Had the dog been present the Gopher’s story would have ended then; but the hound’s master had called him away, thinking a Gopher too insignificant to bother with.
Zikky was the descendant of the noble family of Thirteen-Lined Gophers of America, who are tough and hard to kill. Although nearly choked by the indignant JackRabbit whose burrow he had invaded, he managed by persistent struggles to regain his breath. Then he realized the danger of his exposed position. Strengthened by fear, he gained his feet and looked about him.
The ridge he had crossed so confidently a short time before was visible in the distance; but between that haven of safety and the wounded Gopher stood the group of farm buildings. Zikky noted this, and stepped painfully forward, determined to give the buildings plenty of room and so escape the chance of meetingmore men or dogs. He was not in condition to travel swiftly. His neck smarted; his hip burned like fire, and the muscles of his legs ached from his hard run. Yet his life depended upon gaining the ridge unobserved.
After a while he came to the edge of a dry ditch, and into this he dropped, crawling along the bottom until he began to fear it was carrying him in the wrong direction, and out of his way. When he had managed to scramble out, he found that he had passed the dreaded farm buildings; but the ridge was still a long distance off. He began walking toward it, stopping often to breathe and keeping well under cover of the grass clumps.
Hope was beginning to animate the poor animal when it was turned to renewed terror by the sound of shouting.
He paused in his painful, shuffling gait, and saw two farm boys running toward him. He tried to make another dash for liberty, but he was weak and ill. Before he had gone more than a few yards a thick stick, hurled by one of the boys, struck his head. He fell over upon his side and lay still.
“Good shot!” cried the other boy, as he ran to the Gopher and picked him up by his bushy tail. “You hit him fair and square.”
“He was nearly dead, anyhow,” replied the one who had thrown the stick. “See, something has bitten him; and he’s been shot, too. I’ll just cut off his tail and put it with the others I have, in the barn. They pay a bounty of two cents apiece for Gopher tails, in Aberdeen. This makes nine of ‘em I’ve killed in a week.”
(Two cents apiece for Gopher tails! That means a Gopher’s life. Is it really worth while, I wonder, to write so much about one of God’s creatures whose life is worth only two cents?)
The proud slayer of nine Gophers in one week took a clasp-knife from his pocket and with a quick stroke severed the tail from Zikky’s body. Then he threw the Gopher into the grass and walked away with his comrade.
When the moon came up the tailless body jerked once or twice, in a spasmodic fashion, and Zikky’s eyes slowly unclosed. It is hard to kill one of his race. The Thirteen-Lined Gophers of America seem to possess as many lives as a cat is said to have. He was full of darting pains, and his head was dazed. But he remembered, in a dim way, that he must reach the ridge. Slowly he began to crawl toward it.
“What good are my riches now?” he moaned, time and again. “I should have chosen the Gift of Contentment; it would have saved me this!”
The moonlight enabled him to see. The dew fell heavily and refreshed his strength. His courage was the courage of a line of ancestors who had ever clung to life with marvellous tenacity. But it was a journey Zikky never forgot, and the agony he suffered during that moonlit night effaced from his mind even the horrors that had gone before.
In some way — how, he never knew — he gained the ridge, dragged himself through the cornfield and came at early dawn to his burrow. He crawled in until he reached the roomy chamber flanked by his overflowing storehouses of grain, and there he curled his maimed body and sank, sobbing and broken-hearted,-into a sleep of litter exhaustion.
The Fairy gift Zikky had formerly scorned had come to him at last; but at what terrible cost!
“Contentment is best! Contentment is best!” he often murmured, in the days that followed. “Some day I shall seek out my mother and tell her I was wrong, and that riches do not bring Contentment.”
But he never did. For he grew ashamed of his tailless stump, and when other Gophers strayed into his neighborhood, as sometimes happened thereafter, Zikky would only stick his head and shoulders from his hole, conversing with them, when conversation could not be avoided, while in that position.
“He is proud of his wealth, and stuck-up, and conceited!” the Gophers declared, as they went away.
But Zikky was only ashamed.
