Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Poor souls!” murmured the priest “Father, I am of these — my mother’s people — rather than of those who rest satisfied with Allah’s gifts. Here I may never be at peace. As Khan of Mekran I would overturn all existing conditions. I would plunge my people into reckless wars of conquest, build rails for iron chariots to speed upon — shrieking the cry of Progress throughout the land. Merchants from all nations would gather here to rouse the tribesmen to barter and sale, teaching them lies and deceptions now all unknown to their simple hearts. My father, I would be as dangerous to your people as a firebrand in a thatch. Let me go. Send me back to that country whence I came: the country that taught me unrest; the country where alone I shall find employment for an earnest heart and a strong right arm! Put Kasam in my place.”

  “It may he that you are right; that you know what is best for us all,” replied the priest, sadly. “But you demand that I perform a difficult task. You are Khan of Mekran, acknowledged legally by the sirdars and — ”

  “Not by Burah Khan,” interrupted the other, with a smile. “It was my faithful Dirrag who, dressed in the dead Burah’s robes, enacted the Khan’s part and acknowledged me before the sirdars.” Salaman gave a sigh of regret. “True, dear Hafiz,” he said, unconsciously adopting the old affectionate appellation. “But you are grandson of the great Keedar. You rule justly and by right of inheritance. And in the beginning you accepted the throne readily enough. What has caused your inclinations to so change?”

  “I have found a wife,” said the young man, proudly; “and she is an American. Without her I was content to merely exist.

  With her by my side I am roused to action. Hear me, father. Kasam will rule you better than ever I could do. Has heart is here — where he was born. He will forget, as I never could do, the urgent prompting of that western civilization we have both known. Let Kasam be khan!”

  Salaman came close to Ahmed, placed both hands upon his shoulders, and laid his aged head against the strong young breast.

  “We have been friends, my Hafiz, and I have loved you. It grieves my very heart to let you go. But if I can compass the thing and bring the people to consent, it shall be according to your will. For life is brief, as you say, and Allah waits above for us both. And wherein would the charm of friendship lie if the selfishness of one should steal the other’s heart’s desire?”

  For reply Ahmed gathered the speaker into his steadfast embrace; and so they stood silent and alone upon the housetop, with Allah’s sun lovingly caressing the brown locks of the Khan and the silvery beard of the high priest.

  CHAPTER XXV.

  KASAM KHAN

  In the great throne room of the palace at Mekran were assembled all the dignitaries of the nation — sirdars, captains, kaids; muftis and mueddens from the mosques; civil officers and judges from the towns; high and lowly officials of the royal household. Even. the obstinate and unbridled Zirag had yielded to Kasam’s demand and, doubtless more through curiosity than obedience, had left his camp to enter the city and witness the day’s event.

  Of the nature or character of this event all were alike ignorant. They merely knew they were commanded to assemble, and the authority of the khan, backed by that of the Grand Mufti Salaman, ranking next to him, was sufficient to bring them to a man at the appointed hour.

  The press was truly great, even in this spacious hall of audience. Upon a raised dais sat Ahmed Khan, arrayed in his most magnificent robe of state. At one side, but upon a lower platform, sat Prince Kasam, and at the Khan’s right hand stood the Grand Mufti, wearing his decoration of the jewelled star.

  A silence bred of intense curiosity pervaded the assemblage. Even Zarig, who, clad in his well-worn riding dress, had pressed close to the platform, was awed by the dignity of the proceedings and glanced nervously from Kasam to Ahmed and then upon the stately form of the priest.

  Presently the great Salaman stepped forward, offering a brief prayer imploring the guidance of Moses, of Jesus, of Mahomet and of Allah the All-Wise upon their deliberations. Then, drawing himself erect, he addressed the people in these words:

  “My friends and brothers, it is my duty to declare to you, as representatives of all the people, that a great wrong has been done you. It was not an intentional wrong, nor one which, having been discovered, may not be fully redressed; nevertheless, you must hear the truth and act upon it as you deem just and right.”

