We entered through the gate and in another moment were climbing, up, up and still up. We were now on the last lap of our journey to the far-famed Valley of Nax. As everybody knows, the Valley of Nax is a depression in the land up on the very summit of the Elsa Craig. I and my friend H—— proceeded up the steep path. We had to steady ourselves by grabbing on to the bramble bushes on either side. We caught a glimpse of many a snake crawling in among the rocks. At one place a big rattler sat on a rock and looked down on us. He was a beauty. He had horns. I did not know then, that there has always been a species of horned rattlesnake that thrives on the Elsa Craig. Soon after the snake incident we found ourselves seated on the edge of what we will call a stone basin, a natural basin of rock. I should judge the rocky basin was about nine feet deep by fifteen in diameter. The Pocket of the Tumbling Bump. I sat on the edge of that basin and I looked down into that basin. The basin was so nice and clean. I wondered what became of all those rocks that slide down the mountain and land in the pocket. I was soon to learn all about it. On the opposite side of the pocket—could it be possible—sitting quietly and looking in a hand mirror—a beautiful maiden? No, a large Mandrill Ape, a monstrous ugly monkey with an iridescent snout, reflecting all the colors in the paint box. The Mandrillsuddenly began to chatter. The Mandrill looked over its shoulder and growled; the Mandrill looked up. The Mandrill heard something, heard it before we did. At last I heard it—a rumbling—high up. The rumbling of the tumbling bump. The Mandrill ran away shrieking. Then came the tumbling bump, a large rock as big as—well I should judge it was a rock weighing about five thousand pounds. Down it came, like a terrible monster. Down it came—crash against a tree. The tree was uprooted. The rock shot down into the basin. I could feel the breeze caused by the falling rock. The rock with a whiz missed me by six inches. The rock fell in the basin. The rock bounced up out of the basin. The rock made a little jump one side, and then—the rock fell over the cliff. The rock disappeared forever in the yawning gulf below. Thump. I stood awestricken. The strike was disturbed by the chattering Mandrill. He had been swinging on the very oak that had been just cut to bits. The Mandrill went through a few dancing steps, and then jumped over a waterfall and disappeared. I and my friend then resumed our battle with the zigzag path. Up we went, and still up. The moon came out. The stars looked down. The Mandrill glanced sidewise. The wild honeysuckles sent forth their fragrance. The whistle from a coaling scow wafted in with queer smells mixed. The trees grew thinner, the ground flat. The light from the moon, stars, Milky Way, and comet's tail, furnished brilliancy. And what about the brilliancy reflected from the iridescent flashes from the snout of the Mandrill ape? The ape had found an umbrella, had torn it to bits, fashioned the silk into a sort of dress. He was now doing a first class skirt dance.

