L. Frank Baum - Oz 20

by The Hungry Tiger Of Oz

  “Hello!” cried a bluff voice suddenly. “What’s the matter here? Did you bust your balloon, little girl, or what?” Glancing up, Ozma saw a tall red faced fellow in a leather apron just behind her. The head of the airman did look like a great balloon, and while Ozma quickly dried her tears, Atmos simply stared at the newcomer, almost forgetting his misfortune in his curiosity.

  “What is this?” he whispered huskily. “I thought earth was inhabited by Princesses like yourself. Is this a Princess, too?”

  “Hah, hah, hah!” roared the stranger, slapping his greath thigh. “Do I look like a Princess?” Then, as the curiousness of a balloon’s conversing struck him, his eyes grew rounder and rounder and his mouth hung open with astonishment.

  “It’s an airman,” explained Ozma with dignity, “and I am the Princess of Oz.”

  “Airman!” muttered the big fellow under his breath. “Oz? Well, I’ve heard of Oz, but you’re a long way from home, little lady, and where on earth did you pick up this fellow?”

  “He’s from the sky,” Ozma hastened to inform him.

  “And I’ve had a serious accident,” added Atmos, to save the little fairy from telling her part in

  the affair.

  “You look like an accident,” observed the stranger, kneeling down beside the collapsed form of the airman. “Was it a puncture or an explosion?”

  “A-a puncture,” sighed Atmos, with a sidelong glance at Ozma, “but what manner of earth creature are you?”

  “I’m an ornamental iron worker,” announced the stranger proudly. “There’s my shack over yonder. Rusty Ore is my name, and say!” He rose and looked triumphantly at the little fairy. “I believe I could blow this fellow up again. I’ve a bellows in the shop. Shall I try?”

  “Oh, could you? Would you?” begged the little Princess, clasping her hands eagerly. The more Rusty looked at lovely little Ozma, the surer he became that he could. Everyone who saw Ozma had an immediate desire to serve her, and the ornamental iron worker was no exception. Rolling the airman into a neat bundle, he slung him over his shoulder. Then, taking Qzma’s hand, strode briskly across the fields.

  “Have you anything to eat in your house?” asked the little Princess, skipping to keep up with Rusty’s long strides. “I haven’t had anything to eat for two days!”

  “Two days!” bellowed the iron worker indignantly, and sweeping Ozma up into his arms, he broke into a run, so that almost before they knew it, they had reached his queer little shop.

  CHAPTER 15

  Rusty Ore to the Rescue

  WHILE Ozma, perched on Rusty’s rude bench, nibbled hungrily at the big sandwich he had brought her, Atmos looked around him with interest and frank curiosity. The little shop was filled with iron deer, fire irons, iron dogs and weather cocks, too. Rusty had placed the punctured airman on top of a scrap heap, while he went to search for his bellows, that he might blow him up.

  “Is this an earth castle?” asked Atmos, as Rusty disappeared through the doorway. “Are there

  many creatures like this at the bottom of the air?”

  “Rusty is a man. There are plenty of men, women, children, Kings, Queens and animals down here,” answered Ozma, hardly knowing how to begin to tell an airman about the real and unreal countries of the earth. “Everyone here does not live in a castle,” she went on seriously. “Most people live in houses or on farms.”

  “What’s a farm?” asked Atmos, with a puzzled frown. “Do you know, little Princess, I think I had better explore this country a bit further before I’m blown up. Think what a lecture I can give on the wonders at the bottom of the sky’.”

  “Why don’t you?” asked Ozma, swallowing the last bite of the sandwich.

  “What?” inquired Rusty, returning just then with the bellows.

  “I was just remarking to the Princess that I’d like to see more of your earth before I return to the sky,” confided Atmos, blinking his round eyes at the iron worker. “But as soon as I’m blown up and patched I’ll fly straight upward.”

  “How did you manage before?” questioned Rusty, sitting down on the bench beside Ozma.

