L. Frank Baum - Oz 27

by Ojo In Oz

  Ojo In Oz - Oz 27 L. Frank Baum

  by Ruth Plumly Thompson

  CHAPTER 1

  Gypsies!

  JUST outside the western wall of theEmeraldCity, facing the yellow brick highway, stands a small green cottage with blue shutters. Now I suppose in any country but Oz a green cottage with blue shutters would seem odd, but in that strange and wonderful country there are so many much more strange and astonishing sights that no one finds the cottage in the least unusual. The blue shutters merely mark it as the residence of Une Nunkie, an old Munchkin nobleman, and his little nephew, Ojo.

  Though Unc Nunkie has taken refuge near Ozma’s capital, he never forgets that he hails from the blue country of the west, and he and Ojo still dress in the Quaint blue costumes of the Munchkins and retain many of the simple and kindly customs of their own native land.

  As to Oz itself, I need hardly remind you that Oz is a great, oblong, magical country divided into four triangular kingdoms, of which the blue Munchkin country forms the western triangle, the yellow Win-kie country the eastern triangle, the purple land of the Gillikens the northern triangle and the red land of the Quadlings the southern triangle. In the exact center, where all of these triangles meet, is the capital of Qz where Princess Ozma, fairy ruler of all four realms, holds court and lives in her sparkling emerald palace with three little mortal girls who are

  her friends, and many strange and curious celebrities who are her advisers. Who has not heard of the wonderful Wizard of Oz, of the Tin Woodman, of Tik Tok the machine man, of the Patchwork Girl, of Carter Green the Vegetable Man, of the Soldier with Green Whiskers, of the famous live Scarecrow, of Herby the Medicine Man, of the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, the Doubtful Dromedary and the Comfortable Camel-and all the other curious and famous members of Ozma’s Court? All of us, I guess, for they have made Oz known in every country in and out of the world. Yes, even in Squeedonia, which is thirty-five jumps from the jumping-off place, the little Squeedoneezers know their hoztry and their geozify by heart. But they, and even you, do not know what happened lately to Ojo in Oz, so listen carefully, for that is what I am about to tell you.

  To begin with, it was one of those ratherish times, rather too late to play out of doors and rather too early for supper, so Ojo, picking up a blue fairy tale book, settled himself by the open window of the cottage to read. In the other window sat Unc Nunkie, peacefully smoking his pipe and dreaming of olden Oz times. He was just recalling with calm satisfaction a visit he had once made to the King of the

  White Mountains, when a sharp clatter of hoofs on the usually deserted yellow brick highway gave him such a start that he bit off the end of his pipe and sprang clear out of his chair.

  “What?” spluttered Unc Nunkie, thrusting his head out of the windQw. Unc, let me tell you, never used two words where one word might answer. Ojo had already flung down his book and stuck his head out of the other window. This is what he saw: Three big rickety wagons, drawn by three sleek black horses, were rolling toward theEmeraldCity. Copper pots and pans, brooms and kettles were tied to the wagon backs and jingled and banged tremendously as the horses trotted along. Swarthy-skinned gaudily dressed men and women rode on the drivers seats, and from windows cut in the wagons’ sides bright-eyed children peered curiously out at the pleasant countryside. Behind the first wagon trotted a small dusty little donkey; several spotted dogs ran beneath the second; but to the third an enormous brown bear was fastened by a chain. To keep pace with the horse, he had to go so uncomfortably fast that Ojo could hear him pant with rage and exhaustion.

  “Oh! Oh! Look, they’re coming here!” screamed the boy, almost tumbling out of the window. “I never

  saw wagons like that before.

  Who are they, Unc and where do they come from?”

  “Gypsies!” choked the old Munchkin, slamming down his window and fastening the lock with a sharp snap.

  “But what are gypsies?” demanded Ojo, who never his whole Oz life had seen or heard of such people. Instead of answering, Unc. jerked what was left of his pipe toward the three careening wagons; then, pulling nervously at his long white beard, he strode over to Ojo’s window and shut that too.

  “but where do they come from, where do they go, and What do they do?” persisted his nephew, pressing his nose against the window pane. “Oh, look, they’re stopping! I believe they’re going to camp in that meadow over there. I believe they live in those wagons all the time and travel all over Oz like peddlers. And see, that man on the first wagon has a fiddle and that other one an accordion. Oh, Une, may I go over and watch them unpack?” With a furious shake of his head Unc Nunkie rushed out of the room. In the doorway he paused.

  “Rascals!” he wheezed, wagging his white beard solemnly, and soon Ojo heard him locking windows and doors all over the house. This was certainly unusual, for never since they had come to live in the little green cottage had they bolted a single window or door.

