“Isn’t anyone going to get my egg?” cried the hen, in great excitement.
“I’ll get it,” said the Scarecrow; and at his command the Sawhorse pranced into the bushes. The straw man soon found the egg, which he placed in his jacket pocket. The cavalcade, having moved rapidly on, was even then far in advance; but it did not take the Sawhorse long to catch up with it, and presently the Scarecrow was riding in his accustomed place behind Ozma’s chariot.
“What shall I do with the egg?” he asked Dorothy.
“I do not know,” the girl answered. “Perhaps the Hungry Tiger would like it.”
“It would not be enough to fill one of my back teeth,” remarked the Tiger. “A bushel of them, hard boiled, might take a little of the edge off my appetite; but one egg isn’t good for anything at all, that I know of.”
“No; it wouldn’t even make a sponge cake,” said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. “The Tin Woodman might carry it with his axe and hatch it; but after all I may as well keep it myself for a souvenir.” So he left it in his pocket.
They had now reached that part of the valley that lay between the two high mountains which Dorothy had seen from her tower window. At the far end was the third great mountain, which blocked the valley and was the northern edge of the Land of Ev. It was underneath this mountain that the Nome King’s palace was said to be; but it would be some time before they reached that place.
The path was becoming rocky and difficult for the wheels of the chariot to pass over, and presently a deep gulf appeared at their feet which was too wide for them to leap. So Ozma took a small square of green cloth from her pocket and threw it upon the ground. At once it became the magic carpet, and unrolled itself far enough for all the cavalcade to walk upon. The chariot now advanced, and the green carpet unrolled before it, crossing the gulf on a level with its banks, so that all passed over in safety.
“That’s easy enough,” said the Scarecrow. “I wonder what will happen next.”
He was not long in making the discovery, for the sides of the mountain came closer together until finally there was but a narrow path between them, along which Ozma and her party were forced to pass in single file.
They now heard a low and deep “thump!—thump!—thump!” which echoed throughout the valley and seemed to grow louder as they advanced. Then, turning a corner of rock, they saw before them a huge form, which towered above the path for more than a hundred feet. The form was that of a gigantic man built out of plates of cast iron, and it stood with one foot on either side of the narrow road and swung over its right shoulder an immense iron mallet, with which it constantly pounded the earth. These resounding blows explained the thumping sounds they had heard, for the mallet was much bigger than a barrel, and where it struck the path between the rocky sides of the mountain it filled all the space through which our travelers would be obliged to pass.
Of course they at once halted, a safe distance away from the terrible iron mallet. The magic carpet would do them no good in this case, for it was only meant to protect them from any dangers upon the ground beneath their feet, and not from dangers that appeared in the air above them.
“Wow!” said the Cowardly Lion, with a shudder. “It makes me dreadfully nervous to see that big hammer pounding so near my head. One blow would crush me into a door-mat.”
“The ir-on gi-ant is a fine fel-low,” said Tiktok, “and works as stead-i-ly as a clock. He was made for the Nome King by Smith & Tin-ker, who made me, and his du-ty is to keep folks from finding the un-der-ground pal-ace. Is he not a great work of art?”
“Can he think, and speak, as you do?” asked Ozma, regarding the giant with wondering eyes.
“No,” replied the machine; “he is on-ly made to pound the road, and has no thinking or speaking at-tach-ment. But he pounds ve-ry well, I think.”
“Too well,” observed the Scarecrow. “He is keeping us from going farther. Is there no way to stop his machinery?”
“On-ly the Nome King, who has the key, can do that,” answered Tiktok.
“Then,” said Dorothy, anxiously, “what shall we do?”
“Excuse me for a few minutes,” said the Scarecrow, “and I will think it over.”
He retired, then, to a position in the rear, where he turned his painted face to the rocks and began to think.
Meantime the giant continued to raise his iron mallet high in the air and to strike the path terrific blows that echoed through the mountains like the roar of a cannon. Each time the mallet lifted, however, there was a moment when the path beneath the monster was free, and perhaps the Scarecrow had noticed this, for when he came back to the others he said:
“The matter is a very simple one, after all. We have but to run under the hammer, one at a time, when it is lifted, and pass to the other side before it falls again.”
“It will require quick work, if we escape the blow,” said the Tin Woodman, with a shake of his head. “But it really seems the only thing to be done. Who will make the first attempt?”
They looked at one another hesitatingly for a moment. Then the Cowardly Lion, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind, said to them:
“I suppose the head of the procession must go first—and that’s me. But I’m terribly afraid of the big hammer!”
“What will become of me?” asked Ozma. “You might rush under the hammer yourself, but the chariot would surely be crushed.”
“We must leave the chariot,” said the Scarecrow. “But you two girls can ride upon the backs of the Lion and the Tiger.”
So this was decided upon, and Ozma, as soon as the Lion was unfastened from the chariot, at once mounted the beast’s back and said she was ready.
“Cling fast to his mane,” advised Dorothy. “I used to ride him myself, and that’s the way I held on.”
So Ozma clung fast to the mane, and the lion crouched in the path and eyed the swinging mallet carefully until he knew just the instant it would begin to rise in the air.
Then, before anyone thought he was ready, he made a sudden leap straight between the iron giant’s legs, and before the mallet struck the ground again the Lion and Ozma were safe on the other side.
The Tiger went next. Dorothy sat upon his back and locked her arms around his striped neck, for he had no mane to cling to. He made the leap straight and true as an arrow from a bow, and ere Dorothy realized it she was out of danger and standing by Ozma’s side.
Now came the Scarecrow on the Sawhorse, and while they made the dash in safety they were within a hair’s breadth of being caught by the descending hammer.
Tiktok walked up to the very edge of the spot the hammer struck, and as it was raised for the next blow he calmly stepped forward and escaped its descent. That was an idea for the Tin Woodman to follow, and he also crossed in safety while the great hammer was in the air. But when it came to the twenty-six officers and the private, their knees were so weak that they could not walk a step.
“In battle we are wonderfully courageous,” said one of the generals, “and our foes find us very terrible to face. But war is one thing and this is another. When it comes to being pounded upon the head by an iron hammer, and smashed into pancakes, we naturally object.”
“Make a run for it,” urged the Scarecrow.
“Our knees shake so that we cannot run,” answered a captain. “If we should try it we would all certainly be pounded to a jelly.”
“Well, well,” sighed the Cowardly Lion, “I see, friend Tiger, that we must place ourselves in great danger to rescue this bold army. Come with me, and we will do the best we can.”
So, Ozma and Dorothy having already dismounted from