daisies and buttercups. As Dorothy filled her lungs with fresh, clean air, tiny waves of optimism began to roll over her, and little by little she started to feel like her old self again. Then, when the Scarecrow shot an infectious, little smile her way, her fears melted under its warmth.

Now the Emerald City was far behind them. As they advanced, the ground became rougher and hillier, the soil less arable. There were no trees here, so sunlight brightly illuminated their weary faces.

Now, the Wicked Witch of the West had eyes as powerful as telescopes, and they could see everywhere. As she sat in the doorway of her imposing castle, she looked around, and her gaze fell upon Dorothy and her strange entourage. Their presence in her kingdom, albeit far off, immediately aroused her wrath. Then it occurred to her that the death of her sister, the Witch of the East, had still not been avenged.

Incensed, the Witch went to her cupboard to get the Golden Cap. Whoever owned this magical Cap could call upon the army of Winged Monkeys, who, with monolithic solidarity, were forced to carry out any order they were given. She summoned them, and at once the great horde descended, their immense wings casting a menacing shadow across the land.

The largest Monkey, who was their leader, landed close to the Witch and asked, “What is your command?”

“Fly to the revolting vermin who have invaded my land and destroy them—especially the murderous child, the linchpin of that motley band,” answered the Witch. “But bring the Lion to me,” she added, rubbing her hands together in a show of anticipatory, malicious glee, “for I might yoke him like a horse so I can practice my equestrian skills.”

“Your command shall be obeyed,” said the leader compliantly. Then, with a low rumbling sound, the simian swarm flew in echelon formation to the place where Dorothy and her friends were walking.

Swooping down, one row of soldiers seized the Tin Woodman and carried him through the air until they were high above a knoll covered with sharp rocks. Here they dropped the poor metal man, who, lacking any resilience, lay so dented he couldn’t move.

A phalanx of sharp-clawed Monkeys caught the Scarecrow and eviscerated him by pulling all of the straw out of his clothes. Then they made his pants and jacket into a small bundle and flung it into the top branches of a tall tree.

A cadre of large soldiers pinioned the Lion’s legs by winding many coils of rope around them. Then they lifted his immobile form and flew him to the Witch’s castle, where they locked him in a small yard with a high iron fence around it.

Dorothy stood, with Toto in her arms, watching the debacle and knowing she’d be the next victim of this insane pogrom. The leader of the Winged Monkeys, ready to complete the rout of the queer quartet, flew up to her, his long, hirsute arms stretched out and his ugly face grinning