But a Wizard without his books and equipment, is almost as helpless as a doctor without his pills and medicine bag. Try as he would, the Wizard could not remember the proper combination of words to bring back the missing Princess. His short nap in Stratovania had rested him a little, but he still was dreadfully weary from his gruelling flight and the recent shocks and mischances. The loss of the Ozpril had been the worst blow of all and now his tired brain simply refused to work. So, sitting sadly under the tree, he munched the sandwiches from the basket, drank from the bottle of cold tea and wished fervently for a fire to warm himself, for his clothes were still damp and clammy from the dive in Bustabo's lake. It comforted him a little to know that the others were drying out and enjoying a good supper in the castle. But it was no comfort at all to realize that Strut and his legions were winging their way toward the Emerald City--the city _he_ had built and lived in so long it seemed more like home than any place he had known in America. The Wizard crammed the rest of the sandwiches into the basket and started recklessly through the forest, tripping over tough vines and rocks, bumping into trees and peering desperately about for traces of a Princess, or for any sign that might tell him in which direction the Emerald City lay. From the slant of the ground he knew he was travelling down the mountain, and the deep, red foliage told him he was somewhere in the Quadling country of Oz. But with night coming on and the shadows growing deeper and darker, he probably would lose his way entirely and never get out of the forest at all. He felt uneasy at leaving his comrades behind in the Red King's Castle. Was it better to try to save Ozma and the Emerald City, or to stay in this forest and help Dorothy and Jellia and the devoted friends who had embarked on this unexpected adventure with him? Stopping short, the Wizard pressed both hands to his forehead in an effort to make up his mind. Night already had overtaken him and it was now so dark, it was impossible to see more than a foot or so in any direction. Occasional roars, the snapping of twigs and the gleam of yellow eyes from the thicket, caused him no little anxiety. At an especially savage roar, he suddenly stopped worrying about Ozma and the others and began to do considerable worrying about himself.