruders, MoG.o.dore motioned for Smerker to close the sauce box.

"Now throw them out," he barked with a wave at Bragga. "I've wasted too much time already." But as Bragga stepped forward to obey this command, Belfaygor, snipping a long piece from his beard stepped boldly up to the baron and thumping his fist on the table demanded in a loud voice, "What have you done with my Princess? Where is Shirley Sunshine?"

Boldened by this spirited action, Jack Pumpkinhead stepped up beside him. "Release this maiden at once, you rude, rash robber, you-you Princess snapper," he cried.

"Have the sack ready, quick," whispered Snif to Peter, as MoG.o.dore stared angrily at the strange pair.

"So that's it," grunted the Baron of Baffleburg. "I see now that you are Belfaygor of Bourne, hiding like a coward behind false whiskers. Well, you shall not marry this Princess, for she is to marry me-MoG.o.dore the Mighty!"

"Mighty what?" inquired Jack Pumpkinhead curiously.

"Mighty mighty, you impertinent fool, mighty important you ridiculous pumpkin head. Smite him," bellowed the Baron with a wrathful wave at Jack. "Remove this whiskered pest," he roared in the next breath with another wave at Belfaygor.

"So you're MoG.o.dore the smitey. Well don't you dare smite me,"

challenged Jack, shaking his wooden fist under MoG.o.dore's nose. "There stands Peter, the pitcher from Philadelphia. On his shoulder sits a fabulous monster who may devour you any minute."

As MoG.o.dore, rather startled by this long rigamarole, half rose in his chair, Jack vigorously rang the Red Jinn's bell and down upon the table flashed the little black slave, set down his tray and vanished. MoG.o.dore's retainers screamed with fright, and the Baron himself blinked with astonishment, but when Jack rang the bell a second time, Biggen and Little sprang forward and seized the little slave by the wrists. In a twinkling the slave disappeared. Biggen and Little also disappeared.

"You see," quavered Jack in a slightly unsteady voice, "I am a great magician!"

"Then bring back my guards," yelled MoG.o.dore, stamping his foot furiously.

"Give back my Princess," retorted Belfaygor just as furiously.

Thinking it about time to put an end to this dangerous discussion, Peter pulled the pirate's sack from his shoulders and was about to unfasten the cord, when he was seized suddenly from behind and both arms pinioned closely to his sides.

"This pitcher's trying some more magic tricks," panted the spearman indignantly. He had crept up quietly behind Peter, and in spite of the little boy's struggles, MoG.o.dore's big soldier held him fast.

"We hang pitchers on the wall here!" boomed MoG.o.dore, glaring fiercely at Peter. (I regret to say the big baron did not know the difference between picture and pitcher.) "Hold that pitcher-seize that whiskered rascal and behead that pumpkinheaded dunce! Enough of this nonsense.

When I return from the Emerald City I'll make them produce Biggen and Little and behead them all!" promised MoG.o.dore, striding up and down with a great clash and clatter of armor. "Is Princess Shirley ready? I wait for no man and precious few women!"

"I will see, your Highness!" Touching the iron pot he was wearing for a helmet, Wagarag hurried from the hall and while Peter in helpless rage looked on, Bragga seized Belfaygor, the other spearman caught Jack and flung him across the center table and unfeelingly struck off his head.

Such was the force of blow, Jack's pumpkin bounced to the floor, rolled through a tapestry-curtained door and disappeared. At this dreadful turn of affairs, Peter gave a groan and Snif almost succeeded in growling, but being unable to open the pirate's sack they were completely at the mercy of MoG.o.dore and his men.

"Lock them up on the North tower till my return, and know that I will return a King," boasted MoG.o.dore, placing his hand proudly upon the hilt of his sword. "We march upon the Emerald City this very morning, I'll marry Shirley Sunshine in the capitol and be crowned King of Oz before night fall."

"What!" gasped Peter, scarcely believing his ears.

"You'll be sorry for this," bawled Belfaygor, slashing with his shears at the Captain of the Guard. Poor Jack said nothing, for without a head what could he say? Threatening and struggling, Peter and Belfaygor were dragged off to the dungeons in the North tower, Snif doing what he could to release them by biting and scratching the hands and faces of the guards, but he was too little to help much and both were securely locked up.

In his struggle with the spearman, Peter had dropped the pirate sack, and exhausted and discouraged he sank down on the stone bench in his dark little dungeon. The window was high above his head and let in only a feeble ray of light and the stone cell so small he could touch both sides by extending his arms. Snif had come with him, but Belfaygor had been locked in a dungeon higher up in the tower. Things certainly had not gone as planned-in fact they were in worse plight than anyone could have imagined.

"Isn't this doggone?" groaned Peter glumly. "Jack's lost his head, I've lost the sack and Belfaygor will probably smother in whiskers! If someone doesn't warn Ozma, the Emerald City will be taken in no time.

There's only one Knight and one soldier in the palace and the soldier can't fight at all. If Ozma doesn't know MoG.o.dore is coming, so that she and the Wizard can start up their magic, they'll all be captured and the whole city destroyed. I wonder whatever put the notion of conquering Oz in MoG.o.dore's head? Darn! Doggone! I wish I could get out of here!" Doubling up his fists, Peter pounded on the dungeon door.

"Maybe I can squeeze through the bars and fly off to warn Ozma of this villain's coming," said the Iffin, but the bars were so close together that even Snif could not slip through and in great discouragement the two prisoners sat side by side on the hard stone bench. Presently ten shrill blasts from the bugles and the clatter of hoofs on the cobbles below told that MoG.o.dore had really started for the Emerald City.

"Now I'll never have any grandchildren," choked the Iffin, a tear trickling off the end of his nose.

"And I'll never get back to Philadelphia, or be an air mail pilot,"

sighed Peter, clasping his hands behind his head and starting gloomily at the wall.

And I am sure each of you would have felt gloomy, if you had been in Peter's plight.

CHAPTER 12.

The Escape from Baffleburg.

AS THE rattle of hoofs and sound of bugles died away, Peter, looking down at Snif noticed that his eyes were growing larger and larger.

"Stop!" breathed Peter, nervously edging away and brushing his hand across his forehead.

"Stop what?" grunted the Iffin crossly. "I'm not doing anything."

"But your eyes," screamed Peter, edging still further away, "and your ears! Why your ears are as big as you are. Help! Help! Look out. Are you going to explode?"

Before Snif could touch his ear with his claw or wonder what Peter was yelling about, he expanded like a balloon, filling the entire dungeon and squeezing Peter flat against the wall. The effect of the shrinking violets had worn off at last, and with the Iffin rapidly reaching his former size and strength, there was no room in the box-like cell. To keep from crushing Peter, he pressed against the bars of the dungeon. The force with which he shot up to his full and former size tore the door from its hinges and bent out the bars like wax. While Snif stood terrified and trembling with surprise, Peter, with great presence of mind, pressed past him, slipped through the bent bars and unlocked the dungeon door.

"We're free," gasped the little boy, as Snif tumbled head first from their cell. "We're free and you're big and strong again. We can fly to the Emerald City right away and save Ozma and everybody."

"If-I~ever-get-my~breath, you mean, wheezed Snif, leaning against the wall and puffing like a porpoise. "Wh~ew! Growing up is almost as bad as shrinking down."