L. Frank Baum - Oz 18 Read online

  Grampa was very proud of his game leg, for it not only served him in place of the one he had lost in battle, but whiled away many dull hours, and being hollow was a splendid place to store his pipe and tobacco. The old soldier had seventy-five pipes and deciding which of these to carry with him took longer than all his other preparations. At last even this important matter was settled and he lay down to snatch a few hours’ sleep before morning. And morning came in almost no time, the sun rising so bright and cheerily that even Mrs. Sew-and-Sew took heart, and when Grampa stuck his head in the kitchen door to see how breakfast was coming she told him how she intended to refurnish the entire castle when he returned with the King’s head and the fortune.

  “Fine!” cried the old soldier, who was in excellent spirits himself. “And if you will just sew a button on this shirt I’ll be ready to start at once!” So while Grampa went on with the breakfast Mrs. Sew-and-Sew, who was frightfully clever with her needle, sewed a button on the shirt. That was all Grampa needed to complete his outfit, so he hurried up stairs to waken the Prince, and at eight o’clock precisely the old soldier and Tatters issued forth from the palace gates.

  Grampa wore the red uniform of the Ragbad Guards, with its scarlet coat and checkered trousers and carried not only his knapsack, gun and sword, but his trusty drum as well. Prince Tatters, over his many colored rag suit, had flung the shaggy skin of a thread bear, and with the big umbrella grasped firmly in one hand and a box of lunch in the other, presented so brave and determined an appearance that the twenty-seven good men of Ragbad, drawn up to bid them farewell, burst into loud cheers. The children waved their hats and handkerchiefs and strewed the path of the two heroes with the bunches of posies and ragweed they had risen at dawn to gather. Mrs. Sew-and-Sew and the King stood on the balcony waving their arms-she waving both hers and his-for poor Fumbo, with his dough head, had no way of knowing what the excitement was all about and stood there without so much as blinking a prune.

  “Good-bye!” choked Mrs. Sew-and-Sew, steadying Fumbo with one hand and fluttering her apron with the other. “Don’t forget your father’s head!”

  “Good-bye!” shouted Pudge, leaning far out of his window in the tower to wave his red night cap. Pudge never rose till ten.

  Grampa touched his cap, Prince Tatters waved his umbrella, and having taken the patched flag of Ragbad from Scroggles, who had accompanied them thus far, they wheeled sharply to the left and marched down the broad red highway that led straight out into other and dangerous lands of Oz!

  CHAPTER 3: The Blue Forest of Oz

  GRAMPA,” said Prince Tatters, after the two adventurers had marched along for a time in silence, “Pudge did not tell us where to look for my father’s head, nor where to find the Princess and the fortune.”

  “Trust a wise man for that,” replied the old soldier, striking a match on his game leg and lighting his pipe.

  “Then where are we going Grampa?” asked the Prince, shifting his umbrella to his other arm and adjusting his stride to that of the old soldier.

  “That,” puffed Grampa, “depends on the four-pence.” Stopping short, he took a small coin from his pocket. On one side was the head of King Fumbo and on the other the coat of arms of Ragbad. “I may not be a wise man,” explained Grampa, tossing the coin in his palm, “but I am sure your father’s head can only be restored by magic. There are but two people left in Oz who are permitted to practice magic. One is Glinda, the good sorceress and Queen of our own Quadling country and the other is the Wizard of Oz, who lives in the palace of Princess Ozma, ruler of all Oz.”

  Tatters nodded impatiently, for he had learned all this in his history book. “So,” continued Grampa, “we must march either to the East-for Glinda’s castle is in that direction or to the North to the Emerald City and the palace of Ozma of Oz. Which shall it be? Heads for Ozma, arms for Glinda!”

  Up flew the four-pence and Prince Tatters, dropping on his knee, gave a little cry of delight-for Fumbo’s head was uppermost.

