With Bowmen ahead of them and Bowmen closely following, the prisoners marched slowly into the castle. Afraid not to hurry on account of the sharp-pointed beards of the Guards, the little party progressed almost at a run.
Hurrying them through the beautiful throne room and other cheerful apartments on the first floor, the Bowmen lead them to a covered stone stairway curving up from the back courtyard. Up, up, and up, tramped the Bowmen, and up, up, and up trudged the weary travellers. It seemed to Dorothy they had climbed a thousand steps before they reached the top. Both girls were frightened, but holding their backs straight and their chins high, they stepped haughtily along without even a glance at their red-bearded captors. Unlocking an iron door at the head of the stair, the Guards gruffly ushered them into a round, stone-walled room at the very top of the tower. Relocking the door just as gruffly, they took their departure.
"Thank gooseness, there's a fire!" shivered Jellia, running across the room to hold out her hands to the crackling blaze. "As soon as we're warm and dry we can decide what to do. Pull up a couple of those benches, Wantowin, and for cake's sake, don't look so glum! Nobody's been hurt yet!"
"Ah—but what of the morning?" The Soldier with Green Whiskers wagged his head, dismally. "That rogue of a Red Beard will pitch us off this mountain quick as that!" Wantowin snapped his cold fingers. "One toss from this tower and we're done!" groaned the Army, turning away from one of the barred windows with a positive shudder. Glancing out the window nearest her, Dorothy saw that the tower had been built at the very edge of the mountain. Jagged rocks far below, and long-dead trees jutting out from the sides of the sheer precipice, made it even more formidable.
"I'm going to sleep," mumbled the lion, settling himself near the fire. "What I don't see, won't make me feel more cowardly."
"How true," thought Dorothy. Backing away from the window and resolutely keeping her mind off the precipice, she began to help Jellia drape the Scarecrow over a bench close to the fire.
"Not too close, girls," begged the Straw Man nervously. "Fire's almost as bad for me as water. One little spark and—pouff! Nothing but a bonfire of your old friend and comrade!"
At this point a sharp tap on the door made them all jump, but it was only a servant carrying a large tray. At least, Bustabo was keeping his promise about supper. The servant was round and jolly. He looked sympathetically at the little company, but evidently was afraid to speak to them. Placing his tray on a table in the center of the room, he bowed stiffly and withdrew, locking the door carefully behind him.