L. Frank Baum - Oz 18 Read online

  CHAPTER 15: The Finding of Fumbo’s Head!

  FOR AN HOUR the three crows and Invisi-Bill flew steadily over the Nonestic Ocean, and flying was so unusual and pleasant a sensation that they were too interested to talk. Besides, Grampa had warned them in the beginning to keep all their strength for flying, for there was no telling how long they would remain crows and it would be extremely dangerous to change back while up in the air and over the ocean. So, except for the occasional calls of Bill to let them know which way to go, they crossed the great ocean in silence.

  “Land!” screamed the weather cock, as the rocky shores of Ev came into view. “Well, that’s over!” cawed Grampa, alighting thankfully on a rough cliff. “Now we must cross this country and the sandy desert. Anybody tired?” Urtha and Tatters shook their heads and no one could see what Bill did, so after a few minutes’ rest they rose into the air again and flew swiftly Over Ev-on and on until they reached the great desert that entirely surrounds the magic Kingdom of Oz.

  “Fly higher!” commanded the old soldier, for he had read so much of the deadly nature of this desert that he wanted to be as far above it as possible. So the little flock of crows and Invisi-Bill soared high into the air and they crossed the desert even faster than they had crossed the Nonestic Ocean, fear lending speed to their wings. And when at last the lovely land of the Winkies spread out below them, the old soldier gave a crow of delight. “Just keep on this way and we’ll be in the Emerald City by noon time!” exulted Grampa. “Forward for Ragbad and Oz!”

  “And flying is such fun,” chuckled Urtha, circling close to the old soldier. “I don’t care how long I am a crow. But, oh Mr Grampa, there’s a gun sticking through your feathers.”

  “What?” croaked the old soldier in alarm. “I feel heavy,” spluttered Tatters suddenly, and looking at the young Prince, Grampa saw that from the waist down he was Tatters and from the waist up he still was crow.

  “Down! Everybody down! Down as fast as you can fly,” ordered the old soldier in a panic. He himself could feel his feathers turning to clothes and his wings seemed too light to hold up his body. Half flying and half falling, half people and half crows, the little company shot downward, and it is mighty lucky they started down when they did. As it was, they turned back to themselves and landed at one and the same minute, and the landing was so hard that, for a moment, no one spoke at all. The old soldier broke the silence.

  “Why, there’s Bill,” cried Grampa, who was sitting calmly in the middle of a yellow rose bush. He had grown somewhat used to falling about by this time. “How do you feel, Bill?” asked the old soldier, extracting several thorns from his person.

  “How do I look?” asked the weather cock anxiously.

  “Handsome as ever,” said Grampa, eying him closely. “Being invisible hasn’t hurt you at all, and how are the rest of my old cronies?”

  “I’m all right,” smiled Urtha, jumping up lightly. The little flower maiden was looking as beautiful as ever.

  “So am I,” said Tatters, “but I’d like to know how we happened to turn crow, and whether it’s going to happen often. You know, Grampa, it would be mighty inconvenient to be turning backwards and forwards any minute. I am sure it would be very unpleasant.”

  “Well, it helped us over a couple of bad places,” mused the old soldier. “The mischief, boys! I’ve lost my pipe!” Grampa clapped one hand to his pocket and the other to his chin.

  “You dropped it when you were a crow, Tatters reminded him. Grampa did not answer, for out of his pocket he had drawn the blue tobacco pouch of Vaga, the bandit. In the excitement following Bill’s disappearance all the tobacco had spilled out, but the pouch Grampa had thrust into his pocket just before he turned crow. Here, at any rate, it was, and on the flap this amazing sentence: “To turn people to crows, smoke this tobacco.

  One puff will keep a company of captives crows for one hour, two puffs, two hours, three puffs for three hours, and so on.