The Forest Oracle
(April 1905)
There was no more aristocratic family in the aristocratic suburb of Cocoanut Grove than that of Mr. and Mrs. H. Chatterton Chimpanzee. They lived in an exceedingly old carrigarry tree and were descended in a straight and unbroken line from the great Pruffer Duff Chimpanzee who was the Father of his Country. H. Chatterton had a circle of whiskers that ran from beneath his chin up both sides of his cheeks to meet in the brush of his scrubby hair. His eyes were black and slightly sad in expression, and his tail was remarkably long and slender — a sure proof of chimpanzee gentility. Mrs. H. Chatterton was also gray, and inclined to be stylishly fat. She had a habit of sitting in the sun for hours and blinking curiously at its brilliance, as if wondering how the thing came to be set in the sky.
Mr. and Mrs. H. Chatterton had a reputation among the neighbors for being exceptionally cultured. When visitors called, they sat and stared at their guests and let the visitors do all the talking. This proved them reserved and dignified. When they called upon their neighbors they sat still and let their hosts do the talking; and this showed good breeding. The residents of Cocoanut Grove were quite proud of the aristocratic H. Chattertons, and showed them much deference.
But every family, however great, is bound to suffer some tribulation or other, and the cultured and refined H. Chattertons labored under the infliction of a stupid son who was named Chip-Cheloogoo Chimpanzee, after the great philosopher of the same name. Why they should have a son so very dull they could not understand; but it was an undeniable fact that this youthful sprig of gentility was most tremendously stupid.
To relate an example: H. Chatterton loved to take an afternoon nap; and the way he did it was to tie his tail in a knot to the limb of the tree and then hang suspended, head downward, that his body might be rocked gently by the breeze. One day Chip-Cheloogoo, observing his sire in this position, united the knot in his father’s tail and let the old gentleman take a header to the ground, where he was awakened by the sight of many gorgeous stars whose beauty he failed utterly to appreciate.
“But what can you expect from a child like Chip?” he muttered, as he picked himself up and felt the lump that was swelling on his head. “It is only another proof that the boy is stupid. For if he had not untied my tail I would not have dropped.”
Mrs. H. Chatterton loved to tickle the back of her neck with the end of her tail, which bore a brush of stubby hair. One day Chip-Cheloogoo found upon a dock a fine large bur, which he picked carefully with his slender fingers and stuck to the brush at the end of his mother’s tail-when she was not looking. Soon after she tried to tickle her neck, as usual, and the bur stuck its prongs through her skin and made her jump three feet into the air from the limb upon which she was squatting. With a yelp of pain she whipped her tail around her body — which it encircled three times before the bur stuck fast under her left arm. Then she jumped four feet into the air, and, missing the limb as she descended, tumbled sprawling upon the ground beneath the tree.
“There is no doubt,” remarked H. Chatterton, as he removed the bur and relieved his wife from her anguish, “that our son is remarkably stupid. For no one with a grain of sense would have placed a bur on his mother’s tail.”
“It is true,” she sighed, regretfully; “I wonder how Chip can be so stupid!”
But Chip-Cheloogoo had an idea that he was not nearly so stupid as were his dear parents; and he thought the home-tree must be the most dreary s
pot in existence. So, without any consideration for the annoyance he might cause his family, he resolved to run away. Which, without doubt, was a still further proof of his stupidity.
Keeping his intention a secret, he left the aristocratic home-tree one bright morning and began his wanderings. Chimpanzees are not accustomed to stray far from home, so within a few minutes the youth found himself in a strange part of the forest, having left the suburb of Cocoanut Grove far behind him.
Mostly he travelled by swinging himself from tree to tree; but sometimes he scampered through a clearing, and once he jumped upon the back of a wild pig and clung there, while the frightened creature dashed through the forest at an awful speed. When danger threatened, he sprang into a tree again; and now he judged he was far enough from home to expect adventures.
The tree wherein he rested was at the edge of a small clearing, and on peeping between the leaves Chip-Cheloogoo saw a curious-looking object standing in the centre of the space.