  “Botheration!” muttered Ojo, vexed at Unc Nun-kie’s strange behavior. ‘Why all this fuss over a few travelers? They look just like other people, only gayer.” With lively curiosity he watched the children tumbling out of the carts, the men unharnessing the horses and starting to gather wood for fires. The bear’s chain was padlocked around a huge oak and he immediately began to rub his back up and down the bark, grumbling and scolding to himself in such a comical way that Ojo burst out laughing. He was so busy watching the gypsies that he did not know Unc Nunkie had come back until he felt himself seized by both shoulders. Turning him away from the window, Unc looked earnestly down into his eyes.

  “Not!” cautioned the old gentleman, shaking his long finger under Ojo’s nose. Then without waiting for Ojo to answer he was off again. This time Ojo heard the door slam, and running to the back window saw Unc Nunkie determinedly marching down the garden path. At the end of the garden was the great green wall of the Emerald City and in the wall was a small door leading directly into the royal park

  of Ozma’s castle.

  “I suppose he is going to tell Ozma that gypsies are camped outside the city walls. And I suppose he means I am not to go out of the house,” sighed Ojo regretfully. “What harm is there in that? Oh, well,” he concluded sensibly, “I can still look out of the

  widow.” So, seating himself in Unc Nunkie’s great arm chair, he rested his elbows on the sill and with growing interest and excitement watched the gypsies preparing their camp for the night.

  The men had already started the fire. An immense iron pot on a huge iron crane was swinging over the flames and while the women hurried back and forth between the wagons and the cauldron, preparing what appeared to be an enormous stew, the gypsy man with the fiddle lolled against a convenient boulder and struck up a wild and lilting melody. The ragged, black-eyed children began to skip and hop about the fire and, to Ojo’s delight and amazement, the bear stopped scratching his back and, raising up on his hind legs waltzed gravely and gracefully to and fro, holding up his chain so that he would not trip over it. One of the older girls and one of the boys snatched castanets from their pockets and joined in the dance, leaping, springing and gesturing

  so merrily that Ojo’s feet began to tap the floor. The castanets, now high, now low, seemed to be really talking, laughing, teasing, daring him to come across the road and join in the fun. It was all so different and jolly that Ojo, without half realizing it, found himself at the front door.

  “I’ll just open it a little bit so I can hear the music better,” thought Ojo to himself. He honestly meant to follow Unc Nunkie’s instructions, but no sooner had he stuck his nose outside the door than one of the gypsy women beckoned to him coaxingly. She had an empty water bucket in her hands and Ojo, feeling that even Unc Nunkie would not want
anyone to go thirsty, ran across the road, seized the bucket and in a jiffy returned it, full to the brim.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” smiled the woman, showing a double row of sparkling white teeth. She was young and handsome in a bold and dark-eyed fashion, with flying black curls and enormous hooped earrings. She wore a bright red handkerchief on her head, a full yellow skirt, a black velvet jacket and so many bracelets that Ojo could not even count them.

  As she turned back to the fire a wrinkled old crone came hurrying toward him.

  “How would the young gentleman like to know his fortune?” inquired the old gypsy, sidling up to Ojo

  like a crab. “Let Noma read your palm,” she wheedled coaxingly. “Know all the secrets of the past and future!”

  Ojo looked doubtfully across the road, for he had left the door of the cottage wide open. Then, as the. old woman continued to mumble and mutter, his curiosity got the better of his judgment and thrusting out his hand he begged her to go ahead. “Not here! Not here!” grunted Noma, holding him fast by the wrist “Come to my wagon. There it is quiet, and no one will hear us.” The fiddler had stopped playing and was looking fixedly at Ojo and, as the tattered gypsy children crowded round the little Munchkin, the brown bear began to growl and roar and jerk at his chain.

  “Be off!” he screamed crossly. “Be off, you little idiot! Here are thieves, robbers, cutthroats, villains!” A crack over the head with a piece of blazing firewood silenced the valiant bear and Ojo, who was by this time quite ready and anxious to take to his heels, found himself being drawn quickly toward the farthest of the wagons. In spite of her great age, Noma was as strong and stubborn as a donkey.

  “Oh, well,” thought Ojo, too proud to struggle and let the gypsy children see that he could not escape

  from the determined old woman, “as soon as my fortune is told, I’ll slip off and be home before Unc misses me.”

  Roughly constructed steps had been let down from the wagons, and up the steps of the last one the old gypsy pushed Ojo. Inside, it was like a small one-room house and, though he was anxious and troubled, the boy could not help thinking how grand it must be to rove all over Oz in this gay and carefree fashion. He had even lost some of his nervousness, for Noma had dropped his hand. Lighting a lantern suspended by a long chain from the top of the wagon, she motioned for him to sit down. This he did on a three-legged stool. First drawing the curtains at the back of the wagon, Noma seated herself on a stool opposite Ojo and, taking his hand in her own, looked craftily up into his face.