  “So that’s the reason there were so many crows in the blue forest!” shouted Grampa indignantly. “So that’s why we turned to crows. It’s three hours to the minute,” he puffed, pulling out his watch.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Tatters crossly. “Us,” chuckled Grampa. “It was the bandit’s tobacco that did the trick.” Showing them the blue pouch, he explained how he had smoked the magic tobacco instead of his own and how just three puffs had kept them crows for three hours. “A couple more puffs and we’d have been all the way to the Emerald City,” sighed the old soldier regretfully. “How-some-ever, marching is more to my taste.”

  “What about eating? That’s more to mine.” Tatters yawned-for flying had made him quite hungry.

  “All right,” agreed Grampa, and, unfastening his knapsack, he took out one of the dried bear steaks and busied himself with making a fire. Fortunately they had lost none of their possessions by turning to crows-that is nothing except Grampa’s pipe.

  “I love this country,” said Urtha, sitting solemnly beside the old soldier. “I believe I like Oz better than the wizard’s garden.”

  “It’s the top of the world,” boasted Grampa, dropping the steak into his campaign frying pan. Tatters, meanwhile, had found a pink plum tree and came back with his cap full of plums, so that he and Grampa had a most satisfying luncheon. Bill, as usual, was searching for the fortune and, while they were eating, Urtha merrily skipped rope with a long spray of honeysuckle.

  “Cheer up, boy,” said the old soldier, for the Prince was looking rather thoughtful.

  “We’re on the right track now and only a day’s march from the capitol.”

  “Storm coming! Storm coming!” shrilled the weather cock, dropping down suddenly beside the fire. “Wind! Thunder and possible showers!”

  “Oh, g’wan!” scoffed Grampa, gathering up his tin camp dishes. “You g’wan, Bill.”

  “I don’t want to go on,” said the weather cock stubbornly. “There’s a storm coming, I tell you.” And sure enough, at that minute, a great gust of wind scattered the camp fire, blew off Grampa’s hat and sent a cloud of leaves scurrying over the meadows.

  Tatters reached for his red umbrella, which was never far from his side and Urtha, her flowery skirts flying out like ribbons on a May pole, came hurrying back.

  “I’ve thought of something!” screamed Bill. He had to scream to make himself heard, for the wind had risen to a perfect gale. “If the King’s head was lost in a storm, why wouldn’t it be found in a storm!”

  “Snuff and nonsense!” shouted the old soldier, picking up his hat and jamming it over his ears. Then, as the first spatter of rain came pelting down, he dashed under the big red umbrella. Tatters had all he could do to hold it steady and several times the wind nearly jerked him into the air. So Grampa seized the handle with both hands and Urtha, also, took hold. But it was no use. The gale was too much for them and before they had time to let go, the red umbrella whirled up like a balloon, carrying them all along.

  “Here I come by the name of Bill!” shrieked the weather cock and, flinging himself aloft, he scrambled on top of the King’s umbrella. But even Bill’s weight could not bring it down.

  “Why this, ” laughed the little flower fairy, as the umbrella soared up toward the clouds, “this is better than flying!”

  “Better hold on,” advised Grampa grimly, “there’s nothing between us and earth, but air.” The wind rose higher and higher, the rain swirled all around them and tossed them about like rag dolls. The three clung desperately to the umbrella but in ten minutes they had risen above the storm area and were sailing straight toward a great patch of pink skyland. About halfway over, the umbrella drifted slowly downward and Grampa and Tatters, rather uncertainly, stood up in the pink clouds.

  “Will we drop through?” asked the Prince doubtfully, still keeping hold of the umbrella. After a few steps they found it quite as secure as the real earth.

  “How soft it feels,” murmured Urtha and, letting go of the umbrella, she b
egan skipping over the fluffy cloud meadows, posies springing up wherever she stepped, just as they had on Isa Poso. And so fresh and beautiful did the little flower girl appear against the pink of the clouds that Grampa and Tatters simply gasped and a little sky shepherdess, who had been resting on a cloud bank, picked up her crook and came running over to touch Urtha.

  “Are you a fairy?” asked the little shepherdess breathlessly. “Are you a Princess?” demanded Bill, fluttering down in front of the little sky lady before Urtha had time to speak at all. Bill never allowed anything to interfere with business.

