"Stop! STOP!" he yelled. "Robbers, villains, thieves, give back my golden spoon!" With each yell Max jumped a foot in the air, but even so he was making alarming progress. But he was no match for his long legged, fast stepping guardsman. Soon his screams grew fainter and fainter and finally could not be heard at all. Afraid to stop, Tompy banged away like a champion, wondering how long he could keep up the furious pace.
"Better'n walking," grunted Yankee, "and he's taking us in the right direction, too." Jounced unmercifully by the fellow's rapid strides the two had little breath for conversation. YZ had gone about five miles, when a sudden turn in the road brought them almost to the bank of a broad river. Convinced that the stupid guardsman would march straight into the river and sink to the bottom, Tompy, panicked by the prospect, tossed his drum sticks in the air. The same instant YZ stopped and so abruptly that his prisoners swung back and forth like pendulums, the gold spoon still clamped in the terrier's teeth, beating a veritable tatoo on his knee. Then plump, BUMP, the boy and the dog found themseEves sitting in the middle of the dusty road blinking with shock and astonishment. Of the guardsman there was not a single trace. YZ had vanished. Well, not completely, for between Yankee and Tompy lay a small heap of yellow powder.
"Free, we're free!" yelped the terrier leaping to his feet.
"But where'd he go?" choked Tompy looking wildly around.
"Who cares!" barked Yankee. Retrieving the drum sticks, he dropped them at Tompy's feet, then spying the gold spoon he brought that back, too. "Say--yay!" Catching sight of the mound of yellow powder, Yankee circled it warily. "Here's our guardsman!" he muttered. "So that's how Max does his powdered people over. Gives them a few taps with the gold spoon and, poof, they're nothing but powder. Heard that spoon clicking against his boots when he dropped me."
"You're absolutely right," agreed Tompy, touching the powder with the top of his shoe. "A lucky thing you stole that spoon, Yanky Dank. For after a while when I no longer could keep on drumming YZ would have tramped straight back to Tidy Town and we'd have had to listen to that old wind bag for the rest of our lives!"
"And a lucky thing you started drumming," sighed Yankee. "Why do you suppose it set him to marching?"
"Search me!" Tompy shrugged his shoulders. "In this country things seem to happen for no reason at all!"
"You know, I didn't trust that Mr. Mixed-up from the very start," stated the space dog kicking up a cloud of dust. "Pretty mean trick to stir up a guardsman to grab us instead of doing it himself. And how about that awful looking rig. Why didn't he have one of his tailors run him up some new suits?"
"Perhaps he had to look mixed up to mix up his packaged people?" surmised Tompy giving his drum a pleased little tap. "We'll never see him again, thank goodness!"
"Never gave us time to ask if he had seen anything of Aunt Doffi," grumbled Yankee, "and would not let us tell even a little bit of our story, after going on and ON about his old home kingdom and new mechanical town!"
"Don't YOU care!" Tompy leaned down to comfort him and straighten his harness and American flags. "When we get home people will listen to us."
"When we get home, I won't be able to talk. Had you thought of that?" wailed the space dog dismally. "I'm in no hurry to leave Oz, boy. I want to be all talked out before I go back to that bark and tail wagging routine. Besides," Yankee snuggled against Tompy's knee, "when we get back, I'll be at the base and you'll be off some other place."
"Let's not think about it," begged Tompy, burying his face in Yankee's rough coat. The thought of parting with his stout hearted comrade was too awful even to consider. "I'll find some way to keep him," he decided fiercely. "I'll never let him go! How's for pushing on?" he suggested hurriedly. "It's growing darker and we ought to try to find a safe place to spend the night."
"Safe?" scoffed the bull terrier, wagging his tail rapidly, "who wants to be safe?" Before they set out, Tompy tapped the gold spoon on a rock to see whether the rock would disintegrate. Nothing at all happened, so, concluding it only reduced the packaged people to powder, he placed it carefully beside all that was left of the guard.