  “Well,” said Atmos, “a friend of mine who lives on the Mountains of the Moon, made me a pair of iron boots. These enabled me to sink through the air and walk about the bottom of the sky which you call the earth. I wanted to find out if the earth was inhabited. Putting on the boots, I dove from the tip of the Moon and landed in a strange and lovely garden, where the first object that met my eyes was the lovely little lady before us. Delighted with my find, I picked this Princess from the garden, kicked off my boots and flew back to the sky, carrying her along as proof.”

  “Proof?” blustered Rusty, jumping up indignantly. “How dare you steal a Princess for proof, you old rascal! What shall I do to him?” he puffed, turning angrily to Ozma.

  “Oh, nothing, please do nothing!” begged the little fairy in alarm. “He did not really mean any harm and I’m down on earth again. Besides-” (Ozma’s voice sank to a low whisper), “besides, I

  punctured him with a pin.”

  “You did!” exclaimed Rusty admiringly. “Well, good for you!”

  “Yes!” sighed Atmos sorrowfully. “It was good for her, but exceedingly bad for me. Still, I can see now that it was wrong for me to carry her away, and if you’ll find some way to blow me up and keep me down, I’ll take her safely back to her castle.”

  “Now you’re talking like a real man instead of a wind bag,” said Rusty approvingly. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make you a pair of iron shoes myself, blow you up, patch you up and start you in the right direction. How would that be?”

  Ozma was so delighted with the iron worker’s plan that she gave him a hearty hug, and as Rusty started to work on the boots at once, it was not long before they were finished and standing in the doorway to cool.

  Blowing Atmos up was a ticklish and dangerous operation. Carrying the airman outside, Rusty placed him on the ground. Then, placing the bellows in his side, he began to work it slowly and carefully, while Ozma watched to see that each arm and leg had the same amount of air. Before they started, Rusty had weighted Atmos down with an iron bucket and an iron stag, but as the body of the airman filled out, he grew so light and buoyant they had to add the anchor and a couple of chains.

  “Not too much, now,” warned Ozma, anxiously untying the ribbon from the airman’s throat. “Not too much, or he’ll burst!”

  But Atmos did not burst, and when Rusty saw he had exactly filled out his strange silken skin, he pulled out the bellows, clapped a neat patch over the puncture and stood back to admire this curious citizen of the air. Atmos, himself, began to bounce, swing his arms and sing aloud for pure joy. “Excuse my singing,” chuckled the airman, “but I’m full of fresh air and you have no idea how fine it feels.”

  “Well, don’t put on airs with us,” muttered Rusty, who was really alarmed at the airman’s size. “Do you think he’s safe?” he whispered nervously to Ozma. Ozma nodded enthusiastically and, somewhat reassured, Rusty went off to pack her a lunch for the journey back home.

  By this time, the boots had cooled and, with great difficulty, Rusty fitted them to the airman’s puffy feet, released him from the iron weights and chains and helped him to rise.

  Ozma watched with great interest, for she was not at all sure the boots would keep Atmos on the earth. But after a few skips and flutters the airman began to walk soberly up and down, and with a pleased smile declared himself ready to start.

  Rusty was sorry to have the little Princess go, but when she explained the strange disappearance of Betsy Bobbin and how she must return at once to the Emerald City and try to discover her whereabouts in the Magic Picture, he reluctantly bade her goodbye.

  “You are on the edge of the Gnome King’s dominions,” said Rusty, “and if you travel straight ahead you will come to the Deadly Desert. With iron boots Atmos should have no trouble crossing the burning sands, and if he carries you on his shoulder no harm w
ill come to you.

  “I have never seen a desert,” said Atmos eagerly, “for there are no deserts in the sky. Come, little Princess, let us go at once.” Giving Rusty a farewell embrace and thanking him again for all his kindness, Ozma ran after the airman, who had already started toward the South.

  “Goodbye!” called Rusty, as they turned to wave to him from a little hill. “Be careful not to tread on her toes!”

  The country through which they were passing was barren and wild and not at all interesting to Ozma, but the airman stopped and exclaimed over every tree and boulder, collecting so many leaves, flowers, sticks and small stones, that his air pockets were soon bulging.

  “I’m really quite glad I was punctured,” he remarked happily. “Otherwise I should have missed

  all this.”

  Ozma nodded, a bit impatiently, for she was thinking of all she had missed during her strange two days in the air, and wondering what had become of Betsy Bobbin.