  “Oh, no!” The cunning little lady swung her moon bonnet and fluffed out her skirts, which were all embroidered with stars. “Oh, no, I’m only a shepherdess!” she answered modestly.

  “Well, we’re looking for a head, a Princess and a fortune,” rasped Bill impatiently.

  “What do you shepherd?” asked the old soldier, pushing Bill hurriedly aside. “I didn’t know there were any sheep in the sky.”

  “Not sheep,” cried the little maiden, throwing back her head and laughing heartily, “not sheep, but stars! I tend all the baby stars and keep them from falling out of the Milky Way,” she finished, smiling shyly at Tatters.

  “You do,” marvelled the Prince of Ragbad, “well, where are they now and what do you call yourself?”

  “I never call myself, but the stars call me Maribella,” answered the little shepherdess, with a demure bow. “They’re asleep now. Are you really looking for a Princess?” Tatters nodded and Urtha, slipping her arms around Maribella’s waist, kissed her on both cheeks.

  “I wish you were the Princess,” sighed Urtha, stepping back to look wistfully at the little sky maiden.

  “Why?” asked Maribella curiously. “Because you’re the only one we’ve seen who is lovely enough to marry the Prince,” said Urtha. Tatters looked mightily embarrassed at Urtha’s speech and Grampa, drawing Maribella aside told her the whole story of their adventures.

  “Well,” mused the little sky maiden as he finished, “there aren’t any Princesses or fortunes in the sky, but there are lots of heads here in the clouds.”

  “There are!” roared Grampa in astonishment. Maribella nodded. “Didn’t’ you know many earth people have their heads in the clouds?” she asked seriously. “Why there’s a whole company of them on the other side of this very hill.”

  “Forward, march!” cried the old soldier excitedly. “Urtha, Tatters, Bill, fall in with you!” So fall in they did, and Maribella was right, for on the other side of the cloud hill were nearly a hundred heads, resting lightly on the pink clouds. Some were smoking, some stared straight ahead and others were carrying on a lively conversation between themselves.

  “Father!” screamed the Prince of Ragbad, for King Fumbo’s head was almost the first they spied. Fumbo was talking quietly to the head of an inventor of market baskets with legs and he turned in some surprise at Tatters’ call.

  “The head! The head! We have found the head!” crowed Bill exultantly, and burst into such a hurrah of cock-a-doodle-doos that several of the smokers dropped their pipes and King Fumbo looked positively frightened.

  “Your Majesty,” said Grampa reproachfully, as Bill finally subsided, “how could you leave us like this? We’ve been through earth, air, fire and water to find you.”

  “Well, I guess the jig’s up,” sighed Fumbo sorrowfully, “but it’s been a great treat, Grampa, getting off like this. How’s everybody?”

  “Everybody was well enough when I left,” said Grampa a bit stiffly, for he couldn’t help feeling that Fumbo could have got home if he had wanted to. “Everybody’s well enough, except your own body and that looks mighty silly with the doughnut they have given it.”

  “So they gave me a dough head! Well, won’t that do?” asked the King fretfully of the old soldier.

  “Oh, father, please come back,” begged Tatters, falling on his knees before the King’s head. “You must certainly resume your body,” declared the old soldier sternly. “How did you get up here in the first place?”

  “It was the storm,” began Fumbo, rolling his eyes from one to the other. “My head never was on very tight, you know.” Grampa nodded dryly. “So it blew off,” continued the King calmly, “and then I had on a wing collar,” Fumbo coughed apologetically, “and the thing flew right well, so I flew till I came to this cloud and here I’ve been ever since. I suppose I must go back if you say so, but it’s a poor business, old fellow. How are you going to get down from here? How did you get up? Who is this little Miss Rosy Posy and that iron billed bird you have with you?”

  “This is Urtha,” explained Tatters proudly. “We found her in an enchanted garden. And that’s Bill. We found him in the blue forest, and - oh, father, we’ve had such strange adventures.”

  “Tell me all!” sighed Fumbo, closing his eyes and smacking his lips with anticipation.

