Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Will they continue this Grand Opera chorus all night?” asked Uncle

  John.

  “Perhap,” said Wampus. “They hungry, an’ smell food. Coyote can no reason. If he could, he know ver’ well we never feed him.”

  “The next time we come this way let us fetch along a ton or so of coyote feed,” suggested the Major. “I wonder what the poor brutes would think if they were stuffed full for once in their lives?”

  “It have never happen, sir,” observed Wampus, shaking his head gravely. “Coyote all born hungry; he live hungry; he die hungry. If ever coyote was not hungry he would not be coyote.”

  “In that case, Major,” said Uncle John, “let us go to bed and try to sleep. Perhaps in slumber we may forget these howling fiends.”

  “Very well,” agreed Major Doyle, rising to enter the little tent.

  Wampus unexpectedly interposed. “Wait,” called the little chauffeur.

  “Jus’ a minute, if you please.”

  While the Major and Mr. Merrick stood wondering at the request, the Canadian, who was still holding the revolver in one hand, picked a steel rod from the rumble of the automobile and pushing aside the flap of the little tent entered. The tail-lamp of the car burned inside, dimly lighting the place.

  The Major was about to follow Wampus when a revolver shot arrested him. This sound was followed by a quick thumping against the ground of the steel bar, and then Wampus emerged from the tent holding a dark, squirming object on the end of the rod extended before him.

  “What is it?” asked Mr. Merrick, somewhat startled.

  “Rattlesnake,” said Wampus, tossing the thing into the sagebrush. “I see him crawl in tent while you eat supper.”

  “Why did you not tell us?” cried the Major excitedly.

  “I thought him perhaps crawl out again. Him sometime do that. But no. Mister snake he go sleep in tent which is reserve for his superior. I say nothing, for I do not wish to alarm the young ladies. That is why I hold the dog Mumble so tight, for he small eye see snake too, an’ fool dog wish to go fight him. Rattlesnake soon eat Mumble up — eh? But never mind; there is no worry. I am Wampus, an’ I am here. You go to bed now, an’ sleep an’ be safe.”

  He said this rather ostentatiously, and for that reason neither of the others praised his watchful care or his really brave act. That Wampus was proving himself a capable and faithful servant even the Major was forced to admit, yet the man’s bombast and self-praise robbed him of any word of commendation he justly earned.

  “I think,” said Uncle John, “I’ll bunk on the front seat to-night. I’m short, you see, and will just about curl up in the space. I believe snakes do not climb up wheels. Make my bed on the front seat, Wampus.”

  The man grinned but readily obeyed. The Major watched him thoughtfully.

  “For my part,” he said, “I’ll have a bed made on top the roof.”

  “Pshaw!” said Uncle John; “you’ll scratch the paint.”

  “That is a matter of indifference to me,” returned the Major.

  “You’ll roll off, in your sleep, and hurt yourself.”

  “I’ll risk that, sir.”

  “Are you afraid, Major?”

  “Afraid! Me? Not when I’m awake, John. But what’s to prevent more of those vermin from crawling into the tent during the night?”

  “Such thing very unusual.” remarked Wampus, placing the last blanket on Mr. Merrick’s improvised bed. “Perhaps you sleep in tent a week an’ never see another rattler.”

  “Just the same,” concluded the Major, “I’ll have my bed on top the limousine.”

  He did, Wampus placing blankets and a pillow for him without a word of protest. The Major climbed over Uncle John and mounted to the roof of the car, which sloped to either side but was broad and long enough to accommodate more than one sleeper. Being an old campaigner and a shrewd tactician, Major Doyle made two blankets into rolls, which he placed on either side of him, to “anchor” his body in position. Then he settled himself to rest beneath the brilliant stars while the coyotes maintained their dismal howling. But a tired man soon becomes insensible to even such annoyances.

  The girls, having entered the limousine from the door opposite the tent, were all unaware of the rattlesnake episode and supposed the shot had been directed against the coyotes. They heard the Major climbing upon the roof, but did not demand any explanation, being deep in those bedtime confidences so dear to all girls. Even they came to disregard the persistent howls of the coyotes, and in time fell asleep.