  He paused, and a thrill of excitement swept over the throng. In all their history no such thing as this had been known before.

  “The man who sits before you as Ahmed Khan,” resumed the priest, in a cold voice, “came to you purporting to be the grandson of Keedar Khan and the son of Burah Khan, and thus entitled to rule over you. He is, indeed, the legitimate grandson of the great Keedar; but he is no son of Burah, being the offspring of Keedar’s younger brother Merad, who fled to Persia an exile in his youth.”

  Notwithstanding the astonishing nature of this intelligence the assemblage maintained its silent, curious attitude. Many eyes were turned upon the calm and dignified countenance of Ahmed Khan, but no mark or token of unfriendliness was manifested in these glances. The priest continued: “Those among you who heard the dying Burah acknowledge this man to be his son, before all the sirdars, will marvel that my statement can be true. You must now know that at that time Burah had really been dead for two days, and that another falsely took his place. It was this lawless one who, masquerading as the khan, made the formal acknowledgment For this reason Ahmed has never legally been your khan. He is not your khan now.”

  At last a murmur burst from the throng; but to the listening ears of the priest it seemed more a sound of amazement than of protest or indignation. Ahmed arose from the throne, drew off his splendid robe of office and laid it over the arm of the chair, disclosing to all eyes the simple inner garb of a tribesman of Ugg. With dignified mien he stepped from the dais to the lower platform and held up a hand to command silence. Instantly every voice was hushed as if by magic.

  “Brothers,” said he, “if I have wronged you I beg your forgiveness. Most willingly I now resign the throne to which I am not entitled, and ask you to choose for your-selves one more worthy than I to rule over you.”

  As he paused a cry arose that quickly swelled to a clamorous shout:

  “Ahmed! Give us Ahmed for our Khan! None shall rule us but Ahmed, the grandson of Keedar Khan!”

  Salaman turned pale at this unexpected denouement, which threatened to wreck all his plans. He strode forward and seized Ahmed’s arm, dragging him into the background and then returning himself to confront the multitude.

  Higher and higher the shouts arose, while the priest waved his hands to subdue the excitement that he might again be heard.

  Zarig, scowling fiercely as the crowd pressed him against the edge of the platform, fingered his dagger as if longing to still this unwelcome homage to one of the hated tribe of Ugg; but so far as Salaman could determine there were few others who did not join the enthusiastic tribute to Ahmed.

  But gradually the dignitaries tired of their unusual demonstration, and remem-bering their official characters subsided to their accustomed calm. The priest took advantage of the first moment that he could be plainly heard.

  “Listen well, chieftains and friends!” he cried. “It is clear to me that your loyalty and admiration for Keedar’s grandson have clouded your clearer judgment. Not that I denounce Ahmed as unworthy to rule, but that before your eyes sits one entitled above all others to occupy the throne of his forefathers — the descendant of seven generations of just and worthy rulers of this land. Brothers, I present to you one who is a native-born Baluch — the noblest of you all — Prince Kasam of Raab!”

  Kasam, who until now had been ignorant of the purposes of Salaman, and was therefore as greatly astonished as any man present, obeyed the beckoning finger of the priest and arose to face his people with that air of proud dignity he knew so well how to assume.

  Zarig shouted his name wildly: “Kasam! Ka
sam Khan!” and a few others, carried away by the priest’s words, followed the sirdar’s lead. But the shouts for Kasam were soon drowned by more lusty acclaims for Ahmed, and Salaman hesitated, at a loss how to act, while Kasam shrank back as if he keenly felt the humiliation of his rejection.

  Driven to frenzy by the wild scene about him, Zarig sprang with one bound to the platform.

  “No Ahmed Khan for me!” he shouted, and drawing a slender dagger from his belt he threw himself upon the American with the ferocity of a tiger.

