Oz - Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz Part 3

panted the Iffin, flattening back his ears: "If that looks like it sounds, I prefer not to look; It's either a Snort or a sort of Gazook."

Before Jack could inquire what a Snort or Gazook might be, before the Iffin could even turn, steps came pattering toward them, and out through the trees rushed a tall, trembling old man in a red cloak.

"I am a mess! I am a mess! I am a mess!" he croaked, flinging out both arms desperately.

"Tut! Tut!" reproved the Iffin, putting up his ears. If you don't shout it so loud, maybe no one will find you out. Keep it quiet, I beg of you."

"I am a mess, I am a mess, a miserable 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 ill.u.s.trious Master. Alas! Alas! What have I done! Unhappy him! Unhappy I! Unhappy us. I am a mess! I am a mess! A most mis-er-able 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 s.h.i.+ning 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!" 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, MoG.o.dore 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?"

"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 stepped 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 hoa.r.s.ely. "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 s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne?" The Baron looked so tired and dejected that Peter felt sorry for him.

"Is s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne the Princess you are to marry?" he asked curiously. "Who is this MoG.o.dore? Why not tell us the whole story, maybe we can help you?"

"If wings will help and a magic sack, You'll soon have your little Princess back,"

promised the Iffin, sitting on his haunches beside Peter. "Speak,"

he urged, raising his claw imperiously. "Speak, for we are all attention."

CHAPTER 7.

Belfaygor's Strange Story.

WITH a gusty sigh, the red baron looked from one to another and then, fixing his eyes sadly on Peter, he began to speak. Since the extremely sensible suggestion of Jack Pumpkinhead, his beard no longer poured round his ankles but, sweeping over his shoulder, disappeared in a red streak between the trees. Every little while he would cut it off, and the steady snip-snip of the shears ran like a sharp punctuation all through the strange story of his misfortune.

"This morning," confided Belfaygor in a mournful voice, "this morning I was the happiest Lord in the Land, for my marriage with s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne, 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 MoG.o.dore's retainers, and as they came nearer still I saw that MoG.o.dore 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 calvacade thundered by. As they disappeared, I heard two of the riders boasting that MoG.o.dore would marry s.h.i.+rley Suns.h.i.+ne tomorrow 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 s.n.a.t.c.h her away from this bandit."

"I'm afraid you have never heard of MoG.o.dore," interrupted the baron, shaking his head despairingly. "No one has ever entered the City of Baffleburg or returned alive from MoG.o.dore's mountain."

"If that is so, we'll be the first; To tame this wretch or know the worst,"

roared the Iffin, coming to his feet with a bound.

"I guess you never heard of Peter," said Jack Pumpkinhead, rising with great dignity. "This boy"-he waved impressively in Peter's direction- "has just conquered the entire City of Scares and the last time he was in Oz he saved the Emerald City from the Gnome King."

While Belfaygor looked incredulously at the little boy, Jack told of their morning's experiences in Chimneyville and Scare City.

"Have you still got the pirate's sack?" asked Belfaygor, forgetting to clip his beard in his extreme interest and astonishment. "That magic dinner bell-what is it? Do you suppose you could carry us all to Baffleburg?"

Eagerly he turned to Snif. The Iffin raised both of his powerful wings and shook his head confidently, while Jack held up the dinner bell and Peter showed the famous sack.

"We'll be there in no time," cried Peter, "and with all this magic I don't see how MoG.o.dore can conquer us, do you?"

Belfaygor was so cheered and encouraged by this little speech that he dropped both pairs of shears and embraced Peter upon the spot.

"You shall be knighted for this, my boy," he promised. "You, too,"

he added, pressing Jack's wooden fingers earnestly.

"What about me?" inquired Snif, raising a claw solemnly.

"If this keeps up we'll all be knighted; Sir Jack! Sir Pete, why am I slighted?"

"You're not," promised Belfaygor, picking up his shears and beginning furiously. "You'll be knighted, too."

"Well, if you insist," murmured the 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 MoG.o.dore'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 MoG.o.dore 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 MoG.o.dore a splendid view of the whole valley beneath.

"If I fly too near, a golden spear may interrupt our flight; So let's descend and mix a little stratagem with might."

muttered the Iffin, coasting cautiously downward.