  Wampus did not seem afraid of snakes. The little chauffeur went to bed in the tent and slept soundly upon his cot until daybreak, when the coyotes withdrew and the Canadian got up to make the coffee.

  The Major peered over the edge of the roof to watch him. He had a sleepy look about his eyes, as if he had not rested well. Uncle John was snoring with gentle regularity and the girls were still asleep.

  “Wampus,” said the Major, “do you know the proper definition of a fool?”

  Wampus reflected, stirring the coffee carefully.

  “I am not — what you call him? — a dictionairre; no. But I am Wampus. I have live much in very few year. I would say a fool is man who think he is wise. For what is wise? Nothing!”

  The Major felt comforted.

  “It occurred to me,” he said, beginning to climb down from the roof, “that a fool was a man who left a good home for this uncomfortable life on a barren desert. This country wasn’t made for humans; it belongs to the coyotes and the rattlesnakes. What right have we to intrude upon them, then?”

  Wampus did not reply. It was not his business to criticise his employers.

  CHAPTER XI

  A REAL ADVENTURE AT LAST

  Uncle John woke up when the Major inadvertently placed a heel upon his round stomach on the way to the ground. The chubby little millionaire had slept excellently and was in a genial humor this morning. He helped Wampus fry the bacon and scramble the eggs, while the Major called the girls.

  It proved a glorious sunrise and the air was full of pure ozone. They had suffered little from cold during the trip, although it was in the dead of winter and the altitude considerable. Just now they were getting closer to California every hour, and when they descended from the mesa it would gradually grow warmer.

  They were all becoming expert at “breaking camp,” and preparing for the road. Beth and Patsy put away the bedding and “made up” the interior of the limousine for traveling. The Major and Uncle John folded the tent and packed it away, while Wampus attended to the dishes and tinware and then looked over his car. In a surprisingly short time they were all aboard and the big machine was gliding over the faint trail.

  The mesa was not a flat or level country, for they were still near to the mountain ranges. The way was up hill and down, in gentle slopes, and soon after starting they breasted the brow of a hill and were confronted by half a dozen mounted men, who seemed as much astonished at the encounter as they were.

  It being an event to meet anyone in this desolate place Wampus involuntarily brought the car to a halt, while the riders lined up beside it and stared rather rudely at the party. They were dressed as cowboys usually are, with flannel shirts, chapelets and sombrero hats; but their faces were not rugged nor healthy, as is the case with most Western cowboys, but bore marks of dissipation and hard living.

  “Remittance men,” whispered Wampus.

  Uncle John nodded. He had heard of this curious class. Especially were the men staring at the three pretty, feminine faces that peered from the interior of the limousine. They had remained silent thus far, but now one of them, a fellow with dark eyes and a sallow complexion, reined his horse nearer the car and removed his hat with a sweeping gesture that was not ungraceful.

  “A merry morning to you, fair ladies — or angels — I much misdoubt which we have chanced upon. Anyhow, welcome to Hades!”

  Uncle John frowned. He did not like the bantering, impudent tone. Beth flushed and turned
aside her head; Myrtle shrank back in her corner out of sight; but Patsy glared fixedly at the speaker with an expression that was far from gracious. The remittance man did not seem daunted by this decided aversion. A sneering laugh broke from his companions, and one of them cried:

  “Back up, Algy, and give your betters a chance. You’re out of it, old man.”

  “I have no betters,” he retorted. Then, turning to the girls again and ignoring the presence of the men accompanying them, he continued:

  “Beauteous visions, since you have wilfully invaded the territory of Hades Ranch, of which diabolical domain I, Algernon Tobey, am by grace of his Satanic majesty the master, I invite you to become my guests and participate in a grand ball which I shall give this evening in your honor.”

  His comrades laughed again, and one of them shouted:

  “Good for you, Algy. A dance — that’s the thing!”

  “Why, we haven’t had the chance of a dance for ages,” said another approvingly.

