Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  But Umpo was not entirely satisfied. “These meat-eaters are not to be trusted,” he said to himself, “and if Varg the Bull and Pask the Hippopotamus and Feathro the Ostrich had not given me their protection, I am quite sure Slythe the Panther would eat me for his breakfast.”

  And therein lay the truth of the whole matter; for Slythe dared not prey upon one who was a favorite with all the other animals of the Land of Jomb; yet he longed most passionately to eat the giraffe.

  Umpo grew rapidly, and became tall and graceful and very beautiful to look upon. His sleek coat was of fawn color upon the back and sides, dotted with gorgeous orange-red spots; but his breast was white as snow. His eyes, full, dark and brilliant, shone like cut-jewels.

  But, although the animals admired his beauty, it was his genial disposition that most won them.

  There were several groups of tropical trees scattered over the plain, and upon the juicy leaves of these the giraffe daily fed, reaching with his long neck even to the top branches. A few straggling mimosas were among these trees, but Umpo soon stripped the branches of every leaf, and grieved because there were no more.

  When he became especially hungry he would visit the Sacred Tree and feast his eyes upon its luscious foliage; but he was loyal to his friends and respected his promise and left the great mimosa tree undisturbed.

  Slythe watched him from his high perch near the edge of the forest; and as Umpo longed for the mimosa leaves so Slythe longed for Umpo. Indeed, his mouth watered every minute the jolly giraffe was in sight, and he licked his fierce chops and tried to think of some way to secure his prey without making the other animals his enemies.

  At last the thought came to him.

  One evening Umpo gazed upon the Sacred Tree and left the marks of his hoofs upon the soft ground underneath. Next morning all the young leaves of the tree were gone, and the branches were broken and mangled.

  Slythe came bounding toward Varg the Bull and cried out: “Come quickly! Great trouble is upon the land. Bad luck will surely overtake us, for Umpo the Giraffe has despoiled the Sacred Tree to satisfy his wicked appetite!”

  Varg came, and was angry with a mighty anger.

  “The Jolly One shall die!” he said.

  “I crave the right to kill him,” cried the Red Pan-ther, quickly; “for am I not the executioner?”

  To them they summoned from the river Pask the Hippopotamus, and from the desert Feathro the Ostrich, and the four chiefs of the Land of Jomb examined the hoof-marks and decided that the giraffe was the guilty one and must by punished by death as the Law provided.

  Umpo was lying in the shade of a clump of trees that morning, his long neck stretched along the grass. And suddenly a Voice fell upon his ears, saying: “Your enemy threatens you, and danger is near. But do not lose heart. Be brave and of good cheer, and all will be well!”

  While he thought upon this message, and wondered what it could mean - never guessing that the good Fairy of his race had spoken - a great clamor arose across the plain. And presently the four chiefs came tramping toward him, followed by a vast concourse of other animals. And now, indeed, Umpo realized that danger threatened him.

  So, when all the beasts had gravely surrounded him and he had cast a glance into Varg’s threatening eyes, the giraffe but raised his head to yawn as if half asleep, saying: “Welcome, friends! What may I do for your pleasure?”

  “You may die the death of a traitor!” roared Varg, sternly; “for you have broken the one great Law, and despoiled the Sacred Tree.”

  “Nonsense!” returned the giraffe, lightly; and then slowly he rose to his feet and laughed in their fierce faces.

  “A traitor must die, it is true; if, in fact, the Sacred Mimosa has been despoiled,” said he. “But I am not the traitor, friends; so let us look elsewhere for the culprit.”

  Slythe lashed the ground angrily with his strong tail.

  “I myself saw you eat of the leaves and break the branches,” he growled.

  “The Lord of the Forest lies as easily upon the plain as within his lair,” Umpo answered, scornfully. “Good friends, I am hungry this very moment, and when you came near I was just wondering where I might get a breakfast.”

  The animals thronging about him exchanged uneasy glances with one another. Umpo, it seemed to them, did not appear to act as a culprit. Moreover, the Red Panther was not considered especially trustworthy. But Varg said:

  “Enough! The word of a Chief is better than that of an outcast and a stranger in our land. Who else feeds upon the mimosa other than this long-necked one? Who else would violate the one great law? His very nature condemns him. Therefore will we give the giraffe to Slythe the Panther for punishment. Is it not just, my friends?” he added, turning to the other Lords.