  “The King has decided himself,” chuckled Grampa, pocketing the coin, “so North we go to the Emerald City. We’ll be on our way, my lad, and who knows but on the way we may pick up a fortune or a Princess-and a couple of new pipes and some rare old Oz tobacco,” finished the old soldier, half closing his eyes. These last two items did not interest Prince Tatters, but the thought of visiting the Capitol of Oz, of seeing Princess Ozma, the little fairy ruler, and being presented at court, sent the Prince, who had spent his whole life in the shabby little kingdom of Ragbad, marching along the red highway so fast that Grampa had to do double time to keep up with him.

  Tatters began rehearsing all Mrs. Sew-and-Sew had taught him of court manners and speech and wondering whether he had better speak to Grampa about his bad habits.

  The old soldier had but two. One was eating with his sword and the other was taking snuff, but after a sidelong glance at Grampa, trudging happily at his side, the Prince decided to wait until they reached the Emerald City before offering any advice on etiquette. Even Tatters did not realize how long a journey this would be. He knew in a general way that Oz is a great oblong kingdom, divided into four large countries and many small ones, and that the Emerald City is in the exact center.

  On the maps of Oz in the Prince’s geography the southern Quadling country was marked in red; the country of the West, which was settled by the Munchkins, was marked in blue; the northern Gilliken country in purple; and the land of the Winkies, which lay to the East, was colored yellow-for these were the national colors of the countries represented.

  Though Grampa and Tatters had by this time left Ragbad far behind them, they were still in the Quadling country and all the little farms and villages they passed were of cheery red brick or stone and the people themselves dressed in the quaint red costume of the south. Tulips, poppies and red roses nodded over the tall hedges; the fields, rusty with sorrel, had a reddish tinge and all along the highway giant red maples arched their lacy branches. At noon they stopped under one of these maples and had a bite of the lunch Mrs. Sew-and-Sew had prepared for them, but their pause was short for both were anxious to reach the Emerald City as soon as possible, to learn from the Wizard of Oz the best way to recover Fumbo’s head. To make the marching easier, the old soldier played a lively rat-tat upon his drum, and as they passed through the quiet Quadling villages many heads were popped out the windows to see what all the racket was about. But soon these villages became farther and farther apart, and the country more wild and unsettled and just as the sun slipped down behind the tree-tops they came to the edge of a deep blue forest.

  “A long march,” puffed the old soldier, mopping his forehead, “but we’re getting along, my lad, for this is the beginning of the Munchkin country.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” asked Prince Tatters, peering anxiously into the gloomy forest.

  “Safe!” cried Grampa scornfully. “Well I hope not. Fortunes are never found in safe places my boy. Shouldn’t wonder if there were a bear behind every tree,” he continued cheerfully. “Shouldn’t wonder if there were a dragon or two lying in wait for us. Come on!” Thrusting his drum sticks through his belt and waving his sword, the old soldier plunged recklessly into the blue forest, shouting the national air of Ragbad at the top of his lungs.

  “Oh, hush,” begged Prince Tatters, glancing uneasily from side to side and treading close upon Grampa’s heels, “someone might hear you. Oh! What’s that?” For with a shrill scream a great bird had risen from the branches of a tree just ahead and flown squawking into the air.

  “That’s supper!” chuckled the old soldier, and raising his gun he took aim and fired. There was a sharp crash as the bullet struck home, then down fell a large reddish fowl.

  “Well?” the fowl rasped sulkily, as Prince Tatters and Grampa ran forward, “what am I supposed to do now? I’ve never been shot before.”

  “A bird that’s shot is not supposed to do anything,” said the old soldier severely. “Oh,” sighed the b
ird, “that’s easy!” and putting down its head, it lay quietly on its side. “It’s a rooster!” exclaimed the Prince, touching it with one hand, “an iron rooster!” At this the bird sprang up indignantly.

  “You may shoot me if you want, but I’ll not lie here and let you call me names,” it shrilled angrily. “Where are your eyes? Can’t you see I’m a weather cock?”

  “Do you suppose I’d have wasted a good bullet on you if I had? I may have an iron constitution but I don’t eat cast iron birds,” sniffed Grampa. “What do you mean, flying through this forest deceiving hungry travellers?”

  “I don’t know what I mean,” replied the weather cock calmly, “for I’ve only been alive since last night. What do you mean yourself, pray? Must everyone have a meaning like a riddle?” Grampa stroked his whiskers thoughtfully over this remark.