  “Because we have had no ladies to dance with,” explained Algy. “But here are three come to our rescue — perhaps more, if I could see inside that barricade — and they cannot refuse us the pleasure of their society.”

  “Sir,” said Major Doyle, stiffly, “you are pleased to be impertinent.

  Ride on, you rascals, and spare us further sight of you.”

  The man turned upon him a scowling face.

  “Don’t interfere,” he said warningly. “This isn’t your party, you old duffer!”

  “Drive ahead, Wampus,” commanded Uncle John.

  Wampus had to get out and crank the engines, which he calmly proceeded to do. The man who had called himself Algernon Tobey perceived his intention and urged his pony to the front of the car.

  “Let that thing alone. Keep your hands off!” he said.

  Wampus paid no attention. The fellow brought his riding whip down sharply on the chauffeur’s shoulders, inflicting a stinging blow. Instantly little Wampus straightened up, grasped Tobey by the leg and with a swift, skillful motion jerked him from his horse. The man started to draw his revolver, but in an instant he and Wampus were rolling together upon the ground and the Canadian presently came uppermost and held his antagonist firmly between his knees. Then with deliberation he raised his clinched fist and thrust it forcibly against Mr. Tobey’s eye, repeating the impact upon his nose, his chin and his cheek in a succession of jarring thumps that were delivered with scientific precision. Algy fairly howled, kicking and struggling to be free. None of his comrades offered to interfere and it seemed they were grimly enjoying the punishment that was being; inflicted upon their leader.

  When Wampus had quite finished his work he arose, adjusted his disarranged collar and tie and proceeded to crank the engines. Then he climbed into his seat and started the car with a sudden bound. As he did so a revolver shot rang out and one of the front tires, pierced by the bullet, ripped itself nearly in two as it crumpled up. A shout of derisive laughter came from the cowboys. Algy was astride his pony again, and as Wampus brought the damaged car to a stop the remittance men dashed by and along the path, taking the same direction Uncle John’s party was following”. Tobey held back a little, calling out:

  “Au revoir! I shall expect you all at my party. I’m going now to get the fiddler.”

  He rejoined his comrades then, and they all clattered away until a roll of the mesa hid them from sight.

  Uncle John got down from his seat to assist his chauffeur.

  “Thank you, Wampus,” he said. “Perhaps you should have killed him while you had the opportunity; but you did very well.”

  Wampus was wrestling with the tire.

  “I have never start a private graveyard,” he replied, “for reason I am afraid to hurt anyone. But I am Wampus. If Mister Algy he dance to-night, somebody mus’ lead him, for he will be blind.”

  “I never met such a lawless brood in my life,” prowled the Major, indignantly. “If they were in New York they’d be put behind the bars in two minutes.”

  “But they are in Arizona — in the wilderness,” said Uncle John gravely.

  “If there are laws here such people do not respect them.”

  It took a long time to set the new tire and inflate it, for the outer tube was torn so badly that an extra one had to be substituted. But finally the task was accomplished and once more they renewed their journey.

  Now that they were alone with their friends the girls were excitedly gossiping over the encounter.

  “Do you really suppose we are on that man’s ground — his ranch, as he calls it?” asked Myrtle, half fearfully.

  “Why, I suppose someone owns all this ground, barren as it is,” replied Patsy. “But we are following a regular road — not a very good one, nor much traveled; but a road, nevertheless — and any road is public property and open for the use of travelers.”

  “Perhaps we shall pass by their ranch house,” suggested Beth.

  “If we do,” Uncle John answered, “I’ll have Wampus put on full speed. Even their wild ponies can’t follow us then, and if they try shooting up the tires again they are quite likely to miss as we spin by.”

  “Isn’t there any other road?” the Major asked.

  Wampus shook his head.

  “I have never come jus’ this same route before,” he admitted; “but I make good friend in Prescott, who know all Arizona blindfold. Him say this is nice, easy road and we cannot get lost for a good reason — the reason there is no other road at all — only this one.”

  “Did your friend say anything about Hades Ranch?” continued the questioner.