  “It is just,” answered Pask the Hippopotamus. But as he turned away a tear glittered in his small eye.

  “It is the Law, and Umpo must suffer,” sighed Feathro the Ostrich, and his tone was exceedingly sad.

  “Ah, well,” said Umpo, raising his head proudly and gazing full at his relentless judges; “if you are determined upon my death I choose to be executed within the dark forest where Slythe rules. And I invite every one present who has been my friend to follow us and witness the deed, that you may know full justice is done.”

  This request surprised the assembled beasts, for it is their nature to wish to die alone and unwatched; but the Unseen Voice had again spoken to Umpo, although no ears but his own had heard the sound.

  Slythe’s cruel lips were grinning with joy as he marched away; but the animals followed with solemn tread.

  When they reached the edge of the forest Slythe stopped; but the giraffe said, quietly: “Not here, my master,” and pressed forward among the trees.

  The Panther glowered upon him with sullen fury.

  “Wait,” he cried.

  “Not so,” answered Umpo, still walking on. “Surely I may choose the place of execution!” And at his word the animals followed after, forcing Slythe to proceed.

  Suddenly the Jolly One paused in the thick of the wood.

  “What a heap of dead leaves is here!” he said. “Let us scatter them, friends, and see what they chance to hide.”

  With a snarl of rage Slythe bounded forward; but Varg, who had been watching the giraffe closely, got in the Panther’s way and stopped him.

  “Have peace!” he commanded, sternly. “What can you have to fear in your own forest, Slythe?”

  But even as he spoke the giraffe had scattered the dead leaves, and underneath them all saw, as eagerly they stretched their heads forward, the branches of delicate green which had been torn from the Sacred Tree.

  The secret was out, then.

  Slythe the Panther, in his anxiety to ruin Umpo, had himself despoiled the tree and hidden the stolen leaves.

  A roar of rage burst from the assembled animals.

  The sound, grim and menacing, aroused the astonished Slythe. Crouching low, he made a mighty bound toward the high branches of a nearby tree, seeking to escape. But even while he was poised in midair the head of the giraffe shot out and struck the flying body a sharp blow that hurled the panther to the ground again.

  He fell at the feel of Varg, and instantly the furious bull gored the wicked one. And Feathro the Ostrich struck the Panther a blow with its foot, and Pask the Hippopotamus trampled the body of the traitor deep into the ground.

  Then they heaped the place with dead leaves, after which Varg said, more gently than was his wont:

  “The punishment is complete. Let us go away.”

  And now the strangest event of that eventful day occurred. For as the army of beasts drew near to the Sacred Tree they saw, with inexpressible wonder and awe, that every broken leaf and branch had been replaced by some magic power, and the great Mimosa swayed in the soft breeze as graceful and perfect in shape as ever before!

  And all knew by this sign that Umpo the Giraffe was under the protection of the Fairies of his race.

  The Tro
ubles of Pop Wombat

  Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull

  From: The Delineator, August 1905

  ALL was hushed and still in the cave, for Pop Wombat had a toothache. Four fat balls of reddish fur lay rolled in one corner, motionless save for the alertness of the little eyes that peeped from the feathery masses of hair. Mom Wombat silently reposed in another corner, her steadfast gaze full upon the head of the family, who lay in a despondent attitude near the entrance.

  Pop Wombat had owned this same toothache for several hours, and it had turned his meek nature topsy-turvy. Indeed, the family had developed a nervous awe of the pain he suffered, and the unreliable state of his temper because of it. Suddenly the silence was broken. Pop writhed and tossed his round body as if frantic, and gave a most dismal howl.

  “How absurd!” said Mom, a little impatiently. “Are you a bear, my dear Pop, that you growl so savagely?”

  “Shut up!” said Pop, and rolled over in a huff.

  No doubt, Mom’s remark was annoying. There is little difference, in general appearance, between a wombat and a bear, except that the biggest wombat is hardly tall enough to reach to a bear’s knee. But in their nature and disposition there is a vast difference in the two animals, for the bear is a meat-eater by preference, while the wombat feeds only on roots and vegetables. Of all creatures in the wilderness none has such a cheerful temper as the little wombat, who never fights unless driven to desperation, and attends strictly to his own affairs.