  “But how did you come to be alive?” asked the Prince, leaning on his red umbrella and regarding the bird with deep interest-for even in Oz weather cocks usually stick to their poles.

  “There was a storm,” explained the cock, lifting one claw, “lightning, thunder, wind and rain. One minute I was whirling around on the top of my barn and next minute I was spinning through space. Then all at once I came in contact with a live wire, there was a flash, I was charged with a strange force and to my infinite amazement I found that my wings would work and that I could crow. So I crew and flew and flew and crew, till I fell exhausted in this forest.”

  “Humph!” grunted Grampa. “A likely story. In the first place there are no live wires in Oz and-”

  “Oz!” screeched the weather cock, “I didn’t say Oz. I was on a barn near Chicago when the storm broke. Have you never heard of Chicago, you odd looking, old creature?”

  “Never,” answered Grampa emphatically, “but wherever you started from, you’re in Oz now and you might as well get used to it. Come along, Tatters. There’s nothing to be gained by arguing, it only makes me hungry.”

  “But tell me,” the weather cock fluttered into the air, “what am I to do with my life?”

  “Keep it-if you can,” chuckled the old soldier and started off between the trees. But Tatters was loath to leave this singular bird.

  “Let him come with us Grampa,” coaxed the Prince. “He won’t need anything to eat and he might help us find the fortune.”

  “Yes, do,” crowed the weather cock. “I can waken you in the morning, tell you which way the wind blows and fall upon the heads of your enemies. Have you any enemies?” the weather cock asked hopefully.

  “Not yet,” murmured the Prince, looking ahead into the shadows,-“but-” “Shouldn’t wonder if he would make a good fighter,” reflected Grampa, half closing his eyes. “Never saw a cock yet that wasn’t game. Do you agree to join this company, obey all commands and go by the name of Bill?”

  “I’ll go by the name of Bill, but what name shall I come by,” asked the weather cock, putting its head on one side.

  “The same, you iron idiot!” shouted Grampa, who was a bit short tempered. “Do you agree?” “Yes,” crowed the weather cock, putting up his claw solemnly.

  “Then forward fly,” commanded the old soldier. And up into the air with a rusty creak flung the weather cock and just beneath marched Granpa and the Prince. As they progressed through the ever darkening forest, Tatters told Bill of the great storm in Ragbad, how he was seeking his father’s head and his own fortune.

  “Your father lost his head in the same storm I found my life,” wheezed the weather cock earnestly, “so it is only fair that I should help you.

  “Hah! We shall be helped by fair means or fowl!” chuckled the old soldier, who would have his little joke~but it was lost on Bill, who was already looking around for the King’s head and the fortune. And though he was not quite sure what a fortune was, he felt confident that he should find one. It had grown so dark by now that Grampa soon called a halt. Under a tall blue tree the little company made camp. Bill was most helpful in collecting wood and Prince Tatters put up the red umbrella, which was so large that it served them admirably for a tent. A little beyond the rim of the umbrella Grampa kindled a fire, and after a cozy supper of toasted sandwiches the old soldier unbuckled his leg and he and Prince Tatters settled down to a quiet game of scrum. Bill flew to the top of the blue tree to observe the wind and the weather, and nothing could have been more peaceful. The stars twinkled merrily above, the fire crackled cheerily below and Tatters had just beaten Grampa two games to one, when a hundred little snaps in the underbrush made them turn in alarm.

  “Great gum drops!” gasped the old soldier, jumping to his foot.

  Tatters snatched up the umbrella and, using it for a shield, began to back away, for in the circle of the firelight and completely surrounding the blue tree stood a company of bandits. They were tall and terrible, with great slouch hats and blue boots. Pistols and daggers by the dozen bristled in their belts and nothing could have been fiercer than their whiskered faces and scowling brows.

  For a moment no one spoke. Grampa frowned angrily and Prince Tatters tried to look as if he was not scared. As usual, Bill was calm.