  “He say remittance man make much mischief if he can; but he one foreign coward, drunk most time an’ when sober weak like my aunt’s tea. He say don’t let remittance man make bluff. No matter how many come, if you hit one they all run.”

  “H-m,” murmured Uncle John, “I’m not so sure of that, Wampus. There seems to be a good many of those insolent rascals, and I hope we shall not meet them again. They may give us trouble yet.”

  “Never be afraid,” advised the chauffeur. “I am Wampus, an’ I am here!”

  Admitting that evident truth, our tourists were not greatly reassured. Wampus could not tell where the road might lead them, for he did not know, save that it led by devious winds to Parker, on the border between Arizona and California; but what lay between them and that destination was a sealed book to them all.

  The car was heavy and the road soft; so in spite of their powerful engines the car was not making more than fifteen miles an hour. A short ride brought them to a ridge, from the top of which they saw a huddle of buildings not far distant, with a near-by paddock containing a number of ponies and cattle. The buildings were not palatial, being composed mostly of adobe and slab wood; but the central one, probably the dwelling or ranch house, was a low, rambling pile covering considerable ground.

  The road led directly toward this group of buildings, which our travelers at once guessed to be “Hades Ranch.” Wampus slowed down and cast a sharp glance around, but the land on either side of the trail was thick with cactus and sagebrush and to leave the beaten path meant a puncture almost instantly. There was but one thing to be done.

  “Pretty good road here,” said Wampus. “Hold tight an’ don’t get scare.

  We make a race of it.”

  “Go ahead,” returned Uncle John, grimly. “If any of those scoundrels get in your way, run them down.”

  “I never like to hurt peoples; but if that is your command, sir, I will obey,” said Wampus, setting his jaws tightly together.

  The car gathered speed and shot over the road at the rate of twenty miles an hour; then twenty-five — then thirty — and finally forty. The girls sat straight and looked eagerly ahead. Forms were darting here and there among the buildings of the ranch, quickly congregating in groups on either side of the roadway. A red flag fluttered in the center of the road, some four feet from the ground.

  “Look out!” shouted Uncle John
. “Stop, Wampus; stop her, I say!”

  Wampus saw why, and applied his brakes. The big car trembled, slowed down, and came to a stop less than a foot away from three ugly bars of barbed wire which had been placed across the road. They were now just beside the buildings, and a triumphant shout greeted them from their captors, the remittance men.

  CHAPTER XII

  CAPTURED

  “Welcome to Hades!” cried a stout little man in a red blouse, sticking his leering countenance through the door of the limousine.

  “Shut up, Stubby,” commanded a hoarse voice from the group. “Haven’t you any manners? You haven’t been introduced yet.”

  “I’ve engaged the dark eyed one for the first dance,” persisted

  Stubby, as a dozen hands dragged him away from the door.

  The Major sprang out and confronted the band.

  “What are we to understand by this outrage?” he demanded fiercely.

  “It means you are all invited to a party, and we won’t accept any regrets,” replied a laughing voice.

  Patsy put her head out of the window and looked at the speaker. It was Mr. Algernon Tobey. He had two strips of sticking plaster over his nose. One of his eyes was swollen shut and the other was almost closed. Yet he spoke in a voice more cheerful than it was when they first met him.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he added. “No one has the slightest intention of injuring any of you in any way, I assure you.”

  “We have not the same intention in regard to you, sir,” replied Major Doyle, fuming with rage, for his “Irish was up,” as he afterward admitted. “Unless you at once remove that barricade and allow us to proceed we will not be responsible for what happens. You are warned, sir!”

  Uncle John, by this time standing beside the Major upon the ground, had been quietly “sizing up the situation,” as he would have expressed it. He found they had been captured by a party of fourteen men, most of whom were young, although three or four, including Tobey, were of middle age. The atmosphere of the place, with its disorderly surroundings and ill kept buildings, indicated that Hades Ranch was bachelor quarters exclusively. Half a dozen Mexicans and one or two Chinamen were in the background, curious onlookers.