  But to see Pop Wombat to-day no one would guess he possessed a mild and genial nature. The four cubs were filled with terror, and trembled every time their sire gave a groan or writhed upon the floor. And Mom Wombat, meek helpmate that she was, had become so nervous she could scarcely control herself.

  “Why don’t you have that tooth out, Pop?” she asked for the twentieth time that morning.

  “Out! Have it out? Do you want to see me murdered?” he retorted, in a peevish tone. “If it’s such fun, why don’t you have your own teeth out?”

  “If they ached, I would,” answered Mom.

  “That’s it!” he snapped. “You’re in no danger of getting hurt; so you want to see me mutilated and killed!”

  “It won’t kill you to have a tooth pulled, my dear,” she persisted; “and Doc Pelican is down by the bend of the river now, and will do the job easily. If the tooth is out it won’t ache, and until it’s out it will ache, you know.”

  “Mind your business!” growled Pop as he held his jaw between two chubby paws and groaned aloud.

  Mom sighed, and the cubs shuddered. And then silence was renewed until Pop resumed his awful groaning.

  “Why don’t you---” began Mom; but he cut her question short by suddenly jumping upon his feet.

  “Hold your tongue, can’t you?” he howled. “I’m going down to Doc Pelican’s, and if you don’t like it you can do the next thing!” And he marched toward the mouth of the cave.

  Mom didn’t mind his bitter words in the least, for she knew Pop loved her, and that it was only that toothache that induced him to say such things.

  “Be very careful, dear,” she called after him. “Remember it’s broad daylight, and you may meet with enemies.”

  He gave a scornful grunt and walked away, groaning lustily with every step. Yet Mom’s warning was not so foolish as Pop tried to make out. As a matter of fact, a group of dangerous foes was at that moment gathered in a cavern underneath the river bank, not a hundred yards away from the snug cave of the wombats.

  “I’d like to eat old Pop as well as any of you,” said Dick Wolf, licking his lean chops. “ But you know the Law as well as I do. Unless he fights we dare not harm him.”

  “Let’s make him fight!” suggested little Joe Weasel.

  “We can’t,” replied Dick Wolf. “I’ve tried it.”

  “Well, let’s claim he did fight,” proposed Bob Peccary; “he can’t prove he didn’t, after he’s eaten.”

  Then the conspirators paused to look upon one another curiously, for not one of them felt he could trust the others in case they were brought before the judges to explain Pop Wombat’s death. Yet the thought of preying upon the fat and tender family of wombats was so tempting that they were ready to defy the Law and take the chance of their crime being discovered. If only Pop could be induced to fight, the rest would be easy; but who had ever known him to even quarrel with any beast?

  While they hesitated, Ned Lynx, the spy, solved the problem by rushing into the cavern and shouting:

  “He’s out! Pop Wombat is out in broad daylight.”

  “Now’s our time!” cried Hank Hyena, leaping up. “Let’s hide ourselves, and catch him as he comes back.”

  They all agreed readily to this, and Charlie Fox said: “Make him fight if you can, my boys; but if you can’t---”

  “If we can’t, we’ll kill him anyhow,” declared Jim Leopard; and the conspirators growled assent.

  Meantime Pop Wombat had shuffled his fat body down to the river bend, moaning with the pain in his tooth with every step.

  As Mom had predicted, he found Doc Pelican standing beside the water and eyeing the rushing stream with intent thoughtfulness.

  “Say, Doc,” said Pop Wombat, coming up. I’ve got a bad toothache, and---”

  “And you want the tooth pulled, I suppose,” said Doc. “Open your mouth, and I’ll jerk it out in a hurry.” Pop hesitated. “I don’t think it’s aching quite so bad, just now,” he remarked.

  “Humbug!” said Doc.

  Pop felt his jaw tenderly.

  “Will it hurt?” he asked.

  “Not the least bit!” said the Pelican. “I pulled one for Nick Tiger, the other day, and he said it was a real pleasure. Open your mouth.”

