LITMIR.BIZ

      10. The Giant with the Hammer

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      The road led for a time through a pretty farm country, and then past a picnic grove that was very inviting. But the procession continued to steadily advance until Billina cried in an abrupt and commanding manner:

      “Wait—wait!”

      Ozma stopped her chariot so suddenly that the Scarecrow’s Sawhorse nearly ran into it, and the ranks of the army tumbled over one another before they could come to a halt. Immediately the yellow hen struggled from Dorothy’s arms and flew into a clump of bushes by the roadside.

      “What’s the matter?” called the Tin Woodman, anxiously.

      “Why, Billina wants to lay her egg, that’s all,” said Dorothy.

      “Lay her egg!” repeated the Tin Woodman, in astonishment.

      “Yes; she lays one every morning, about this time; and it’s quite fresh,” said the girl.

      “But does your foolish old hen suppose that this entire cavalcade, which is bound on an important adventure, is going to stand still while she lays her egg?” enquired the Tin Woodman, earnestly.

      “What else can we do?” asked the girl. “It’s a habit of Billina’s and she can’t break herself of it.”

      “Then she must hurry up,” said the Tin Woodman, impatiently.

      “No, no!” exclaimed the Scarecrow. “If she hurries she may lay scrambled eggs.”

      “That’s nonsense,” said Dorothy. “But Billina won’t be long, I’m sure.”

      So they stood and waited, although all were restless and anxious to proceed. And by and by the yellow hen came from the bushes saying:

      “Kut-kut, kut, ka-daw-kutt! Kut, kut, kut—ka-daw-kut!”

      “What is she doing—singing her lay?” asked the Scarecrow.

      “Forward—march!” shouted the Tin Woodman, waving his axe, and the procession started just as Dorothy had once more grabbed Billina in her arms.

      “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,

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