"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 find-ing 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 think-ing or speak-ing 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, however, there was a moment when the path beneath the monster was free, and perhaps the Scarecrow had noticed this, for when he came back to the others he said: