- Year Published: 1908
- Language: English
- Country of Origin: United States of America
- Source: Baum, F. L. (1908). Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz. Chicago: Reilly and Britton.
- Flesch–Kincaid Level: 6.0
- Word Count: 2,260
Baum, L. (1908). Chapter 13: “The Den of the Dragonettes”. Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz (Lit2Go Edition). Retrieved September 17, 2014, from
Baum, L. Frank. "Chapter 13: “The Den of the Dragonettes”." Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz. Lit2Go Edition. 1908. Web. <>. September 17, 2014.
L. Frank Baum, "Chapter 13: “The Den of the Dragonettes”," Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz, Lit2Go Edition, (1908), accessed September 17, 2014,.
Our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their eight wings they could go just as fast as could the Gargoyles. All the way to the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when Jim finally alighted at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away.
“But, I’m afraid they’ll catch us yet,” said Dorothy, greatly excited.
“No; we must stop them,” declared the Wizard. “Quick Zeb, help me pull off these wooden wings!”
They tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the Wizard piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. Then he poured over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oilcan, and lighting a match set fire to the pile.
The flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and crackle just as the great army of wooden Gargoyles arrived. The creatures drew back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such a dreadful thing as a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land.
Inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into the mountain, and Zeb and the Wizard lifted these wooden doors from their hinges and tossed them all on the flames.
“That will prove a barrier for some time to come,” said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem. “Perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the Gargoyles never will be missed. But come, my children; let us explore the mountain and discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven.”
To their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of steps by means of which they could mount to the earth’s surface. A sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. Then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. This delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them. It carried their baggage and was useful to ride in wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. So Zeb and the Wizard set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. In this position they managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through the narrow part of the passage. It was not a great distance, fortunately, and when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded more comfortably. But the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of the earth than when they had started, hours before.
“Anyhow,” said Dorothy, “we’ve ‘scaped those awful Gurgles, and that’s ONE comfort!”
“Probably the Gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire,” returned the Wizard. “But even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so I am sure we need fear them no longer.”
Once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump over them. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where Jim could scarcely drag the buggy. At such times Dorothy, Zeb and the Wizard all pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. But the little party was both weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a smooth, level floor.
The cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground, appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side. These were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to sway slowly from side to side and then up and down.
“What sort of place is this?” asked the boy, trying to see more clearly through the gloom.
“I cannot imagine, I’m sure,” answered the Wizard, also peering about.
“Woogh!” snarled Eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on end; “it’s a den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures! Don’t you see their terrible eyes?”
“Eureka sees better in the dark than we can,” whispered Dorothy. “Tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?” she asked, addressing her pet.
“I simply can’t describe ‘em,” answered the kitten, shuddering. “Their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. But their bodies don’t seem very big.”
“Where are they?” enquired the girl.
“They are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. Oh, Dorothy—you can’t imagine what horrid things they are! They’re uglier than the Gargoyles.”
“Tut-tut! be careful how you criticize your neighbors,” spoke a rasping voice near by. “As a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures yourselves, and I’m sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and prettiest things in all the world.”
Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock.
“Why, it’s a dragon!” he exclaimed.
“No,” answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so steadily; “you are wrong about that. We hope to grow to be dragons some day, but just now we’re only dragonettes.”
“What’s that?” asked Dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaly head, the yawning mouth and the big eyes.
“Young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real dragons until we get our full growth,” was the reply. “The big dragons are very proud, and don’t think children amount to much; but mother says that some day we will all be very powerful and important.”
“Where is your mother?” asked the Wizard, anxiously looking around.
“She has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. If she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger.”
“Oh; are you hungry?” enquired Dorothy, drawing back.
“Very,” said the dragonette, snapping its jaws.
“And—and—do you eat people?”
“To be sure, when we can get them. But they’ve been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes,” answered the creature, in a regretful tone.
“How old are you?” enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated.
“Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday.”
“But that isn’t young!” cried Dorothy, in amazement.
“No?” drawled the dragonette; “it seems to me very babyish.”
“How old is your mother?” asked the girl.
“Mother’s about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. She’s a little fussy, you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime.”
“I should think she would be,” agreed Dorothy. Then, after a moment’s thought, she asked: “Are we friends or enemies? I mean, will you be good to us, or do you intend to eat us?”
“As for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. If you choose to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you will remain quite safe.”
There was a regretful accent in the creature’s voice, and at the words all the other dragonettes sighed dismally.
Dorothy felt relieved. Presently she asked:
“Why did your mother tie your tails?”
“Oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other and get into a lot of mischief. Mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably won’t do that.”
“No, indeed!” said the little girl. “We don’t wish to be eaten by such awful beasts.”
“Permit me to say,” returned the dragonette, “that you are rather impolite to call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. We consider ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she knows. And we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that I challenge any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the time of the famous Green Dragon of Atlantis, who lived in a time when humans had not yet been created. Can you match that pedigree, little girl?”
“Well,” said Dorothy, “I was born on a farm in Kansas, and I guess that’s being just as ‘spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. If it isn’t I’ll have to stand it, that’s all.”
“Tastes differ,” murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaly eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons.
Being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their rock-pockets, the children and the Wizard now took time to examine them more closely. The heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns. Their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. Dorothy thought, if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons, and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up.
“It occurs to me,” said the Wizard, “that we ought to get out of this place before the mother dragon comes back.”
“Don’t hurry,” called one of the dragonettes; “mother will be glad to meet you, I’m sure.”
“You may be right,” replied the Wizard, “but we’re a little particular about associating with strangers. Will you kindly tell us which way your mother went to get on top of the earth?”
“That is not a fair question to ask us,” declared another dragonette. “For, if we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished.”
“Then,” decided Dorothy, “we must find our way out the best we can.”
They circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had entered. They selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance.