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They must have had good courage to climb all those rocks, for after getting out of the canyon they encountered more rock hills to be surmounted. Toto could jump from one rock to another quite easily, but the others had to creep and climb with care, so that after a whole day of such work Dorothy and Ojo found themselves very tired.
As they gazed upward at the great mass of tumbled rocks that covered the steep incline, Dorothy gave a little groan and said:
“That’s going to be a ter’ble hard climb, Scarecrow. I wish we could find the dark well without so much trouble.”
“Suppose,” said Ojo, “you wait here and let me do the climbing, for it’s on my account we’re searching for the dark well. Then, if I don’t find anything, I’ll come back and join you.”
“No,” replied the little girl, shaking her head positively, “we’ll all go together, for that way we can help each other. If you went alone, something might happen to you, Ojo.”
So they began the climb and found it indeed difficult, for a way. But presently, in creeping over the big crags, they found a path at their feet which wound in and out among the masses of rock and was quite smooth and easy to walk upon. As the path gradually ascended the mountain, although in a roundabout way, they decided to follow it.
“This must be the road to the Country of the Hoppers,” said the Scarecrow.
“Who are the Hoppers?” asked Dorothy.
“Some people Jack Pumpkinhead told me about,” he replied.
“I didn’t hear him,” replied the girl.
“No; you were asleep,” explained the Scarecrow. “But he told Scraps and me that the Hoppers and the Horners live on this mountain.”
“He said in the mountain,” declared Scraps; “but of course he meant on it.”
“Didn’t he say what the Hoppers and Horners were like?” inquired Dorothy.
“No; he only said they were two separate nations, and that the Horners were the most important.”
“Well, if we go to their country we’ll find out all about ‘em,” said the girl. “But I’ve never heard Ozma mention those people, so they can’t be very important.”
“Is this mountain in the Land of Oz?” asked Scraps.
“Course it is,” answered Dorothy. “It’s in the South Country of the Quadlings. When one comes to the edge of Oz, in any direction, there is nothing more to be seen at all. Once you could see sandy desert all around Oz; but now it’s diff’rent, and no other people can see us, any more than we can see them.”
“If the mountain is under Ozma’s rule, why doesn’t she know about the Hoppers and the Horners?” Ojo asked.
“Why, it’s a fairyland,” explained Dorothy, “and lots of queer people live in places so tucked away that those in the Emerald City never even hear of ‘em. In the middle of the country it’s diff’rent, but when you get around the edges you’re sure to run into strange little corners that surprise you. I know, for I’ve traveled in Oz a good deal, and so has the Scarecrow.”
“Yes,” admitted the straw man, “I’ve been considerable of a traveler, in my time, and I like to explore strange places. I find I learn much more by traveling than by staying at home.”
During this conversation they had been walking up the steep pathway and now found themselves well up on the mountain. They could see nothing around them, for the rocks beside their path were higher than their heads. Nor could they see far in front of them, because the path was so crooked. But suddenly they stopped, because the path ended and there was no place to go. Ahead was a big rock lying against the side of the mountain, and this blocked the way completely.
“There wouldn’t be a path, though, if it didn’t go somewhere,” said the Scarecrow, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought.
“This is somewhere, isn’t it?” asked the Patchwork Girl, laughing at the bewildered looks of the others.
“The path is locked, the way is blocked,
Yet here we’ve innocently flocked;
And now we’re here it’s rather queer
There’s no front door that can be knocked.”
“Please don’t, Scraps,” said Ojo. “You make me nervous.”
“Well,” said Dorothy, “I’m glad of a little rest, for that’s a drea’ful steep path.”
As she spoke she leaned against the edge of the big rock that stood in their way. To her surprise it slowly swung backward and showed behind it a dark hole that looked like the mouth of a tunnel.
“Why, here’s where the path goes to!” she exclaimed.
“So it is,” answered the Scarecrow. “But the question is, do we want to go where the path does?”
“It’s underground; right inside the mountain,” said Ojo, peering into the dark hole. “Perhaps there’s a well there; and, if there is, it’s sure to be a dark one.”
“Why, that’s true enough!” cried Dorothy with eagerness. “Let’s go in, Scarecrow; ‘cause, if others have gone, we’re pretty safe to go, too.”
Toto looked in and barked, but he did not venture to enter until the Scarecrow had bravely gone first. Scraps followed closely after the straw man and then Ojo and Dorothy timidly stepped inside the tunnel. As soon as all of them had passed the big rock, it slowly turned and filled up the opening again; but now they were no longer in the dark, for a soft, rosy light enabled them to see around them quite distinctly.
It was only a passage, wide enough for two of them to walk abreast—with Toto in between them—and it had a high, arched roof. They could not see where the light which flooded the place so pleasantly came from, for there were no lamps anywhere visible. The passage ran straight for a little way and then made a bend to the right and another sharp turn to the left, after which it went straight again. But there were no side passages, so they could not lose their way.
After proceeding some distance, Toto, who had gone on ahead, began to bark loudly. They ran around a bend to see what was the matter and found a man sitting on the floor of the passage and leaning his back against the wall. He had probably been asleep before Toto’s barks aroused him, for he was now rubbing his eyes and staring at the little dog with all his might.
There was something about this man that Toto objected to, and when he slowly rose to his foot they saw what it was. He had but one leg, set just below the middle of his round, fat body; but it was a stout leg and had a broad, flat foot at the bottom of it, on which the man seemed to stand very well. He had never had but this one leg, which looked something like a pedestal, and when Toto ran up and made a grab at the man’s ankle he hopped first one way and then another in a very active manner, looking so frightened that Scraps laughed aloud.
Toto was usually a well behaved dog, but this time he was angry and snapped at the man’s leg again and again. This filled the poor fellow with fear, and in hopping out of Toto’s reach he suddenly lost his