  “Maybe she’s been home all the time,” sighed the little Princess, “and won’t she be astonished when I tell her where I have been. Oh, dear, I do wish he would hurry. If you put any more stones in your pocket you’ll never be able to fly,” she cautioned gently, “and if we don’t walk a little faster, we’ll never reach the Emerald City at all.”

  “That’s so,” puffed the airman, and straightening up he reluctantly dropped a handful of pebbles. “But walking is so monotonous. In the air, we can drift, float, swim or fly and so we never grow

  tired.”

  “It must be very nice,” agreed Ozma politely, “but don’t you think you could walk a little faster? We’re going to have a storm,” she added, glancing up at the sky, which was full of dark clouds. “Oh, Atmos, let’s run and maybe we’ll reach a house before it breaks.”

  “Breaks?” panted the airman, clumping clum-sily after the light-footed little fairy. “What will it break? Us?”

  “Don’t you ever have any storms in the sky?” called Ozma over her shoulder.

  Atmos shook his head solemnly. “We’re above all that sort of thing,” grunted the airman, trying his best to keep up with Ozma. “Dear me, how dreadfully disagreeable.” The sky had grown dark by this time and the rain was falling in torrents. Blinding flashes of lightning and loud crashes of thunder added to the confusion and when large hail Stones came pelting down upon their heads, Atmos stopped in positive alarm.

  “Princess! Princess!” choked the airman, groping toward Ozma in the dark, “Get me out of this or I’ll be punctured!”

  “If I only had my magic belt!” gasped Ozma, pushing back her wet hair, “I could wish us both to the Emerald City. Oh, dear, I do wish there was a house somewhere!”

  Scarcely had the words been spoken before a house sprang up at the little girl’s feet-so suddenly, in fact, that it tumbled her over backwards. The morning before she left her castle, Ozma had slipped one of the Wizard’s wishing powders into her pocket.

  But, shoe strings and button hooks! The little girl had not been careful to say what kind of house she wanted and there, perched askew on the dripping rocks, stood a dog house. While Atmos stared at it in a daze, thinking it, too, had fallen from the sky, and Ozma picked herself up in astonishment, a cross doggie face appeared in the doorway.

  “Gr-woof!” rumbled the dog threateningly. Where he had been wished from I can not say, but the journey had been unexpected and rough, and seeing two total strangers standing outside, the dog immediately decided they were responsible for the accident. Paying no attention to the rain or hail, he dashed furiously out and tried to bury his teeth in the airman’s leg. Thanks to his iron boots, Atmos was not punctured, and as the dog made a spring at Ozma, the airman snatched the little fairy up in his arms and began running in a way he had not believed possible. So swiftly did Atmos run that the barks of the dog soon died away in the distance and the storm was left far behind them.

  “Stop! Stop!” begged Ozma, when she could finally make the airman hear her. “Stop, Atmos dear. Atmos Fere, you’re running the wrong way. Oh! Oh! Do take care, there’s something queer about this country.”

  With a final puff, Atmos brought himself to a stop, or at least he tried to. But the earth beneath his feet was behaving most unaccountably, moving along in big brown waves and carrying him tumbling along with it. They had unluckily run into the great rolling country of the east, mentioned by a few explorers, but seldom crossed by ordinary travellers. Standing first on one foot and then the other, Atmos tried wildly to keep his balance, but in a moment a heavy mud wave struck him behind the knees and rolled him over, so that he and the little Princess of Oz were soon being buffeted along like tiny ships on an unruly ocean. When the waves broke, which they frequently did, sticks, stones, pebbles and dust showered over their heads. In fact, a more miserable mode of travel cannot be imagined.

  “Let us fly,” choked the frightened airman, clutching Ozma’s hand. “Say the word little Princess, and I’ll kick off my boots and carry you up to safety.”

  “No! No! Not that!” coughed Ozma in a panic. “Wait Atmos, something will turn up!”

