He had that morning stalked a deer, slain it and eaten until he could eat no more; and now he was coming home to sleep.
Very contented and good-humored was Mersag at the moment when he reached his lair and found the trembling intruder facing him. He was surprised, no doubt; but after one look at Pop Wombat he gave a laugh and said: “What, in the name of folly, brings you here? Did you come to be eaten, my good Pop?”
“I suppose so,” answered the other, uttering a groan.
“Well, I have often longed to pick your bones,” said the grizzly, reflectively; “and it strikes me you will make a dainty morsel, with your fat ribs and tender flanks. But, to be honest, Pop Wombat, I am so filled with venison at this moment that a single mouthful more would choke me.”
Hearing this, Pop began to pluck up heart.
“Spare me, Mersag!” he begged, piteously; “protect me from my enemies!”
“Which of the small creatures dares touch you, you fat coward?” returned the grizzly, with contempt. “The Law protects the harmless ones - from all save Me.”
“But I’ve broken the Law,” wailed Pop; “I was driven to desperation by a toothache, and I’ve killed Doc Pelican, and bitten the nose of Hank Hyena and skinned the shoulder of Bob Peccary! So the meat-eaters chased me in a furious pack, and I didn’t notice where I was going and ran in here to escape.”
Mersag lay over on his side and roared with laughter. Pop’s plaintive face was so comical that he could not help it. When he had finished his laugh and wiped his eyes with his paw, he said, cheerfully: “It’s the best joke I’ve heard this year! Really, Pop, you are very entertaining. But, tell me, what has become of the enemies who pursued you to my door?”
“They’re hidden in the bushes, outside,” said Pop.
“Well,” remarked Mersag, sitting upon his haunches and eyeing his victim shrewdly, “I’m awfully sorry I’ve no appetite for you at present. And you’re so fat and fit that I hate to give you up to those miserable creatures waiting outside. Let me think what is best to be done.”
“Save me! Save me, my dear, revered, handsome and most excellent Mersag! Save my life!” entreated poor Pop. grovelling before the gigantic form of the bear.
“H—m—m—m!” growled Mersag, reflectively. “I shall be hungry again, some day. I know it by past experience. One cannot always stalk a deer! See here, Pop, I’ll make a bargain with you. For a month I will protect you from your enemies, and you shall be free to wander where you will and to enjoy your home and your family. But at the end of a month you must return here and be eaten.”
“Mercy! Mercy!” wailed the unhappy wombat.
“Am I not merciful?” asked Mersag, surprised. “Instead of killing you to-day, I give you a month of life and freedom. Could anything be more generous and unselfish? But, of course, if you don’t care to promise---”
He raised his huge paw, threateningly, and bared his horrible teeth.
Pop grovelled again.
“I promise!” he screamed. “I promise! Save me to-day from my enemies and I promise to return in a month and give myself up to you.”
“Very good! Very good and wise,” said the grizzly, with a sleepy yawn. Pop looked full into the cavernous mouth, and shrank back trembling.
But now, Mersag walked to the door of his cave and shouted, in a loud voice:
“Hear me, Dick Wolf, and all who are with you! Pop Wombat is under my protection from this time forth. If any harm comes to him through you, beware the vengeance of Mersag the Grizzly!”
There was no answer in words; but the brushwood crackled here and there as the scared and discomfited band of conspirators slunk away to their dens.
And now, Pop, said Mersag, swinging around, you may go. And go quickly, too, for I want to take my nap.”
Pop did not await a second bidding. In an instant he was out of the cave and shuffling along the path to his home.
He was yet somewhat confused in mind, and hardly remembered what had happened to him. But the journey was not half over before he began to realize the fatal bargain he had made for a month of life, and the terrible fate that awaited him.
Presently he began to moan and groan, and he moaned and groaned with every step until he reached home.
“Well,” said Mom, looking up as he entered, “did you have the tooth out?”
The tooth! Pop had forgotten all about it. It seemed a thousand years since he had left the cave with that miserable toothache through which he had forfeited his life.
