"Run!" screamed the yellow hen, fluttering away in great fright.
"It's a Wheeler!"

"A Wheeler?" exclaimed Dorothy. "What can that be?"

"Don't you remember the warning in the sand: 'Beware the Wheelers'?
Run, I tell you--run!"

So Dorothy ran, and the Wheeler gave a sharp, wild cry and came after
her in full chase.

Looking over her shoulder as she ran, the girl now saw a great
procession of Wheelers emerging from the forest--dozens and dozens of
them--all clad in splendid, tight-fitting garments and all rolling
swiftly toward her and uttering their wild, strange cries.

"They're sure to catch us!" panted the girl, who was still carrying the
heavy dinner-pail she had picked. "I can't run much farther, Billina."

"Climb up this hill,--quick!" said the hen; and Dorothy found she was
very near to the heap of loose and jagged rocks they had passed on
their way to the forest. The yellow hen was even now fluttering among
the rocks, and Dorothy followed as best she could, half climbing and
half tumbling up the rough and rugged steep.

She was none too soon, for the foremost Wheeler reached the hill a
moment after her; but while the girl scrambled up the rocks the
creature stopped short with howls of rage and disappointment.