"You'll be sorry for this," bawled Belfaygor, slashing with his shears at the Captain of the Guard. Poor Jack said nothing, for without a head what could he say? Threatening and struggling, Peter and Belfaygor were dragged off to the dungeons in the North tower, Snif doing what he could to release them by biting and scratching the hands and faces of the guards, but he was too little to help much and both were securely locked up. In his struggle with the spearman, Peter had dropped the pirate sack, and exhausted and discouraged he sank down on the stone bench in his dark little dungeon. The window was high above his head and let in only a feeble ray of light and the stone cell so small he could touch both sides by extending his arms. Snif had come with him, but Belfaygor had been locked in a dungeon higher up in the tower. Things certainly had not gone as planned--in fact they were in worse plight than anyone could have imagined. "Isn't this doggone?" groaned Peter glumly. "Jack's lost his head, I've lost the sack and Belfaygor will probably smother in whiskers! If someone doesn't warn Ozma, the Emerald City will be taken in no time. There's only one Knight and one soldier in the palace and the soldier can't fight at all. If Ozma doesn't know Mogodore is coming, so that she and the Wizard can start up their magic, they'll all be captured and the whole city destroyed. I wonder whatever put the notion of conquering Oz in Mogodore's head? Darn! Doggone! I wish I could get out of here!" Doubling up his fists, Peter pounded on the dungeon door. "Maybe I can squeeze through the bars and fly off to warn Ozma of this villain's coming," said the Iffin, but the bars were so close together that even Snif could not slip through and in great discouragement the two prisoners sat side by side on the hard stone bench. Presently ten shrill blasts from the bugles and the clatter of hoofs on the cobbles below told that Mogodore had really started for the Emerald City. "Now I'll never have any grandchildren," choked the Iffin, a tear trickling off the end of his nose. "And I'll never get back to Philadelphia, or be an air mail pilot," sighed Peter, clasping his hands behind his head and staring gloomily at the wall. And I am sure each of you would have felt gloomy, if you had been in Peter's plight. CHAPTER 12 The Escape from Baffleburg As the rattle of hoofs and sound of bugles died away, Peter, looking down at Snif noticed that his eyes were growing larger and larger. "Stop!" breathed Peter, nervously edging away and brushing his hand cross his forehead. "Stop what?" grunted the Iffin crossly. "I'm not doing anything." "But your eyes," screamed Peter, edging still further away, "and your ears! Why your ears are as big as you are. Help! Help! Look out. Are you going to explode?"