"Two mountains and a couple of countries to the South," answered High Boy carelessly. "Up with you Princeling, four legs are better than two, especially when they are my kind." To this Philador could agree most heartily, and swinging himself up in front of Herby, he took the reins hanging loosely round High Boy's neck and begged him to start. "I always did want to see the capital," confessed High Boy trotting smartly along the stony mountain path. "I hear that there is a saw horse at the Emerald City, and I want to see whether he is as handsome and as useful as I am." "He couldn't possibly be as nice," sighed Philador, putting both arms round High Boy's neck. "You're even better than my sea horse." "Hey! Hey! Well, what do you think of that?" With a snort of surprise and pleasure, the King's horse set off for the second mountain at such a pace that the wind whistled by like a hurricane. "Hold on, boys," he neighed boisterously. "I'm your friend for life!" "A----very----fast----friend!" stuttered Herby, clutching Philador by the belt and wincing each time he struck the saddle. And so up the mountain pounded High Boy, his front legs short, his back legs long and his umbrella tail switching behind him. CHAPTER 11 The King of Cave City The same morning that Philador was having his amazing experiences in the Good Witch's hut and on Joe King's Mountain, Trot and her friends were having some curious adventures in Cave City. "Where are we going?" asked Trot, following the old mer-man cautiously and once almost treading on his tail. "To the King," answered the mer-man sadly. "Do you call this a city?" sniffed the Scarecrow, looking scornfully down the dim damp corridors opening to right and left and the muddy stream of water flowing through the center. "No, I don't call it a city," wheezed their guide resting for a few moments on his crutches, "but you had better not let the cave men hear you criticizing their town. It will go hard enough with you as it is." Sighing to himself the old fellow went tapping along on his crutches. "Wait till Silly sees you," he mumbled mournfully. "Who's Silly?" inquired Benny, picking up a boulder and hurling it into the center of the stream. "The King," replied the mer-man without turning 'round. "Humph!" chuckled the Scarecrow, winking at Trot, "I've known many Kings who acted silly and who looked silly, but I have never met one who called himself that. Do you mean to say you call him Silly right to his face?" "To his side face," answered the mer-man solemnly. "He only has half a face," he added, stopping again. "That's all anyone has here. That's all you'll have presently," he predicted gloomily. "Half a face!" gasped Trot, putting one hand to her cheek and looking around uneasily. "Why what do you mean?"