  CHAPTER 16

  Reddy and the Giants

  WHILE Carter and Betsy waited so impatiently outside the walls, the little Prince of Rash was having an amazing day with the Giants. After a dizzy flight through the air, the great pigeon, attracted by a bit of stale cake on the ledge of a high window, had dropped him carelessly on the sill. Fortunately for Reddy, the window was open and, squirming through, he lay panting and pale, waiting for the bird to snap him up again. But the space was too narrow, and after a few angry pecks at the pane, the pigeon flew away.

  With a gulp of relief, the Prince rolled over and sat up. A delicious smell of coffee, bacon and rolls came floating upward and, glancing over the edge of the sill, Reddy saw that he was in an enormous dining hall. Far below the window stood the giant sideboard, covered with serving dishes the size of bath tubs, and seated at a huge table in the center of the room, two Giants were eating porridge with spoons as large as snow shovels. They had golden crowns upon their heads, and from the richness of their robes and the elegance of the whole apartment, Reddy guessed, and quite rightly, that he was in the castle of Immense City itself.

  Waiting upon their Majesties, were four monstrous footmen, and all of the Giants wore huge white wigs, the curls of which bounced and bobbed when they walked in a truly comical fashion. Crouching in a corner of the sill, and trusting that none of the Giants would notice him, the hungry little boy watched the King and Queen toss off huge basins of coffee, devour biscuits as big as boulders and pan cakes broad enough to cover an ordinary sized table. In these immense surroundings, Reddy felt so little, lost and lonely that all thought of finding and rescuing the Hungry Tiger seemed hopeless. How was he even to reach the floor, without breaking himself to bits? Therefore he listened listlessly to the booming voices of the Big Wigs, and fervently wished himself back with the Vegetable Man and Betsy Bobbin. But a cross remark of the Giant King suddenly caught his attention and made him prick up his ears.

  “That kitten,” growled the Big Wig in a fierce voice, frowning across the table at the Queen, “that kitten must go! It kept me awake the entire night with its miserable meowing.”

  “But what will Elma do,” murmured the Queen gently. “Our daughter dotes on the little

  creature.”

  “Let her find something else to dote on, puffed his Majesty indignantly. “My castle is no place for stray cats. If it’s here tomorrow,” continued the Giant, blowing his cheeks in and out threateningly, “I’ll throw it in the pond!” Snatching up his paper, the King strode from the room, every curl in his wig expressing wrath and determination.

  “Stray kitten!” gasped Reddy in relief, remembering the little Giant girl’s words. “Why, that must be the Hungry Tiger!” The knowledge that his old friend was still safe and close at hand was so

  encouraging, the little Prince cheered up at once, for after all Reddy was a Prince
and naturally brave and resourceful. If the Hungry Tiger were still in the castle, he should certainly be able to find him, and together they would devise some way of escape. The Queen, still arguing about her daughter’s kitten, had waddled after her husband, and while the Big Wig footmen cleared away the breakfast dishes, Reddy tried to think of some plan to reach the floor in safety. He put his hands in his pockets, stared nervously over the edge of the sill, then gave an exclamation of glee. For his fingers had closed over the Rash rubies. The rubies! Why had he not thought of them before? If one of them had carried him safely down the furious fire-fall, why would it not help him now?

  Without disturbing the dishes on the side table, the footmen had gone to the kitchen. So, closing both eyes and gritting his teeth, Reddy jumped boldly off the window ledge. He landed with a crash, splash and splutter and, opening his eyes, found himself looking through the glass sides of the Giant’s water pitcher. The water was over his head, but he felt no discomfort, except a slight chill from the ice, for in his pocket was the ruby protecting him from all danger by water.

  Disturbed because he had not looked more carefully before he jumped, but elated over the way the rubies were working, the little Prince rose to the top of the pitcher. Luckily for him the water reached almost to the brim, and seizing the pitcher’s edge he pulled himself up and dropped easily over the side. This time he landed beside a flat plate of sizzling hot cakes and bacon, and we cannot blame him for stopping long enough to hack off a few slices of each with his sword. This, with several crumbs from the giant biscuits, made an excellent breakfast, and stuffing a large piece of pan cake in his pocket for lunch, the little boy jumped gaily off the sideboard. Thanks to the other ruby, he floated lightly as a feather down to the floor and then began his long walk to the kitchen.