  “Not unless you come back with us,” said Grampa craftily. “We were in an island of fire,” began Tatters, while Urtha, who was pressed close at his side, nodded excitedly.

  “What!” exclaimed Fumbo, opening his eyes as far as they would go. “I’ll come!” he decided hastily, “and you must tell me every single bit of the story.” Grampa smiled slyly, Tatters promised and before he could change his mind, the old soldier thrust the King’s head into the pink bag Maribella had used for her knitting.

  Then, accompanied by the little sky shepherdess, Grampa and his army prepared to leave the sky. The other heads looked very sulky as they passed by but, paying no attention to their mutterings, Grampa marched to the edge of the great pink cloud.

  “Now what?” mused the old soldier, staring down anxiously. “Are there any steps or air ships about, my dear?” Maribella shook her head. “But there’s a rainbow,” she cried suddenly. “Could you use that?” Arching from the edge of the cloud and down as far as they could see, curved a wide glittering rainbow-for the storm was over and the sun was shining through the clouds. Dancing down the rainbow came a fairy almost as lovely as Urtha herself. It was Polychrome, the Rain King’s daughter, and when Maribella explained that Grampa and his company were from Oz, she insisted upon kissing them allfor Polychrome had visited in Oz many times and had met with some fine adventures there.

  “Come on,” cried Polychrome gaily, “I’ll show you how to travel on a rainbow.” Seizing Urtha by the hand, she began running down the bow as you and I would run down steps. Calling good bye to Maribella, Grampa and Tatters quickly followed, the Prince carrying his father’s head and the red umbrella and Grampa balancing Bill upon his shoulder.

  “Now all we have to find is the Princess and the fortune, and a couple of new pipes,” sighed Grampa.

  “Ah, let’s go home without them,” begged Tatters eagerly. “I want to show Urtha the castle and the pigeons. We don’t need a fortune to be happy, Grampa.”

  “Now don’t give up yet,” advised Grampa, turning to wag his finger at the Prince.

  “There’s always a fortune at the end of the rainbow. Look! I believe we’re coming down in the Winkie country, and when we do,” Grampa pulled his whiskers determinedly, “I’m going to get myself an anchor. I’m tired of this flying and falling about.”

  “Use me,” crowed Bill, but as he spoke the bow grew suddenly so very slant that instead of running they began to slid - faster and faster and faster.

  “Good-bye,” called Polychrome mischievously. “I’d come with you, but it’s my Daddy’s birthday and we’re having a party in the sky.” Just as Polly came to “party,” Grampa and his army came to the end of the rainbow and tumbled off in fine style. None of them was hurt in the tumble, and all scrambled to their feet as quickly as they could.

  “Good-bye, Polychrome,” called Urtha. She was the only one who had breath enough to speak.

  “Good gracious,” puffed the old soldier, “I hope we’ve not broken your father’s head.”

  “Well, if it’s not broken it’s badly cracked,” raged the King stuffily
, from the inside of the bag. “If you’re going to fling me about like this I’ll not stick with you, do you hear?” The adventurers smiled and silently put their fingers to their lips, and King Fumbo decided that further protest was useless.

  CHAPTER 16: Princess Dorothy Escapes

  THE TWO DAYS that Grampa and his little army had been adventuring in the wizard’s garden, on Fire Island and Isa Poso, Dorothy, Toto and the Forgetful Poet had spent as prisoners on Monday Mountain. Only the friendship of Princess Pearl Borax had saved them from actual harm, for the Queen of the Tubbies had nearly carried out her threat of wringing their necks. But the Queen finally had sentenced them to the wash tubs, and from morning till night Dorothy and Percy Vere had been forced to bend over the wash boards with the rest of the wild wash women tribe.

  Several times during the first day Percy Vere had almost agreed to marry the dreadful daughter of the old wash woman, for he could not bear to see dear little Dorothy working like a slave. The Forgetful Poet himself had never done any hard work, and in an hour he had rubbed all the skin from his knuckles and all the buttons from the clothes.