  So Pop opened his mouth, and Doc asked: “Which tooth is it?”

  “This one,” said Pop, touching it with his padded paw.

  The Pelican thrust his long bill into the wombat’s mouth, seized a tooth in a desperate clutch, wiggled it briskly to loosen it, and then threw back his head with a powerful jerk.

  Pop howled in agony, and rolled upon the ground as if taken with a fit.

  “It’s all over,” said Doc, dropping the tooth into the river.

  “You idiot!” roared Pop, fairly beside himself. “You’ve pulled the wrong tooth!

  “Oh, did I?” asked the Pelican, with a chuckle. “Let me see.”

  Pop stood up, shaking with pain, and opened his mouth again. Instantly the Pelican seized the aching tooth and gave it a jerk.

  It was too much for Pop to bear. His strong little jaws came together with a snap, and he bit Doc’s head off as neatly as if it had been cut with a knife.

  “Dear me!” said Pop, gravely, as he watched the floundering of the headless Pelican; “what have I done?”

  “You’ve fought and killed a harmless creature, and broken the Law!” said a voice in reply, and Ned Lynx crept from the clump of bushes where he had been hidden. “Your own life is forfeit, Pop Wombat!” he added, gleefully.

  But Pop had no wish to die. The strain upon his nerves caused by his recent suffering had roused him from his usual gentleness, and his present horror and fear completely changed his nature. He sprang upon the Lynx and dealt him a blow that laid the spy stunned upon the path, and then he started on a trot back toward his cave.

  “Hurrah!” cried Dick Wolf, from his ambush; “he fights at last! Pop fights, brothers!” and without more ado he launched his lean body straight at the wombat’s throat.

  Pop struck again, and in his anger hurled Dick Wolf a dozen paces into the brushwood. But now in the path crouched Jim Leopard, his eyes green and watchful and his long tail swaying gently from side to side. And back of Jim the gaunt hyena stood with open mouth, disclosing two rows of cruel teeth. And on one side was Bob Peccary, and on the other side Charlie Fox, while the blood-shot eyes of Joe Weasel glared at him with savage joy.

  For a brief moment Pop decided to fight them all. Then his unnatural
courage rapidly oozed away, and he turned tail and dashed through the wilderness at his swiftest gait.

  Usually he was as lazy as he was fat; but now terror lent him speed. He escaped the leopard’s leap by a hair’s breadth. He snapped at the hyena and caught the foe’s muzzle between his own teeth. He knocked over the peccary so that the awkward beast tripped the rush of the fox. Next minute he was racing on in the lead of every pursuer.

  But no wombat could keep up that speed for long, and Pop was about ready to drop when the opening of a cave met his eyes. He tumbled within and swung around with tooth and claw to guard his retreat.

  But he was safe enough from his pursuers now. Indeed, his act filled them with consternation, and they hid themselves in the underbrush and lay panting and wondering and eyeing the cave.

  “What audacity!” whispered Charlie Fox.

  “What absurd recklessness!” said Jim Leopard.

  “What folly!” declared the weasel.

  By that time Pop Wombat agreed with them, for he remembered where he was, and whose cave he had invaded.

  It was the lair of Mersag the Grizzly, and the largest, the fiercest, most powerful beast for miles around! Mersag dominated both forest and plain; every animal, however big or little, stood in awe of him; he was cruel and merciless, courageous and blood-thirsty, ferocious and lawless. To face him was death; to hear his mighty footsteps crunching through the brush wood was a signal for instant flight; to penetrate his lair was a madness worse than suicide.

  But Pop Wombat, wild with fear, had not noticed where his feet had led him until it was too late to retreat. The great cave was vacant just then; but to quit it meant to be torn to pieces by his hungry enemies, while to remain until Mersag returned meant certain death.

  So Pop crouched and trembled, and outside his foes wondered and waited.

  Nor was it long before the grizzly’s heavy footfalls were heard approaching. Dick Wolf, Charlie Fox, Jim Leopard and the others of their band slunk quickly under cover of the bushes. Pop Wombat’s heart stood still in terror. And now, swaying majestically from side to side, the huge bulk of Mersag’s grizzled body hove into view and rolled up the path to his cave.