"She'll die for sure. Run!" said the Scarecrow to Dorothy.
Dorothy hesitated. As much as she had been abused by the witch, she could not bear to leave her to die.
"Look!" said the Tin Woodman. One of the witch's legs was waving back and forth, with her long, pointed shoe vigorously jabbing towards a tree stump.
"Looks like she's trying to tell us something," shouted the Scarecrow.
Dorothy ran over to the tree stump. "I can't see anything unusual about it," she said. Meanwhile, the witch's kicking got weaker and weaker until she was not moving at all.
"She's dead," said the Lion. "The wicked witch is dead. She must have suffocated to death."
"Well, that's that," said the Scarecrow. "She'll never scare or harm anyone again."
"Why aren't we all shouting and dancing for joy?" said the Tin Woodman.
"We couldn't very well dance anyhow," said the Lion. "And I don't think anyone feels like singing."
"I was hoping that we could change her," said Dorothy. "There'd be so much more satisfaction in that, than seeing her dead. Now, wherever she is, she's the same old wicked person."