threatened him with all
sorts of penalties if he disobeyed. So he yelped and gnarled and
bow-wowed till there was nothing left of his voice but a sickly
wheeze.

Then they told him that the first course was over, and invited him to
return to earth and rest up for the second. So he came sliddering down
the rough bark with the speed of greased lightning.

The second captive was a great fat boy who had been a promising
candidate for center rush on the football team until Sawed-Off
appeared on the scene. This behemoth was compelled to seat himself
on a small inverted saucer and row for dear life with a pair of
toothpicks. The Crows howled with glee over the ludicrous antics
of the fellow, and set him such a pace that he was soon a perfect
waterfall of perspiration, and was crying for mercy. At length he
caught a crab and went heels over head backward on the ground, and
they left him to recover his breath and his temper.

History had watched these proceedings with much amusement, but when
he saw the hazers coming for him he lost sight of the fun of the
situation immediately.

The head Crow now towered over the shivering little History, and said
in his deepest chest-tones: "These Lakerim cattle are too fresh. They
must be branded and salted a little."

Then he fastened a handkerchief over History's eyes, and growled: "Are
those irons hot yet?"

"Red-hot, your Majesty," came the answer from one of the other ravens,
and History heard the clanking of the pokers as they were drawn from
the fire. He had seen before that they were red-hot, and now they were
brandished before his very nose, so close that he could see the red
glow through the cloth over his eyes and could feel the heat in the
air close to his cheek.

"Where shall we brand the wretch, your Honor?" was the next question
History heard.

The poor pygmy was too much frightened to move, and he almost fainted
when he heard the first Crow answer gruffly: "Thrust the branding-iron
right down the back of his neck, and give him a good long mark that
shall last him the rest of his life."

Instantly History felt a bitter, stinging pain at the back of his
neck, a pain that ran like fire down along his spine, and he gave a
great shriek of terror and almost swooned away.

Tug's eyes were not blindfolded, and he had seen that, though the
Crows had waved a red-hot poker before History's nose, they had
quickly substituted a very cold rod to thrust down his back. The
eff