It was an upright cylinder two feet thick and three feet high; it had a flat top and a hinged door at one side, and it was covered with rust.
I may as well explain to you that this strange object was merely a cast-iron stove, like those used in hunters’ outfits. I do not know how it came there; perhaps it was abandoned by some of the pioneers who passed through the forest years ago. Anyway, neither Chip-Cheloogoo nor any of his people had ever seen a man; so the stove was to him a marvellous thing to be standing in the centre of a wild forest. And other animals, as will be seen, regarded it with the same awe.
But once the young chimpanzee had clapped eyes upon the stove he knew very well what he had discovered, for the thing was famous in the forest and was even spoken of in Cocoanut Grove.
“It’s the Great Oracle!” exclaimed Chip-Cheloogoo, in a wondering whisper.
Yes, every animal in the forest had heard of the Great Oracle. When any creature was beset with trouble, or danger, or difficulties of any sort, it could go to the Oracle and learn how to escape or to remedy the evil. All that was necessary was to open the door, throw in some suitable gift for the Terrible Unknown, and then the Voice of the Oracle, sounding impressively in the stillness, would give the desired information.
Not all the animals were agreed as to the value of the information thus conveyed through the Great Oracle. Some said the words of the Terrible Unknown were meaningless; but many declared that, if considered with care, one might always find just the advice he needed concealed somewhere in the wise utterances. These argued that not to understand the Oracle showed a great lack of intelligence. So the Unknown was frequently consulted by the residents of the forest, and so widespread was the Oracle’s fame that even H. Chatterton had often reverently mentioned it.
Chip-Cheloogoo thought of all this as he sat still in his tree and watched the clearing. Presently a red monkey — a very common creature — emerged from the opposite side with a large cocoanut under each arm. Opening the door of the Oracle the monkey threw in both cocoanuts; and then, stepping backward, he said:
“Tell me, O Mighty Oracle, will my grandfather get over his sickness, or will he die?”
Chip-Cheloogoo listened eagerly; and he heard a deep Voice proceed from the Oracle which spoke these words:
“If your grandfather’s time has come, he will surely die.”
The red one groaned.
“But,” continued the Oracle, “if your grandfather does not die, then his time has not come, and he will get well!” The last four words were spoken clearly.
“Thanks! Thanks, O Mighty One!” cried the monkey, and scampered away joyfully.
“If I were an Oracle,” said Chip-Cheloogoo to himself, “they would be right to call me stupid.” But he took care to speak the words softly, and he continued to watch.
Before long a brown bear came rolling into the clearing, holding between his jaws a huge honeycomb. The sight of this made the young chimpanzee’s mouth water; but he sat still.
With a blow of his paw the bear dashed open the door and dropped the honey within the cylinder.
“Tell me, Oracle!” he demanded; “shall I fight the grizzly, whose snores disturb me, or will it be wiser to let him alone?”
The hollow, unseen Voice replied:
“How big is the grizzly?”
“Twice as big as I am,” said the brown bear.
“Why do his snores disturb you?” asked the Oracle.
“Because he is a mighty hunter, and kills a big dinner every day, while I often go hungry. Then he sleeps and snores, while I lie awake and listen to him.”
“The grizzly is too fat to make a good fight,” returned the Oracle, after a moment’s silence. “Although he is twice your size you can defeat him easily — if you choose the right time to attack him.”
“Very good!” growled the brown bear. “He shall not bother me again.” And away he rolled in the direction whence he had come.
Chip-Cheloogoo laughed to himself.
“The grizzly has some fun in store,” he whispered. “I’d like to see that fight. What a fool the Great Oracle is.”
Silence fell upon the forest and the clearing. An hour or two passed away. Chip-Cheloogoo thought he ought to be going; yet the Oracle seemed to chain him to the spot. He could not forget the cocoanuts and honey that had disappeared through the door, and he reflected enviously upon the ease with which the Terrible Unknown seemed to procure all the good things of life.
“I might wander for a month without finding so interesting a place,” decided Chip-Cheloogoo, finally. “Let us wait, and study the Oracle with more care.”
