On the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. Dorothy and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water, and the others made haste to join her. The Wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he mended the cuts Jim had received from the claws of the bears.

  “I think we’d better stick to the river, after this,” said Dorothy. “If our unknown friend hadn’t warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead by this time.”

  “That is true,” agreed the Wizard, “and as the river seems to be flowing in the direction of the Pyramid Mountain it will be the easiest way for us to travel.”

  Zeb hitched Jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them rapidly over the smooth water. The kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of getting wet, but Dorothy let her down and soon Eureka was frisking along beside the buggy without being scared a bit. Once a little fish swam too near the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as a wink; but Dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach.

  After a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved, and they found they must cross a mile or so of the Valley before they came to the Pyramid Mountain. There were few houses in this part, and few orchards or flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears, which they had learned to dread with all their hearts.

  “You’ll have to make a dash, Jim,” said the Wizard, “and run as fast as you can go.”

  “All right,” answered the horse; “I’ll do my best. But you must remember I’m old, and my dashing days are past and gone.”

  All three got into the buggy and Zeb picked up the reins, though Jim needed no guidance of any sort. The horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made Dorothy catch her breath.

  Then Zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and Jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. His boney legs moved so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the Wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled “Whoa!” at the top of his voice.

  “I—I’m ‘fraid he’s—he’s running away!” gasped Dorothy.

  “I KNOW he is,” said Zeb; “but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait—and the harness or the buggy don’t break.”

  Jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the Wizard and Zeb both sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass—where they rolled over several times before they stopped. Dorothy nearly went with them, but she was holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. She squeezed the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at them all.

  10. The Braided Man of Pyramid Mountain

  The mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point was lost in the clouds. Directly facing the place where Jim had stopped was an arched opening leading to a broad stairway. The stairs were cut in the rock inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight began the circle was quite big. At the foot of the stairs was a sign reading:

  WARNING. These steps lead to the Land of the Gargoyles. DANGER! KEEP OUT.

  “I wonder how Jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs,” said Dorothy, gravely.

  “No trouble at all,” declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. “Still, I don’t care to drag any passengers. You’ll all have to walk.”

  “Suppose the stairs get steeper?” suggested Zeb, doubtfully.

  “Then you’ll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that’s all,” answered Jim.

  “We’ll try it, anyway,” said the Wizard. “It’s the only way to get out of the Valley of Voe.”

  So they began to ascend the stairs, Dorothy and the Wizard first, Jim next, drawing the buggy, and then Zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness.

  The light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the Wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. But this enabled them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. Looking through this opening they could see the Valley of Voe lying far below them, the cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance.

  After resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs were broad and low enough for Jim to draw the buggy easily after him. The old horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. At such times they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure to make one’s legs ache.

  They wound about, always going upward, for some time. The lights from the lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a second landing.

  Here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge.

  The opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the Valley of Voe, and our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. Below them was a vast space, at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which little tongues of flame constantly shot up. Just above them, and almost on a level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly shifted position and changed color. The blues and greys were very beautiful, and Dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy forms of beautiful beings who must have been the Cloud Fairies. Mortals who stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the dainty fairies very clearly.

  “Are they real?” asked Zeb, in an awed voice.

  “Of course,” replied Dorothy, softly. “They are the Cloud Fairies.”

  “They seem like open-work,” remarked the boy, gazing intently. “If I should squeeze one, there wouldn’t be anything left of it.”

  In the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath, could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the air. These birds were of enormous size, and reminded Zeb of the rocs he had read about in the Arabian Nights. They had fierce eyes and sharp talons and beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern.

  “Well, I declare!” suddenly exclaimed the little Wizard. “What in the world is this?”

  They turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. He was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard. These were so long that they reached to his feet, and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon.

  “Where did you come from?” asked Dorothy, wonderingly.

  “No place at all,” answered the man with the braids; “that is, not recently. Once I lived on top the earth, but for many years I have had my factory in this spot—half way up Pyramid Mountain.”

  “Are we only half way up?” enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone.

  “I believe so, my lad,” replied the braided man. “But as I have never been in either direction, down or up, since I arrived, I cannot be positive whether it is exactly half way or not.”

  “Have you a factory in this place?” asked the Wizard, who had been examining the strange personage carefully.

  “To be sure,” said the other. “I am a great inventor, you must know, and I manufacture my products in this lonely spot.”

  “What are your products?” enquired the Wizard.

  “Well, I make Assorted Flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of Rustles for ladies’ silk gowns.”

  “I thought so,” said the Wizard, with a sigh. “May we examine some of these articles?”

  “Yes, indeed; come into my shop, please,” and the braided man turned and led the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. Here, on a broad shelf, were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord.

  “This,” said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently, “contains twelve dozen rustles—enough to last any lady a year. Will you buy it, my dear?” he asked, addressing Dorothy.

  “My gown isn’t silk,” she said, smiling.

  “Never mind. When you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are wearing a silk dress or not,” said the man, seriously. Then he picked up another box. “In this,” he continued, “are many assorted flutters. They are invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. You, sir,” turning to the Wizard, “ought to have this assortment. Once you have tried my goods I am sure you will never be without them.”