He nodded silently in answer to Mom’s query. There was no need relating to her his dreadful experiences. It would only make her unhappy to know that in a month she would be a widow and their darling cubs fatherless.
A kind heart had Pop Wombat, as well as a gentle nature. So he kept his misery to himself, and devoted the month of life that remained to him in caring for his family with exceeding tenderness.
But to face a sure and horrible death is no easy matter, I assure you; and Pop worried and fretted until he lost all his plumpness and beauty and the brown fur hung upon his bones like a robe thrown over the back of a chair. Mom couldn’t make out what was wrong with him, and tried in various ways to make him confess he had a secret that was weighing upon his mind. But Pop stoutly refused to burden her with his worries, and bore alone the bitter grief that was consuming him, while day by day his form became more lean and gaunt until it afforded a sharp contrast with the plumpness of his unsuspecting family.
When the month was up he dared not bid the dear ones good-by, for that might awaken their suspicions and cause a scene. So, with a heart-broken sob that could not be repressed, he marched out of the cave and took the path leading to the lair of Mersag the Grizzly.
“Now, by the bones of my grandsire!” cried Mersag when he beheld the skinny form of the wombat, “what on earth have you been doing to yourself? You are not fit for a vulture to eat!”
“It’s the anxiety,” said Pop, sadly. “I couldn’t help it, your honor. It has worn me to skin and bones.”
“Bah!” sneered the grizzly, and began pacing angrily up and down his lair. By chance he was fairly well fed at that moment, and although he might possibly have devoured a fat wombat, this lean specimen before him was repulsive to his appetite.
“Listen to me, Pop Wombat!” he said, pausing before his lawful prey; “I simply can’t and won’t eat you in your present demoralized condition. I’ll give you another month to get fat in, and if you are not then as plump and round as you should be, I’ll go to your cave and devour your wife and all your children. They’re fat enough, I know; and you may depend upon it I’ll keep my word. Now, run along and get fat!”
Pop withdrew in an agony of fear. Get fat! How could he manage to fatten himself to order, with that awful fate overhanging his loved ones in case he failed? But he must not fail! In some way he must manage to become round again, for otherwise he would be responsible for the murder of all those most dear to him.
But the fact that his worry was now redoubled prevented Pop from accomplishing his desire. Try as he would, he grew thinner and skinnier day by day, and a great horror fell upon him. His anguish, as the second month drew near its end, was something terrible to witness, and Mom, who was loving and sympathetic to a degree, began to worry so over Pop’s declining health that she also became thin and haggard. But the cubs, unconscious of all danger, remained as fat and jolly as ever, and Pop moaned miserably whenever he looked upon them.
Nothing but absolute despair could have driven a wombat to the act that Pop finally resolved upon. These animals feed upon wild vegetables and roots, as I have said, a certain instinct teaching them what is good to eat and what is not. And among the plants this instinct warns them to avoid is one called the tintain, which, if eaten, puffs up their bodies like bags of wind and causes them much incidental pain.
Pop happened to think of the tintain plant upon that very morning when he was due to render himself up to Mersag the Grizzly. He knew ve
ry well that if he presented himself in his present condition to the bear that Mersag would keep his promise and kill Mom and the cubs. So he resolved to trick the tyrant, if possible, as a last and desperate resort to save his family.
At daybreak he crawled out of his cave and began to search for tintains. These were quite plentiful, because all animals avoided them; so within a few minutes Pop was busily eating of the dreaded leaves. It required bravery to do this, but Pop had the courage of a loving and unselfish heart.
Presently he began to swell up, and to suffer oppressive pains, too; but these were nothing when compared to his anguish of mind, so he did not notice them. So ravenously did he devour the leaves that it was not long before his wrinkled skin was puffed out to its fullest extent, and he became, to all appearances, as round and plump as in his happiest days.
“Now, my darlings are saved!” murmured the Wombat, joyfully, and he went toward the grizzly’s lair well content to sacrifice his own life for the sake of those dear ones at home.