  But Kasam was even quicker. Before the multitude realized the tragic nature of the scene being enacted, the Prince had fallen upon his sirdar and plunged his knife twice into Zarig’s breast The man fell to the floor in a death agony, dragging Ahmed with him, while above them Kasam stood grasping the weapon that had so promptly saved the life of the man whom his people had preferred before him.

  Then, indeed, a shout of admiration burst from the Baluchi, their impulsive natures quick to respond to the generosity of such an act Ahmed, freeing himself from the dead sirdar, rose up and seizing the royal robe he had discarded flung its brilliant folds over Kasam’s shoulders. Then he knelt before his preserver, and Salaman, prompt to take advantage of the diversion which was likely to turn the tide of popular enthusiasm his way, knelt also at Kasam’s feet as if saluting him as kahn.

  Zarig had accomplished by his mad act all that he had once longed for in life. The cries for Kasam grew stronger and more spontaneous, and Ahmed was able to quietly withdraw from the platform without his absence being observed.

  Soon the people were as eager in shouting for Kasam as they had been for Ahmed, and Salaman lost no time in completing the ceremony that established the heir of seven generations of rulers firmly upon the throne.

  Janet met her husband at the entrance to the harem, where he had hurried as soon as he could escape from the hall.

  “Well, how did it end?” she asked. ‘They terrified me, at first, with their cries for Ahmed Khan.”

  “They terrified me, too, sweetheart,” he answered lightly. “But my cousin Kasam is truly made of the right stuff, and turned the tide in the nick of time. Now then, join me — all together, dear one! — hurrah for Kasam Khan!”

  And as their voices died away an answering shout, grave and stern, came like an echo from the great audience chamber:

  “Kasam Khanl.”

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  HER SERENE HIGHNESS THE KHANUM

  Never had a better equipped caravan left the gates of Mekran to cross the Gedrusian Desert in the direction of Kelat and civilization. The palanquins of the dromedaries were so comfortable that Aunt Lucy declared she felt as if on shipboard. The horses were the finest the famous monastery of Mehmet had ever bred; the pack animals bore tents and material for the nightly camp that would have been worthy the great Alexander himself, and everything that might contribute to the comfort and even luxury of the travellers had been provided with a liberal hand. Here were the twenty Afghans, too, glad of the chance to return to their own country again; but of the former patty some were missing and some had been added.

  Dirrag was the guide, this time, and the faithful fellow lost no opportunity to implore Howard Osborne to take him along to America. “Your Highness will need a bodyguard,” he argued, “so why not take me, whom you may trust?”

  “We don’t use body guards in America, Dirrag,” was the laughing answer.

  “But we have such things as true friends — when we can get them,” said Janet, brightly; “so I shall insist upon having my old warrior by my side, wherever we may go.”

  “That settles it, Dirrag,” announced the doctor; “you’re half an American already. Heigh-ho! I wish I could go with you. But Bessie says I must return to her just as soon as I’ve bought the new furnishings for the palace and seen Lucy well on her way home. You may expect me to end my days in this jumping-off place, my dear Colonel.”

  “It’s really a very fine country,” declared Aunt Lucy, with an air of proud proprietorship; “and it’s only natural, Luther, you should wish to live with Her Serene High-ness the Khanum of Mekran and Empress of Baluchistan, who is your only daughter and my niece.”

  “Fiddlesticks!” said the doctor, laughing. “I really believe the only reason Lucy is anxious to get back to New York,” he remarked to Dr. and Mrs. Osborne in a loud aside, “is to air her relationship with the Khanum. Oh, by the way, Colonel,” turning to his old friend, “how about that railroad?”

  “Bother the railroad!” growled the Colonel. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

  TAMAWACA FOLKS: A SUMMER COMEDY

  Tamawaca Folks: A Summer Comedy appeared in 1907 under the pseudonym, John Estes Cooke. Privately published by L. Frank Baum, the semi-autobiographical novel describes the summer community of Tamawaca, Michigan, where Baum bought a house in 1900 after his first success with Father Goose: His Book. Baum nicknamed the house, “the Sign of the Goose.” The novel relates the story of a Kansas City lawyer named Jarrod, who falls in love with the community and fights the corruption threatening it. As well as having fun with a romantic subplot, Baum draws a delightful parody of himself in the “distinguished author” Mr. Wright, whom he describes as “stubborn, loud-mouthed and pig-headed.”