  “I have no money with me,” said the Wizard, evasively.

  “I do not want money,” returned the braided man, “for I could not spend it in this deserted place if I had it. But I would like very much a blue hair-ribbon. You will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red, green, white and black; but I have no blue ribbons.”

  “I’ll get you one!” cried Dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. It did her good to see how the braided man’s eyes sparkled when he received this treasure.

  “You have made me very, very happy, my dear!” he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the Wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles.

  “You may need them, some time,” he said, “and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them.”

  “Why did you leave the surface of the earth?” enquired the Wizard.

  “I could not help it. It is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears I will tell you about it. On earth I was a manufacturer of Imported Holes for American Swiss Cheese, and I will acknowledge that I supplied a superior article, which was in great demand. Also I made pores for porous plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. Finally I invented a new Adjustable Post-hole, which I thought would make my fortune. I manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which to store them I set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground. That made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down into the earth; and, as I leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, I lost my balance and tumbled in. Unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast space you see outside this mountain; but I managed to catch a point of rock that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would certainly have consumed me. Here, then, I made my home; and although it is a lonely place I amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very nicely.”

  When the braided man had completed this strange tale Dorothy nearly laughed, because it was all so absurd; but the Wizard tapped his forehead significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. So they politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their journey.

  11. They Meet the Wooden Gargoyles

  Another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where there was a rift in the mountain. On peering out all they could see was rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else.

  But the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the rocky floor the Wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny piglets. To his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they had passed beyond the influence of the magical Valley of Voe.

  “Why, we can see each other again!” cried one, joyfully.

  “Yes,” sighed Eureka; “and I also can see you again, and the sight makes me dreadfully hungry. Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little piglets? You’d never miss ONE of them, I’m sure!”

  “What a horrid, savage beast!” exclaimed a piglet; “and after we’ve been such good friends, too, and played with one another!”

  “When I’m not hungry, I love to play with you all,” said the kitten, demurely; “but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as a fat piglet.”

  “And we trusted you so!” said another of the nine, reproachfully.

  “And thought you were respectable!” said another.

  “It seems we were mistaken,” declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, “no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, I’m sure.”

  “You see, Eureka,” remarked Dorothy, reprovingly, “you are making yourself disliked. There are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but I never heard of a kitten eating a pig, under ANY cir’stances.”

  “Did you ever see such little pigs before?” asked the kitten. “They are no bigger than mice, and I’m sure mice are proper for me to eat.”

  “It isn’t the bigness, dear; its the variety,” replied the girl. “These are Mr. Wizard’s pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn’t be any more proper for you to eat them than it would be for Jim to eat you.”

  “And that’s just what I shall do if you don’t let those little balls of pork alone,” said Jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. “If you injure any one of them I’ll chew you up instantly.”

  The kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not.

  “In that case,” she said, “I’ll leave them alone. You haven’t many teeth left, Jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. So the piglets will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as I am concerned.”

  “That is right, Eureka,” remarked the Wizard, earnestly. “Let us all be a happy family and love one another.”

  Eureka yawned and stretched herself.

  “I’ve always loved the piglets,” she said; “but they don’t love me.”

  “No one can love a person he’s afraid of,” asserted Dorothy. “If you behave, and don’t scare the little pigs, I’m sure they’ll grow very fond of you.”

  The Wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed.

  “We must be pretty near the top, now,” said the boy, as they climbed wearily up the dark, winding stairway.

  “The Country of the Gurgles can’t be far from the top of the earth,” remarked Dorothy. “It isn’t very nice down here. I’d like to get home again, I’m sure.”

  No one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb. The stairs had become narrower and Zeb and the Wizard often had to help Jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls.

  At last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and stronger as they advanced.

  “Thank goodness we’re nearly there!” panted the little Wizard.

  Jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head above the rocky sides of the stairway. Then he halted, ducked down and began to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others.

  “Let’s go down again!” he said, in his hoarse voice.

  “Nonsense!” snapped the tired Wizard. “What’s the matter with you, old man?”

  “Everything,” grumbled the horse. “I’ve taken a look at this place, and it’s no fit country for real creatures to go to. Everything’s dead, up there—no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere.”

  “Never mind; we can’t turn back,” said Dorothy; “and we don’t intend to stay there, anyhow.”

  “It’s dangerous,” growled Jim, in a stubborn tone.

  “See here, my good steed,” broke in the Wizard, “little Dorothy and I have been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm. We’ve even been to the marvelous Land of Oz—haven’t we, Dorothy?—so we don’t much care what the Country of the Gargoyles is like. Go ahead, Jim, and whatever happens we’ll make the best of it.”

  “All right,” answered the horse; “this is your excursion, and not mine; so if you get into trouble don’t blame me.”

  With this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps. The others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld.

  “The Country of the Gargoyles is all wooden!” exclaimed Zeb; and so it was. The ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from trees, worn smooth in course of time. There were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards. The tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were shavings. The patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. Wooden birds fluttered among the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most amazing things of all were the wooden people—the creatures known as Gargoyles.