But, as he rolled along, a sudden strange sound fell upon his ears, and a pungent odor of smoke saluted his nostrils. Suspicious, as all the wild are, at unusual sounds and smells, Pop Wombat halted a short distance from Mersag’s cave and hid himself in a clump of bushes. He was bound for his death, to be sure, but that was no reason instinct should not warn him to beware of other and unknown dangers.
Peering through the bushes he was startled to see terrible creatures in the dreadful form of Man grouped just outside the abode of the mighty grizzly. They had built a fire of the dead branches of trees, and upon the coals were roasting curious lumps of meat.
This was enough, in all reason, to astonish Pop Wombat; but his eyes grew even bigger next moment. For there before him, stretched broad upon pointed stakes and suspended against the trunk of a giant maple tree, swung the stripped and lifeless hide of the great grizzly himself!
Horror came upon Pop Wombat as he looked - horror, and then a growing sense of relief - and then unbounded joy.
For he was saved. His dear ones were saved. And that deadly creature Man had been the unconscious instrument of their salvation!
Softly and with grateful heart he made his way back to his own cave. Mom Wombat came anxiously to meet him, and her husband’s bloated appearance and strange actions caused her much anxiety. For Pop’s distended skin forced him to utter many dismal groans, yet he would stop groaning to laugh and caper madly about the room as if trying to surpass the antics of the cubs.
“He’s been eating those poisonous tintains,” thought Mom, “and the pain has driven him distracted.”
Then she promptly knocked him over and began pummelling him briskly to get the wind out of him; and the cubs hurried up to join in the sport and cuffed poor Pop as hard as their little fists could strike.
And Pop laughed. He was happy as a prince. He even roared with merriment when Mom jumped upon him and kneaded his swelled body.
“To think you should be such a fool as to eat tintains!” she cried, indignantly, and continued her heroic treatment until Pop’s body shrank slowly but surely into its accustomed condition.
Pop never minded the pain or the pounding a bit. He laughed, and hugged the cubs, and chucked his amazed wife under her double chin, and behaved in a way that was nothing less than ridiculous. The tintains are not especially dangerous, after all, and I think Pop had a right to laugh.
From that day he picked up flesh with his renewed cheerfulness, and became so fat that not a wombat in all the land could compare with him.
The Men who had hunted and killed the grizzly had disappeared from the neighborhood; Dick Wolf and his bloodthirsty pack had disbanded and were now scattered throughout the wilderness; peace and contentment reigned in and about the cave of the wombats, and the cubs were growing big and strong day by day.
It is no wonder that Pop became fat!
The Transformation of Bayal the Porcupine
(September 1905)
It was understood by all the animals of the wilderness that Bayal the Porcupine owned a disagreeable temper. He showed neither kindness nor consideration toward those he chanced to meet, and if he spoke at all to other animals it was in a sneering or sarcastic tone that really made them wish he had remained silent.
The reason for this lay in the fact that Bayal was dissatisfied because he had been created a porcupine. As he rubbed his nose against the ground in search of insects for food, his sharp eyes saw the antelopes go bounding through the forests with the speed of the wind; saw the tribes of the wilderness shrink back in silence as the majestic tiger stalked proudly along his path; saw the huge form of the elephant loom dark against the sky and many of the wild prostrate themselves in awe of the Mighty One. Noting all this, Bayal moaned to himself:
“They are magnificent — they are grand! It is worth living to be one of the Masters of the Wilderness. But what am I? A pig! A stupid, rooting hedgehog!
Does the antelope see me? Does the tiger turn from his path because I am near? Does the elephant know a hedgehog exists? No! I am nothing. There are no songs in my praise. There are no legends telling of my deeds. I am unknown and unhonored!”
And then he would roll himself into a ball until his quills spread in every direction, and moan and groan and grieve until those who heard him heartily wished he had never been born.