            My friend H—— looked scared. His face, always light, seemed of a lighter texture, actually silver color—a pale face inoculated with apprehension. And well he might be thus—but of all this—later. We stood on the edge of a large opening in the forest, a circular flat about three hundred yards in diameter. The trees on the flat were short and scrubby, but the trees beyond were tall and thick. A regular labyrinth——plenty of bushes, plenty of brambles. And high up above the trees appeared the tops of six stone towers. The baronial chateau of the house of Nax. There were two palfreys tied to a hitching post. Without the least hesitation we mounted the chargers and started at a gallop across the enclosure. We entered the labyrinth. We went poking along the edge of a box hedge. Again the crickets chirped; again the katydid began to coo. Then came another sound, a strange muffled murmur. Human voices, soft, dulcet. We both listened. One voice spake, "You led me into the depths of the labyrinth, but why do you say my ears don't match?" The answer was a low murmur—so low as to be quite inaudible. Perfect silence. We could feel ourselves all apprehension. But still no sound. The pungent aroma of the dew laden Wasium entered our nostrils. My friend H—— peeped over the hedge. He quickly withdrew his head. He turned to me, paler than ever with the lateral lines, the shade of shimmering silver. He leaned forward and whispered: "Proctors. Flat hats, gowns, tassels." Then leaning over the hedge he spake, "Hi you professors. Quick! Run! Skip! Skidoo! Skidoo! The Wasium laden boulder has exploded. Save your lives." The two learned eavesdroppers let out one yell of consternation. They made a bolt in the opposite direction. Horror! They had overturned a beehive. I caught a hurried sight of them as they rounded the curve of the Wasium coated rock boulder. An angry flock of bees were in close pursuit. Bees and Proctors both disappeared in the bushes. There were many yells of pain. The bees were getting in their work. It was a great relief to myself and friend H——. Then something happened. I hardly know how to describe it, it seems so terrible. My friend H——stepped too near the edge of a cliff. The edge of the cliff gave way. Down went H——. It was all over instantly. I rushed to the edge just in time to see poor H—— disappear through a bunch of bushes growing out of the side of the cliff half way down. The next instant I heard a sickening thud. All was over—Poor H——. Poor old slop dobber. I stood, dazed. I reached for my faithful trusty hip flask—one big swig. I sat down on a stump to compose myself. With half shut eyes I composed myself. I took another swig. I heard a munching sound. I looked up. The two palfreys were close by, munching grass. I took one more swig. I dove my hand deep in the pocket of my lumberjack. I produced a small silver whistle. One long sharp toot. My palfrey left off munching and trotted nimbly to my side with a pleasurable neigh. I mounted, settled myself in the saddle and drove quietly into the labyrinth. We were passing through a vista of beautiful rose trees and many thorn bushes and clinging cactus. I heard a sort of nimbling patting trot. It was the other palfrey, the palfrey of my friend H——. There was a rider on the saddle. Could I believe my eyes! The rider! It was the grinning mandrill. The swigs I had taken kept up my courage, I looked calmly at the mounted mandrill. He looked at me, he saluted; a military salute. He then gave the horse a slap on the neck. The horse darted forward, crashed through the brambles and disappeared. By this time I was in a pretty big state of mind. I spoke to the horse. "Nice horsey, pretty horsey, start ahead, skip." We once more carefully continued our trip through the labyrinth. The rose trees grew thicker. We stopped under one particularly fine horticultural specimen. One large rose dangled overhead. I decided to secure that rose bud, hanging overhead, I reached up my hand. I grasped the flower. I smelt a strong aromatic odor. I tugged at the flower with my right hand. I felt a sharp pain in my index bicep. I was stung. By a bumble bee. No. By a vinegerone. Of all things a vinegerone. A vinegerone is about the most perfect angel maker this side of Painted Post. I let out one yell. Oh, the pain! Then I recollected myself. I tied a cord loosely about my wrist. I thrust a stick through the cord. I twisted the stick. I twisted the stick more and more until the cord about my wrist was so tight—so tight the cord sunk deep in the flesh all around the wrist. I dug the spurs deep into the sides of the horse. The beast darted forward. We dashed through the valley at the rate of two forty on a plank road. Presently I saw lights ahead. We flew across the drawbridge. We entered under the portcullis grating. All that happened is now all in one big mix through my cosmos. I can remember how I sprang from the horse yelling, "Where's the Laird? The doctor! Help! Help! The vinegerone! The bite!" The Hoff Marshall began to yell. The Laird rushed in all excitement. He comprehended the mess instantly. The Laird grabbed my wrist; he thrust my wounded hand down on the oaken table. The Laird seized the hatchet. Whiz chop! The sharp edge cut across the outer edge of my bitten bicep index digit. Oh the pain! Oh the blood! The red, red blood! "Isn't it lovely?" said the Laird. He then spoke to the Hoff Marshall. "Fetch me the box of lint, fetch me the adhesive tape, fetch me the Pond's extract." My life was saved. The angel-making vinegerone came in second best. The vinegerone was cheated of his prey. Next came a goblet of milk with a stick of the right stuff. Half an hour afterwards, I found myself and my friend Ivan, the Laird of Nax, seated before a fire of blazing logs. A jug of rum stood on the table between us. The cat frisked about on the floor having the time of its life with the dead vinegerone. Six German Indians dressed in the uniform of beefeaters stood at attention. The Laird slept.

            When Bang! Something happens.

            Look, look at that rat hole. What is it?

            One small armadillo enters from the rat hole.

            The armadillo looks at me.

            The armadillo nods his head sadly.

            The armadillo hops up on to a divan.

            The armadillo winks at me and then crawls in under a red velvet pillow.

            And this is the end of the armadillo incident for the present. Alas, only for the present. The Laird awoke.

            The Laird seemed lost in meditation: one moment biting his nails, another cracking his joints. The Laird reminded me of an over-tired possum wrestling with an extra ornery hickory nut. The Laird rang a bell. The benevolent ironmonger entered. The Laird spake. "See to it that the thumbscrews are in perfect order. See to it that the locks on all the cell doors are well oiled. Have all the manacles ready for instant service. I feel an itching under my left ear. That always means one thing. There will be much correcting, great severity. Woe be to those who deserve my wrath. Begone!" The ironmonger vanished. I shivered. A peculiar chill shot up through my spinal fabric.

            The two upper housemaids, Laudanum Liz and Morphine Maggie entered. They served us with pork tenderloin and iced mead.

