"The Uns," choked the Cowardly Lion, and hesitated between waking Notta and Bob, or advancing to meet the enemy. Before he could make up his mind, a whole party, their feathers gleaming strangely in the moonlight, burst out of the trees.
"Push 'em off! Shove 'em off!" screamed the leader, waving on the rest. It was I-wish-I-was, and in little hops and springs they came tumbling toward him.
With a roar that sounded more terrible than anything you could imagine, because it was mostly made up of terror, the Cowardly Lion sprang straight at them. Down went I-wish-I-was and a dozen of his warriors. Shaking and quaking with fear, the Cowardly Lion made quick springs and snatches, and when the Uns with little screams of rage, drew back, his mouth was full of feathers. But they were far from giving up and after a brief parley came on again. Once more the Cowardly Lion struck out, left and right. This time two dozen more were down, but the Cowardly Lion was slowly being forced toward Notta and Bob, and the treacherous edge of the Skyle.
Armed with feathered sticks and screaming horribly, the Uns came on a third time, and though the Cowardly Lion fought them with might, mane, claw, tooth and nail, he was almost smothered by the attack. Something of the alarm made the clown stir in his sleep, and the triumphant shout of I-wish-I-was brought him wide awake. He sat up just in time to see the Cowardly Lion go down under a perfect wave of Uns.
"Help! Help!" screamed Notta, but there was no one to help them. He made a little dash to the left, but the line that tied him to the tree caught him with a jerk. He made a little dash to the right, spun around and clasped his stomach in despair. Just then the Cowardly Lion, growling like a whole menagerie, shook off the mass of Uns and bounded to his side. Feathers were strewn in every direction, and a hundred of the Uns lay where they had fallen.
The poor Cowardly Lion was shaking with exhaustion and fright, but never thought of giving up, and when the Uns made another rush, he met them as valiantly as ever. Wild screams from the Featherheads in the rear made him pause and look over in alarm at Notta. The clown, with staring eyes, was mumbling continuously under his breath, and touching first one and then another of the crowd swarming around him, and each time he touched an Un, the Un disappeared.
The Cowardly Lion stopped fighting and sat down with a thud. The Uns stopped fighting, and those in front began to tread on the toes of the ones in back, in their anxiety to get away. When twenty had vanished in as many seconds, the rest ran howling to the woods.
"Well," panted the Cowardly Lion, rolling his eyes wildly at Notta.
"You saved my life, old fellow," cried the clown, giving him an impulsive hug.