Athlos, the Fairy of his race, whose duty it was to watch over the lives of the porcupines, was exceedingly sweet-tempered and loyal to her charges; but the selfishness and peevish disposition of Bayal became so hard to bear that more than once the gentle fairy was tempted to leave him to his fate and devote herself to more cheerful porcupines.
Of course, Bayal did not know of Athlos, nor that she listened always to his weary complaints, for with such knowledge he would not have dared to try her temper so severely. So he kept on grumbling and growling until the fairy, losing patience, resolved to teach him a lesson.
She appeared before Bayal one morning while he was grubbing for ants, in his usual discontented fashion; and the sight of Athlos radiant and beautiful, filled him with wonder and reverent awe and caused him to drag his quills upon the ground in humiliation.
“Tell me, Bayal,” she said, looking on him with calm eyes, “why are you always unhappy?”
“Because I am a lowly porcupine,” he answered, with eagerness. “It is not bad to be alive when one is of some importance in the world. But, if one must be so small and insignificant as I am, it were better not to live at all.”
“Do you, then, desire death?” Athlos asked, in grave tone.
The porcupine hesitated.
“No,” he replied, after a pause; “I prefer to live. But I also prefer to be an animal of importance.”
“And so you are, in your present form,” declared the fairy. “The beetles scurry from your path as you draw near; the lizard slips behind its rock, the mole seeks its burrow; even the hares and squirrels fear you. To them Bayal the Porcupine is mighty.”
“Pub! They are trash!” said Bayal, disdainfully. “It surprises me that you, most gracious Fairy, should know of the existence of such insignificant creatures as those you mention! And to win from them cither fear or respect does not content me while I am myself obliged to shrink from the leopard, the lion, the bear and the wolf. Why, alas! am I not one of those grand animals?
The fairy sighed, and looked sorrowfully upon him.
“Wisdom may not argue with folly,” said she. “Have your desire, Bayal, if you will. I am your guardian fairy. Choose, then, what form you will have among the animals of the forest or plain; and I, by means of my fairy powers, will bestow it upon you.”
To hear this delighted Bayal beyond measure.
“I will be an elephant, most gracious one!” he cried, in the instant. “Transform me, I implore you, into an elephant!”
“It shall be done,” declared Athlos.
The form of the porcupine changed, swelled and grew big. Almost before he realized the change he stood towe
ring far above the brushwood wherein he had been wont to hide. Between his glittering eyes a huge gray trunk swayed, curling and uncurling at his will. His chest was broad and deep; limbs huge as tree-trunks supported his vast body. He raised his head and blew a shrill, triumphant blast from his throat. And then he tramped away through the wilderness, bellowing again and again in the exuberance of his joy.
He was great as the greatest; mighty as the mightiest; Lord of all the Wilderness! But in the elephant’s body was the soul of Bayal the Porcupine.
He did not stop to think of that. He did not think at all, in those first moments of his transformation. He simply gloried in his size and strength.
A python swung from a tree. The elephant caught it with his trunk, dashed it upon the ground, and trampled it viciously through very wantonness. Then he marched on.
Presently he descried a herd of other elephants in a distant grove. He approached them, proud and arrogant. They looked upon him curiously as he drew near, but continued to feed with calm indifference. That did not please Bayal. He could see very well that he was taller than any of the herd.
These were his people now. He thrust himself into the group with impressive dignity, shouldering aside an old bull who seemed to be their leader. And the bull, with an angry cry, drew back and faced the intruder.
No one warned Bayal; but the other elephants moved slowly away from his vicinity, and before he realized that he was in danger the old bull, with lowered head and a bellow of defiance, came rushing toward him with sudden speed.
His own tusks were larger and sharper than those of his antagonist, but Bayal did not know how to use them. Moreover, he was taken by surprise. The shock threw him far back upon his haunches; there was a ripping, tearing sound, and he became conscious of a dull pain in his great chest. He looked, with startled eyes, at the angry bull who had charged him. The fierce leader of the herd had retreated a few paces and now, with red eyes and uplifted trunk, was about to rush again.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 833