"Why not take it along?" growled Yankee. "Teach the big noodle-head a lesson. Then he'd have to stop mixing up people packaged to order and learn to live with people the way they are. Let him go back to Hotchinpotch and argue with his elephant," he snarled, the hair on his back bristling at the mere thought of the mischievous town planner.
Talking of one thing and another, the travelers soon had come to the river itself and after a short conference, decided to continue along the bank till they came to a bridge. Glancing over the rippling water, Tompy noted that the foliage on the other side was tinged with purple, lavender, and soft shades of violet. Recalling the map in one of his Oz books, he was cheered immensely to realize that it would not be too long before they would be in the purple land of the Gillikins and one country nearer home.
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Chapter 7: Trip on a Trav-E-Log
A WONDER they wouldn't have a bridge across this old river," complained Yankee after tbey had gone a mile. "We can't make any headway waliing sideways."
"You WOULD think so," agreed Tompy, "and walking is such a slow way to travel. never get anywhere at this rate."
"Oh, yes, we will." Pricking up his ears the space dog stopped dead in his tracks. On a log floating slowly along the edge of the river sat an enormous bull frog popping his eyes provokingly at the bull terrier. Never one to dodge a challenge, Yankee gave a spring and landed on the log. Off dove the frog, in the nick of time, too. The jolt swung the log around so it was nearer to shore. With a leap that most knocked Yankee overboard, Tompy came down on the log behind him, seizing a stout branch that stuck up from the end to keep his balance.
"Forget about the frog!" he puffed, for the terrier already was poised for a dive. "Hang on and I'll paddle us across."
"Oh, that will not be necessary, murmured a gruff voice. "I'll ride you over and take you any place you wish to go."
"It's the log--it's talking!" burst out Tompy, almost tumbling into the river.
"Well, what did you expect me to do--bark?" inquired the log good naturedly.
"Why, no--you old cut-up, you," chortled Yankee. "It's just that logs where we come from don't talk or do anything at all. But I suppose Oz logs are different?"
"Some are--some aren't," answered the log. "I am Tim, a trav-e-log. Now, how could I take travelers where they wish to go without asking questions? So first we cross the river? Is that correct?"
"Oh, yes, YES, and thank you very much!" said Tompy as Tim began moving steadily toward the opposite bank.
"And after that?" The trav-e-log rolled his knot hole eyes roguishly back at the still astonished boy.
"After that, take us some place where we can eat," directed Yankee before Tompy could even open his mouth.
"Oh, why didn't you tell him to carry us back to America?" he fumed, edging along the log so he could grasp the terrier's harness. And a fortunate thing that was, for as the front end of the log touched the bank, Tim rose straight up in the air and then shot forward like a missile aimed at a distant target. The two now straddled the log, Yankee with two legs on each side and his ears snapping in the wind. With relief, Tompy noted that they were still headed east. Farms and vineyards flashed by below. They even passed over a small castle, its purple turrets glittering in the late afternoon sunshine. Not until they came to a sizeable forest did the trav-e-log slacken its speed. Then, before Tompy could beg him to proceed, for a forest was the last place he wanted to spend the night, Tim slanted swiftly downward and suddenly ended tilting his passengers off into a big pile of leaves.
"Axel! Axel!" bawled Tim, leaning against a tree to steady himself. "Come out, come out! Here's company for dinner."
Unhurt but considerably shaken, Tompy and Yankee regained their feet. They had landed in a small clearing with a sturdy log cabin in the exact center. Smoke curled up fro
m the chimney and the tantalizing aroma of a savory meat stew wafted toward the hungry travelers.
"Not bad, not bad at all," whispered Tompy to Yankee as a tall lean woodman appeared in the cabin doorway.
"Maybe yes, maybe NO," cautioned the space dog, grown wary by his experiences with the Mix-Master. "Before we are chopped into kindling, pull out that reader and see what this fellow has in mind." As the woodcutter came striding out, Tompy opened the yellow Mind Reader, flipping it over to the first page.
"No harm in these young travelers, and I've enough dinner for three." Reassured by this sentence which appeared and then faded out, Tompy tucked the reader under his jacket again.