"Stratagem's a big word," sighed Jack Pumpkinhead. "What does it mean?"

"A plan to confuse the enemy," explained Peter as the Iffin's feet touched the rocky ground on the other side of the chasm. "We must find the best place to drop into the city, the best way to use the pirate's sack and the quickest plan for finding the Princess."

Belfaygor was the first to dismount. Throwing his beard impatiently over his shoulder, he frowned gloomily up at the MoG.o.dore'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 n.o.bleman, 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 MoG.o.dore and all the fighting men we can safely search for the Princess and escape.

"How do you know the sack won't swallow her too?" questioned Belfaygor uneasily.

"Because," said Peter looking up at the tallest tower in the castle, "I believe she's locked up there. They always lock the Princess up in the tower," he finished confidently.

"You think of everything. " Jack Pumpkinhead stared down at the little boy admiringly and Snif, who had been scouting around for a stray geranium, waved an approving claw at Peter.

"If that's the plan, let's have a bite; And quietly stay here till night!"

"But what shall we eat?" said Belfaygor, clipping at his whiskers despondently. Jack chuckled at this, and drawing out the Red Jinn's bell rang it imperiously. At once the little black slave, bearing his silver tray, appeared before them. Placing the tray on Peter's knees he faded out of sight so suddenly that Belfaygor dropped his shears with a clatter. Though he had heard about the magic dinner bell the unexpected appearance of the dinner quite upset him.

"You take this one," said Peter generously, "and if you sit with your back to the chasm and throw your beard over your shoulder it will grow down into the opening and let you eat in peace.

"How can I ever thank you?" exclaimed the baron, seating himself as the little boy suggested. "Odds pasties, this looks most tempting!" With a long, tremulous sigh, Belfaygor fell upon the appetizing repast of roast beef and plum pudding. Then Jack rang the bell again and the slave appeared with a tray for Peter. He was about to ring up another dinner for Snif but the Iffin shook his head.

"I've had enough for one day," he told them firmly, "and if Peter will give me that bunch of violets, everything will be perfectly perk!" As an extra touch a small bunch of violets had been placed beside Peter's dinner plate. Tossing them gaily to the Iffin and thinking as he did so how curious it was here for so huge a beast to dine upon flowers, Peter started in on his own dinner. With both hands clasped behind him, Jack watched the sun sink down behind the grim red mountain, and Peter and Belfaygor were so hungry that neither spoke till all the plates on their trays were empty. Then, with a satisfied sigh, Peter stood up and as the trays disappeared began looking around for Snif. But there was no sign of the Iffin anywhere!

"Oh!" gasped Peter anxiously, forgetting for the moment that Snif could fly, "he must have fallen into the chasm." Calling to Jack and the baron, he started to run along the edge of the ravine, striking impatiently at a small creature that kept beating its wings in his face. He thought he had brushed it aside when, with an angry screech, it fastened its claws in his shoulder.

"If you hit me again, I'll bite your ear; Attention! Pause! Stop! Look and hear!"

At the familiar verses, Peter did stop, and glancing down he saw a creature no bigger than a squirrel perched on his shoulder.

"It's me," wailed a desperate voice, as the tiny beast leaned over and rubbed its head against his cheek.

"Those violets," it choked bitterly, "those violets were shrinking violets, Peter. Look at me! I've shrunk! I might just as well throw myself away.

"Don't," gulped Peter, as the Iffin started to hurl itself from his shoulder. "I like you little~"

"Well I like him big," announced Jack unfeelingly. "And who's to carry us over the chasm now, may I ask?"

"Oh!" groaned Belfaygor, tripping over his whiskers after one horrified look at the little monster, "everything is over! Everything is over now!"

"So's your old beard," mumbled Jack in an annoyed voice. Picking up the shears Belfaygor had dropped he cut length after length from the enchanted red beard, while the baron continued to wring his hands and groan and Peter tried in vain to comfort the Iffin.

CHAPTER 8.

A Way to Cross the Chasm.

I'LL WAGER that old Jinn did this on purpose," declared Jack indignantly. "I'll ring that dumbbell again and the boy's neck, tool"

"It wasn't his fault," put in Peter, lifting Snif from his shoulder and thoughtfully stroking the small red head. "I don't suppose those violets were meant to be eaten."