            All was quaint quietness, weirdly disturbed. The only sound was a queer sound from one of the windows. We both rose and went to the window. Ah ha! It was a large vampire bat fluttering about. He flapped and fluttered, and then—sneak—he vanished. We continued standing at the window. We looked down upon a rock formation—it was a long streak of rock—one end of rock just under the window—the rock stretched out across the lawn—a sort of a natural path. The further end of the rock path terminated at the edge of the cliff, where the rock stood out over the cliff. This rock formation went by the name of "Jake's leg." The Laird spake. Says he: "Let's go down and out on that rock." "Right-O," says I. We crawled through the window, and then by the aid of a rope ladder, descended to the lawn beneath. The reader may wonder why we troubled ourselves over a rope ladder when the house was furnished with many staircases. Well—let the reader keep on wondering. The whole thing is a riddle. Let it go at that. We climbed down the rope ladder. We stood on the lawn. We crossed the lawn. We now stood on the projecting rock. The rock called "Jake's leg." We were confronted with the mandrill ape. He stood with both arms extended. In one hand he grasped a squirrel. In the other hand he grasped a rabbit. He swung both the little animals on high. Then he flung both the little animals over the cliff. Down they fell, down, down, down! Out of sight. The work was done, the tragedy consummated. Poor little animals; poor little pets! Poor little dears! The little squirrel will never climb my shoulder for peanuts. The little rabbit will never go out on a dark night looking for Tom cats. Poor little animals; poor little dears. We turned sadly away. We walked slowly toward the house. We climbed the rope ladder. We reached the window. It was locked. The Laird used his diamond ring as a glass-cutter, cut out a pane of glass, thrust in his hand, unlocked the catch, and opened the window. The Laird and myself took hands. We jumped through the window together. Smash! Kerflunk! We landed in a bowl of soup. The bowl containing the soup was fifty-nine inches in diameter. What a mess! Servants came running from all directions. They carted us to the pump. We were washed. Our clothes were washed and hung out to dry. We were wrapped in bath robes. We then returned to the banquet hall. We were served with hot rum punch. The Laird rang a bell. The Hoff Marshall appeared. The Laird blew a whistle. The two housemaids appeared. The Laird spake. "Marshall, these two housemaids were careless. They left the bowl of soup on the floor. This calls for punishment dire. Conduct these two dames to the tapestry chamber. Exercise great severity. Give them both fifty strokes of the kanchuka." The Laird turning to the housemaids spake. "You have heard the sentence. Follow the Hoff Marshall. Submit to your punishment. Remove the necessary raiment. You will both receive a good fat spanking. Begone!" The two housemaids were led away. We heard screams. I sat pondering. What kind of an establishment was this? What kind of people have I run against? Bugs, bugs, bugs! oh, had I but known all that was in store for me! Next came a skip and a hop. Two lovely Persian kittens sprang on my lap. They both began to purr. Such lovely kittens. They live with their parents; so the Laird tells me. I'll take his word for it. I was much too anxious for any argument. What kind of an establishment was this; what kind of people have I fallen amongst? I could hear the ironmonger singing in the distance thus:

Maggie Maloney
Rode on a pony,
Over the mountain to Ausable Lake,
Maggie Maloney,
Lop sided—bony,
Gobbles the cruller,
That dough nutty cake.

            The two housemaids, Laudanum Liz and Morphine Mag, entered—both had a meek look in their bright eyes. I have frequently noticed that after a spanking the party that got the spanking has a gentle expression in their eyes. The Laird began scolding. I picked up a dream book. I pretended not to hear the conversation. But no use. I happened to be provided with ears. The Laird was scolding the two housemaids, Laudanum Liz and Morphine Maggie. Said he, "You two jades. I overheard your remarks. You voiced your adverse opinions as to my mentality. Give me strict attention. Learn what happens to those who backbite me. Last year the celebrated banker Pugdumper had the temerity to remark that I, the Laird of Nax, was crazy as a bedbug. Now note well what followed. It was noticed that the banker mixed fried potatoes with his coffee. A fine breakfast for a banker. That same banker now occupies cell seventeen in the nearest nuthouse. Look to it you two jades. I may order my butler to throw you both off the cliff."        The two maids ran shrieking from his presence. Ha ha, he he! laughed the Laird. He then became grave. He picked up a scrap of paper. He spake, "Read that; an old prophecy. It makes me shiver."

When the scaly armadiller
Sneaketh underneath the piller,
When the camel swims the biller
            Oh beware the ax.
Sneak away thou cringing bloke,
Yes, the time has come to croak.
Let the crushing granite choke,
Killing the Laird of Nax.

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