"Hello Tim. So you came back to see the old man. These friends of yours?" asked Axel, waving cheerfully.
"No, just passengers, hungry passengers. Thought you might enjoy some company for a change."
"Oh, I will, I WILL!" boomed the woodcutter with a friendly nod at the boy and dog. "Come in, come in," he urged. "No use asking Tim. He's not interested in food."
"Eating is just a bad habit and a pure waste of time," rasped the trav-e-log. "See you all later."
The woodcutter's cabin was small but comfortable. The simple furniture, carved from logs, consisted of a rough table, a couple of benches, a chest, some sheEves, and an built-in bunk. Over the fire on a crane hung a huge pot of bubbling stew, and it was so homelike not to say cozy that Yankee after a quick glance around flung himself down on the hearth for a snooze. Axel, as he set out knives and forks, a long loaf of home made bread on a wooden board, and a jar of grape jelly, told Tompy a little about his life in the forest.
He was by choice a woodsman, he said, because he preferred solitude and quiet to life in a town. He spent his days cutting wood in handy sized logs and delivering them to farms and castles in the vicinity. Tim, he explained, had been different from the other logs. Felling a small oak, which he intended to chop into logs for Joe King, ruler of the Gillikins, he was surprised to have the first piece he cut off rise up and speak to him. This was unusual, even for Oz, but not too strange for the tree had been a live oak. Before he could collect his wits, the uncut trunk of the oak shot up into the air and never came down. The log already chopped off the tree stayed on for several days and Axel dubbed him "Tim Ber" which did seem appropriate. Then, tiring of the small clearing, Tim took himself off and has spent the times since carrying passengers around the country.
"He comes back often for a shave and trim," explained the woodcutter, "and his only worry is that someday when he is sleeping he may be burned for firewood."
"That would be awful," shuddered Tompy. "He is so pleasant and obliging."
"Not always," answered Axel, giving the stew a good stir. "A trav-e-log has his cantankerous spells same as the rest of us do."
"Would you care to hear OUR story?" inquired Yankee. Though half asleep, he had been listening with interest to the woodcutter's tale.
"Not now," said Axel. "Dinner is about ready. Suppose we eat first and talk afterward." Tieing a rough napkin around the space dog's neck, he set a big bowl of stew on the hearth. He and Tompy silently ate theirs from tin plates at the table. The concoction was so good and tasty that Tompy had two re-fills and Yankee three.
"Best dinner I've had since I left home," declared Tompy, having topped off the stew with four slices of home made bread and jam.
"Thank you, thank you, always like to see the young eat hearty," murmured the woodcutter. "But now, if you'll excuse me, I'll give Tim a scrape and shave while it is still light. Come again, come again some time," he urged, bending down to untie Yankee's bib.
"But we haven't gone yet," the terrier reminded him slyly.
"No hurry, no hurry, but you'll probably wish to continue your journey. I never keep visitors over night," announced Axel firmly.
"Well, how was that for a big brush off?" Tompy grinned ruefully down at the space dog as Axel slammed purposefully out of the cabin.
"He did give us a good dinner, though," sighed the space dog heaving himself to his feet with a tremendous yawn. "Since we listened to his story, you'd think he might have listened to ours? Nobody but nobody will listen to us!"
"Just wait, we'll find someone, sometime, some place who will," promised Tompy. "Maybe Tim will take us with him when he flies off," he added hopefully.
"That blockhead," grumbled Yankee. "Not sure I care to ride with him again. Come along--we might as well start while we still can see where we're going."
Axel had placed Tim on a sawhorse and was busily clipping off small twigs and smoothing down the ends of the trav-e-log with a plane as the two walked over to join them.
"How about taking us to the end of the forest after you have had your trim?" called Tompy, raising his voice above the scrape of the plane.
"One trip to a customer," creaked the trav-e-log grumpily. "Besides, I plan to stay on here for quite a while."
"Have you seen anything of a lost princess around here?" asked Yankee, addressing himself to the woodcutter.
