CHAPTER 6

The Bearded Baron Appears

After Scare City almost any place would have looked beautiful to Jack and Peter, and this quiet valley overgrown with vines and sweet smelling flowers, seemed lovely indeed.

"You're a whiz, Snif," exclaimed the little boy, looking around appreciatively. "Why, you travel faster than an aeroplane. You're even better than one, for you can walk and talk as well as fly."

"Swim, too," grunted the Iffin, panting a little from the exertion of the journey. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll run along and find some geraniums. They grow wild around here and I'm wild about 'em."

"Don't get lost," begged Jack Pumpkinhead, for this accommodating new steed seemed almost too precious to let out of their sight. "Shall I go with him?" he whispered hurriedly to Peter.

"It might hurt his feelings," said Peter, dropping luxuriously into the long fine grass. "Let's rest till he comes back and then we can hunt up one of these barons and inquire the way to the Emerald City."

Rolling over on his back and looking up at the drifting summer clouds, Peter gave a long sigh of content. "Why, this is almost as interesting as my last trip to Oz, Jack--travelling around with you this way and meeting an Iffin, and everything. No matter what happens we're not so badly off for we have a sack to swallow our enemies, a magic dinner bell to supply us with food and an enchanted steed to carry us wherever we wish to go. Gee, I wish some of the fellows were along! I wish my Grandfather had been with us in Scare City. You were great, Jack, to think of that dinner bell!"

"Was I?" Leaning against a tall young beech, Jack beamed down at Peter. "You were great, too," he insisted generously. "I never saw anyone throw so straight and so hard."

"Playing baseball does that," explained Peter, clasping his arms behind his head. "We'll have to have a game when we reach the capitol. Say look! Here are some wild strawberries." Scooping them up by the handful, Peter began to eat hungrily. "Did you ever see such large ones?"

"The Quadling Country is noted for its red fruits," answered Jack proudly, "its strawberries, apples, cherries and red bananas. Sometimes I wish I were made to enjoy eating," he finished, looking rather wistfully at Peter.

"You do miss a lot," agreed the little boy sympathetically, "but then on the other hand, you never suffer from hunger and could never starve to death. But here comes Snif." Swallowing the last of the strawberries Peter ran to meet the Iffin. Several geraniums still drooped from the corners of his mouth and he was loping along humming cheerfully to himself.

"All aboard for the Emerald City," he called merrily, as he came closer. "That ought to please your long legged friend, there. He's all board from his neck down, anyway." Smiling at Snif's little joke, Peter picked up the pirate's sack, helped Jack to mount and sprang nimbly up behind him.

"Are we going to fly or walk," he asked curiously.

"Waddle," puffed the Iffin with a droll wink. "I'm so full of geraniums I'd simply sink if I tried to fly, so if you're all ready we'll waddle along."

"I'm afraid waddling won't be at all good for my head," objected Jack, as the Iffin started off with swinging, uneven strides. Peter laughed as Jack continued to protest against waddling, but the Iffin was too busy practising gu--rrs to pay any attention to the Pumpkinhead.

"It's funny," it muttered between its teeth. "I can say gu-rr but I can't growl it, and until I can growl, I'm no griffin."

"Oh, what do you care," said Peter. "Any old grouch can growl, but not many can fly, swim, waddle and make verses like you do. I'd rather be an Iffin than a griffin, any day."

"That's because you never were either," sighed the big monster with a little shake of his head, and quickening his pace he galloped along so swiftly that Peter and Jack had all they could do to hang on. Once out of the valley, the country spread before them, like a gay and enchanting map. Little patches of shadow lay on the velvety hills, small wooded parks dotted the hollows and many castles were visible in the distance. Beyond, a huge range of red mountains lifted their craggy heads to the sky.

"We'll stop at the first castle," decided the Iffin, jumping without effort a tall timber fence that enclosed one of the parks. Red deer scattered right and left, as the huge monster rushed by and they were progressing finely when, from the center of the park where the trees were thickest, came a sharp, shrill wail. "Perhaps we'd better try the second castle," 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 mis-erable 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 illustrious Master. Alas! Alas! What have I done! Unhappy him! Unhappy I! Unhappy us. I am a mess! I am a mess! a most mis-erable 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 shining 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!" 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, Mogodore 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?"

[Illustration: "Miserable mesmerizer," repeated the Baron dully.]

"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 stepping 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 hoarsely. "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 Shirley Sunshine?" The Baron looked so tired and dejected that Peter felt sorry for him.

"Is Shirley Sunshine the Princess you are to marry?" he asked curiously. "Who is this Mogodore? 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."