At noon a jaguar crept into the clearing and tossed the body of a bird to the Oracle.
“I want to know if the moon will shine to-night.” said he. “I am going to hunt.”
The Voice of the Oracle came sharp and distinct.
“Thief! Villain! Coward!” it cried; “have I not told you and all the rest that I will have no flesh flung to me? Begone! And only when you bring a fit offering dare to return!”
The jaguar’s eyes glowed angrily. He lashed his tail against the ground and crouched low.
“Begone!” cried the Oracle, again; and the hollow Voice, seeming to come from the depths of the cylinder, sounded terrible and menacing. The jaguar turned and slunk away.
“Very good!” said Chip-Cheloogoo, hidden in his tree. “The Oracle is not so very stupid, after all.”
Toward evening a gray squirrel ran down from a tree and approached the cylinder. The careless jaguar had left the door ajar, so the squirrel reached up and swung it back, tossing two plump nuts in at the opening. Then, with much labor, the tiny creature managed to slam the door shut; after which it sat up before the Oracle and said, in an anxious tone:
“O Mighty Unknown! Oracle of the great Forest! I beseech you to tell me how to escape the cruel serpent that lurks near our nest.”
The Voice of the Oracle answered, but Chip-Cheloogoo thought it sounded sleepy in tone.
“Keep out of the serpent’s way, little one. And block up the entrance to your nest when you go to bed.”
“I have done all that,” declared the gray squirrel; and then waited anxiously for more advice. But none came.
“Perhaps those two nuts were not worth more,” though Chip-Cheloogoo, as he watched the squirrel turn with a disappointed air to depart. “But, had the nuts been thrown to me, they would serve very well to relieve my hunger, and I would have given a yard of advice in return. It is certainly a great thing to be an Oracle!”
All that night he clung to his station in the tree and thought upon what he had seen and heard. Chip-Cheloogoo was young; and he was called stupid. Certain it is that he was rash. For by morning he believed he had hit upon a way to make his fortune.
At dawn he swung down from the tree and went close to the cylinder, examining it. Then he looked carefully at the ground in which the lower end seemed imbedded. It was covered with moss, which grew over the edge of the rusty iron. Evidently it had sto
od in that spot for a long time; but Chip-Cheloogoo was convinced the thing had no bottom whatever.
He now began moving around the Oracle in a circle, still keeping his bright little eyes close to the ground. The circle grew, and carried him farther and farther away from the cylinder; but not an inch of ground escaped his view.
The minutes grew to hours. Once or twice he was obliged to hide in a tree when some animal came to consult the Oracle; but as soon as they left the clearing he resumed his task at the exact spot he had left off.
By-and-by he came to the edge of the clearing, but that did not daunt him. He was bent on discovering the secret of the Oracle, and was stupid enough to persevere.
Just beyond the clearing a brook ran through the forest, sunk deep between two high banks. Chip-Cheloogoo examined the bank nearest the clearing with much eagerness, and saw a big bush growing half way down the side. More than this, there was a faint trail running up to the bush.
The chimpanzee’s eyes sparkled. “Very good!” he exclaimed; “my famous Oracle is at last caught!”
He let himself down the bank until he came to the bush, and then pressed aside the branches. Just as he had thought, an opening was disclosed — a round hole dug far into the bank.
Chip-Cheloogoo dropped into the opening, let the bush spring back, and began creeping along the tunnel on all fours. Very softly he moved, step by step, until he saw light ahead. Following the gleam he came at last to a large cavern, the contents of which fairly surprised him.
For, lying carelessly about, on every side, was a wealth of treasure such as his stupid mind had never imagined could exist. Not only were there stores of nuts, fruits, fragrant roots and cocoanuts, but the cavern was littered with many queer ornaments and articles that the beasts had found in their travels and brought as offerings to the Terrible Unknown.
There were jewels among them, glittering in the dim light; and there were knives, hatchets and other weapons, and queer round pieces of yellow metal with words stamped upon their surfaces. Pretty playthings, all of these, to amuse one’s idle hours, thought the discoverer; and enough good food to last one a lifetime!
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 828