"Can't say I have," answered Axel. "Ladies don't often venture into this forest. Too many wild animals."
Discouraged by the answers to both questions, Tompy and Yankee moved slowly toward the edge of the clearing.
"You'll find a path off there to the right," called Axel without looking up or bidding them goodbye.
"Thanks," said Tompy shortly.
"Why do people in this country look so pleasant and act so mean?" muttered the bull terrier glowering back over his shoulder.
"Who knows?" sighed Tompy. "But you have to remember, Yank, nobody really owes you anything, and as my Dad keeps telling me, if you want to get ahead in this world you mostly have to depend on yourself."
"Not any more, you don't." Coming closer, Yankee pressed against Tompy's knee. "You have me now, and I have you and we can depend on each other. So come on, boy--what do we care about wild animals! With your drum sticks and my teeth, we'll scare the hair off 'em. Just keep your ears and tail up, Tomp, and nobody will know you're afraid."
"If I had a tail!" hooted Tompy beginning to laugh. Quite restored to their usual cheerfulness, the two friends stepped confidently into the darkening forest. With long rolls, crash rolls, and sharp back beats on the rim of his drum, Tompy filled the air with such a clamor that birds flew screaming skyward and such beasts as lurked in the shadows backed off in terror. Neither mentioned the fact that soon it would be too dark to see where they were going or to keep on the path at all. Ears and tail erect, emitting fierce growls at regular intervals, Yankee marched on ahead. But it was not long before even the stout hearted space dog's steps began to falter.
"It's no good, Yank." With a last resounding roll, Tompy stuck the sticks back in his belt. "It's too dark to see anything now. We'll just have to stop and camp out for the night. We'll build a fire and take turns keeping watch."
"Fire?" grunted Yankee. "Well, what's that up there? Looks like the tail light of a low flying plane".
"Not a plane--why, it's a lantern!" stammered Tompy, squinting up at the dancing light overhead. "A magic lantern! Now, what in sevens is it doing up there?"
Of course, there was no one to tell them but the lantern like a small merry moon came bobbing toward them and no one was carrying it either. When the lantern was directly overhead, it hung motionless for a moment, then with a little bounce turned around and headed off in the opposite direction. Without a moment's hesitation, Tompy and Yankee pelted after the dancing ball of light. Neither had realized how far they already had traveled and in almost no time they were out of the dismal forest and into open country again.
It was, indeed, night, but the sky was spangled with stars, and the soft glow of many colored lights shone through the high wall of a strange kingdom, just a meadow's breadth away. Across the meadow and over the wall sailed the magic lantern and right after the lantern hurried the curious boy and space dog. Brought up short by the wall itself, they stood regarding it with growing excitement and reli
ef. The tinkle of guitars, the trob of woodwinds and other, bell-like instruments came teasingly out to them. Drawn by the music, forgetting his weariness, Tompy ran along the wall in search of a gate. The wall itself was constructed of stiff crinkled paper and decorated with flowers, water falls, mountains, bridges, and figures of many gay, odd-looking people.
"Let's bust our way in!" proposed Yankee, beginning to prance in time to the music.
"Oh, no. We couldn't do that," objected Tompy. "There must be a better way." And there was, for presently he found a section of the stiff paper wall that moved aside like a screen. It glided smoothly back at his first shove and almost holding their breaths, the two adventurers stepped through the opening.
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Chapter 8: The Land of Lanterns
THE country beyond the wall was so dreamlike, so unbelievably beautiful and gay that Yankee and Tompy stood for a long time in dazed silence and admiration.Spread out before them lay a long, lovely garden land. Blossoming fruit trees filled the soft air with fragrance; vined trellises, heavy with grape vines and climbing wisteria, edged the pathways that led to small bamboo houses. Streams, spanned by high curved bridges, ran like siEver threads through the rich and colorful tapestry of the whole garden. Fireflies twinkled in the grass like small stars or soared up high as the tree tops. Above all, floated hundreds of paper lanterns, similar to the one that had guided them out of the forest, casting an unreal and faerie light over the whole scene below.
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