  “Are you going to stop here and let them call you gum drops?” sneered the leader, plucking a dagger from his boot. He took one stride forward, then pitched on his face and lay perfectly still-for the weather cock, convinced that this was an enemy, had fallen hard upon his head. The suddenness of the blow surprised the outlaws and while they drew back in confusion Grampa leaned down, seized his wooden leg and buckling it on as he ran, joined Prince Tatters, who by this time had his back against the tree.

  “Go it Bill!” shouted the old soldier, laying about with his drum sticks.

  “Here I go by the name of Bill!” screeched the excited weather cock, rising into the air again. “Here I come by the name of Bill. Sucumb, you blue monster!” And down went a second bandit.

  This enraged the others, and though Prince Tatters poked away valiantly with the big umbrella, and Grampa knocked out three of the outlaws with his drum sticks and Bill fell upon the heads of two more, they were hopelessly outnumbered. In a minute more they were overpowered, bound with heavy ropes and dragged through the forest to the bandits’ camp. Even the weather cock swung head down from the belt of one of the robbers.

  CHAPTER 4: The Baffled Bandits

  SO disappointed I could cry,” blubbered the robber chief, pulling out his red handkerchief. “Shake them again Skally, shake them hard!” Before him on the ground lay the few possessions of Grampa and Tatters-an old silver watch, the four-pence, a rusty pen knife and two copper medals. The chief had recovered from the terrible blow of the cast iron weather cock, but had a large black lump over one eye. Bill, who insisted on crowing in a dozen different keys, had been muffled in the bandit’s cloak and put under a rock.

  “I told you they were a poor lot,” sniffed Skally, but nevertheless, he seized first Grampa and then Tatters and shook them violently by the heels. This he could easily do, being eight feet tall and exceedingly muscular. Two red gum drops rolled out of Grampa’s pocket, but that was all.

  “And they’re not even frightened,” complained the bandit in a grieved voice, as Skally set the two roughly on their feet.

  “Frightened!” puffed Grampa indignantly. (After the two terrible shakings he had only breath enough to puff.) “You didn’t think a flock of bush-whacking bandits like you could frighten an old soldier like me, and a young Prince like Tatters, did you?”

  “Prince!” gasped the bandit, blinking at Tatters through the smoke of the wood fire, while the rest of the outlaws began to slap their knees and roar with merriment.

  “Yes, Prince,” shrilled Grampa, “and don’t make faces at me, you ugly villain.”

  “Well!” roared the chief, after another long look at Tatters, “he may be a Prince to his mother, but he’s a pain in the eye to me!”

  “Then shut your eyes,” advised Grampa promptly. “I’d do it for you if I were not tied up. In a fair fight I’d beat you any day.
”

  “We’ve taken everything they have. Shall we hang them or let them go?” asked Skally in a bored voice.

  “No you haven’t,” screamed Grampa defiantly. “No you haven’t. Take my picture you scoundrel! Take my rheumatism! Take my advice and clear out of this forest before I report you to the Princess of Oz.”

  Even Prince Tatters, who really was frightened at the fierce appearance of the bandit, had to laugh a little at the surprised expression on the chief’s face as the old soldier continued to stamp and scold. And the more Grampa scolded the more cheerful the bandit became.

  “He reminds me of my old father,” he remarked in an admiring undertone to Skally.

  “Does your old father know you’re a bandit?” shouted Grampa sternly, “holding up honest adventurers and getting your living by breaking the law?”

  “Father always told me to take things easy,” replied the chief, popping one of

  Grampa’s gum drops into his mouth. ” ‘Vaga,’ he said to me over and over again, ‘always take things easy, my boy,’ and I do,” grinned the robber wickedly. “But business is mighty slow in this forest lately. Kings and Princes are getting poorer and poorer every day. Look at him!” He waved scornfully at Tatters. “Not worth a shoe button and the whole week it has been the same story. All we got to-day was a wizard, but he was as false as his whiskers couldn’t even change leaves to gold or sticks to precious stones. All he had with him was a bottle of patent medicine. Now medicine,” yawned Vaga, touching with his boot a long green bottle that lay with a heap of rubbish near the fire, “is something I never take.”