The Giant Horse of Oz

Deeper and deeper the two travelers penetrated into the grim forest. Except for the twitter of birds, and the occasional creaking of a branch, as some animal made its way through the underbrush, there was no sound. Almost holding his breath, Philador trotted after the old Medicine Man, peering nervously to the right and left and half expecting a bear or walapus to spring out of some hollow tree. But as time passed and no wild beasts of any nature did appear, he began to breathe easier and to look around with real interest and delight. The huge gnarled trees were tinged with purple. Wild grape and wistaria vines climbed in riotous profusion up the trunks and out over the limbs, lacing them together and forming fairy-like arbors and leafy lanes. The floor of the forest was thickly strewn with violets and the fragrance of lavender was everywhere. Herby, being a native Gilliken, was accustomed to the grandeur of the forest and pattered along in a business-like manner, giving no attention to the purple pansies, clustered around the great trees, nor the lordly flags, edging each forest stream.

"I've heard that the Emerald City is but a day's journey from Mombi's hut," he called over his shoulder, "and with this thinking cap to guide us we'll be there for dinner. Then Ozma can magically transport us to the Ozure Isles and save your father's Kingdom. I trust the Wizard of Oz will give me an audience," he added hopefully. "I'd like to show him my medicine chest and tell him my story."