  A first edition copy of’ ‘Tamawaca Folks’

  CONTENTS

  EXPLANATIVE.

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHAPTER VII.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  CHAPTER IX.

  CHAPTER X.

  CHAPTER XL.

  CHAPTER XII.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  L. Frank Baum reading on the porch of the Michigan house he called “The Sign of the Goose”

  L. Frank Baum steering a boat near his Michigan house

  EXPLANATIVE.

  The author begs to state that whatever is contained in this modest volume has been written in a spirit of the broadest goodfellowship, and with malice toward none. He has met odd and entertaining people in all quarters of the world and has brought them together in “Tamawaca Folks” merely that he might weave them into his little romance, and with no thought of being in any way personal. Therefore, since these are many and variant types and can have no individuality for that reason, the writer begs his reader not to attempt to fit any of the fictitious characters to living persons, lest your neighbor try to fit one of my masquerade costumes to you — which would be an impertinence I am sure you would not like. The temptation, I admit, is natural, because the people portrayed are all human and even their composites have prototypes in nearly every locality. But desist, I entreat you.

  Tamawaca exists, and is as beautiful as I have described it. I chose it as the scene of my story because I once passed an entire summer there and was fascinated by its incomparable charm. The middle West has no spot that can compete with it in loveliness.

  CHAPTER I.

  THE LAWYER.

  When Jarrod finally sold out the Crosbys he had a chance to breathe freely for the first time in years. The Crosbys had been big ranch owners and herders, mine owners, timber and mill owners, bankers, brokers, bucket-shop manipulators and confirmed bull-dozers and confidence-men. They played the game for big stakes always and won by sheer nerve and audacity.

  Jarrod was their lawyer and they kept him in hot water every minute. They had a habit of rounding up other folks’ cattle, cutting other people’s timber, jumping claims, tapping mines and misbehaving generally. And Jarrod had to straighten out these misdeeds and find a way to keep his clients from behind the bars.

  Old man Crosby, who had been shot in the hip in a raid, ran the Bank of Oklahoma, and ran it so crookedly that Jarrod was often in despair. No one would believe a Crosby under oath, while Jarrod was acknowledged by even his enemies to be square as a die and fair as the scales of justice. So his position was extre
mely difficult. He saved the Crosbys from their misdeeds for years, by dint of hard work and constant diplomacy, and at last, when a thousand penalties confronted them and could not be staved off much longer, the lawyer managed to sell for them their entire holdings and induced them to retire from business in general and lawlessness in particular.

  When it was all over Jarrod went home to Kansas City, nodded to his wife, looked curiously and with some interest at his children, and then sat down in an easy chair and sighed. It was all new and strange to him — this being “at home” — and he wasn’t sure at first whether he liked it or not.

  Mrs. Jarrod liked it, though, and made much of him, so that gradually his uneasiness wore off and he settled down meekly to the practice of law in general. Four or five hours a day he spent in his office, listening to the unimportant grievances of common folks and striving to keep his nerves from jumping.

  He hadn’t thought to feather his nest, yet the Crosbys had good-naturedly tossed a lump of money at him and he had accepted it. But a nervous man must keep busy, even when those same nerves operate to keep him cold and quiet as an alternative to dancing and yelling like a madman. So Jarrod “held on to himself” and tried to enjoy his devoted family and the petty details which were all that remained of a business too long neglected to serve those wild Crosbys.

  The reaction had set in following his recent months of hard work, and before many days he felt himself both physically and mentally exhausted and knew that unless he deliberately created a diversion his run-down constitution would be likely to involuntarily create one that he wouldn’t like.