  “What does the young gentleman call himself?” she demanded inquisitively. Reflecting that he never called himself at all, the Munchkin boy stated with a smile that his name was Ojo. His answer had a most amazing effect on the old woman. Springing up with a scream, she bounded out the back of the cart and began shouting to the others in harsh nasal squeals. Ojo could not understand what she was screaming, for she was using the strange and unfamiliar tongue of the gypsies. But he was thoroughly alarmed and thinking this a good time to escape he dashed to the front of the wagon, climbed over the seat and jumped between the empty shafts. However, this only plumped him in the center of the crowd of gypsy children who had gathered round the wagon determined to hear 0jo’s fortune and get something for themselves if possible.

  There were perhaps a dozen of the little rascals and although Ojo could fight as well as any other lad of ten, he was hopelessly outnumbered. The largest of the boys tore all the gold buttons from his coat, the smallest cut off his gold shoe buckles with a sharp knife. One of the girls snatched his white ruffed collar, another seized his hat, stripped off all the gold bells trimming its edges and jammed it savagely down over his nose.

  Dragging at his hat with one hand, Ojo struck out manfully with the other, just managing to keep his feet. But his coat was soon torn to ribbons, and he himself would have fared badly indeed, had not the gypsy man with the fiddle rushed forward and cuffing the children right and left grabbed Ojo by the shoulder. Ojo had been so busy defending himself that he had not noticed the sudden tumult and confusion in the gypsy camp. Now, as he was jerked unceremoniously toward the second wagon, he saw with sinking heart that the gypsies were stamping out the fire, backing the horses between the shafts, tossing their belongings hurriedly back into the carts, screaming at the children, and showing every indication of immediate departure.

  Flung like a sack of potatoes into the wagon, Ojo had just time to roll over and sit up, when the great brown bear was driven up the steps and shoved through the curtains. The steps were flung violently after him. Through the curtains hung across the front of the wagon Ojo could see two figures already on the seat, and as the bear, grumbling and scolding and rattling his chain, settled down opposite him, the gypsy driver stood up and snapped his long whip. The wagon gave a great lurch and at breakneck speed went careening over the uneven meadow toward the yellow brick highway. From the noise and rattle behind them, Ojo knew the other wagons were following, and almost too startled and horrified to speak he stared wildly across at his dangerous looking travelling mate.

  “Well!” snarled the bear, snapping his little eyes temperishly. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you, little soft head! Why didn’t you run?”

  Now most of you would think it surprising to hear a bear talk, but in Oz all the animals talk as easily and fluently as the people, so that Ojo was not surprised at the bear’s speech - only terribly depressed.

  For of course the bear was right. Why in jiggeration had he not run at the creature’s first outcry? Why had he not minded Unc Nunkie and stayed peacefully at home?

  “A fine fix you’re in now, went on the bear, raising his voice as they swayed and rattled down the yellow brick highway. “A fine fix!” Running his paw around his collar, which seemed to be tight and uncomfortable, he blinked mournfully over at Ojo.

  “How about yourself?” retorted the boy, too miserable to care whether he offended the bear or not. “They seem to have caught you, too!”

  “Humph! Hemph! Kerumpf!” muttered the great beast, looking sharply at Ojo. “That was long ago, my boy. Well, we all make mistakes,” he added unhappily, “and I had no one to warn me of gypsies. Blackenblueberries! What a life it’s been, dancing and begging at fairs at the beck and call of these good-for-nothing villains! Never a moment’s liberty nor enough to eat. Nothing but blows and ill treatment in payment for faithful service. The bear’s

  appearance certainly bore out his sorrowful story, for under his fur Ojo could see every one of his ribs.

  “But what do they want with me?” gasped the boy, terrified a~uch a prospect. “I cannot dance and I have nothing to give them-now.” Turning out his pockets and thumping his torn coat and blouse, Ojo looked forlornly across at the bear.

  “Come here,” whispered the bear mysteriously, and as Ojo crawled cautiously over beside him he reached out his huge brown paw. “Take off your hat,” he directed eagerly.

  “But why?” Ojo dragged the hat upwards with both hands, for it was still wedged down over his ears.

  “Why?” he repeated, pulling it off with a little angry

  jerk.

  “Because,” with a cautious glance at the shadowy figures on the driver’s seat, the bear leaned down so he could speak directly into Ojo’s ear, “because there is a price on your head!” he confided darkly. “Here, let me see!”

  CHAPTER 2

  Snufferbux, the Bear

  “A PRICE on my head?” gasped Ojo, almost too astonished to believe his own ears. “It’s not there now,” mumbled the bear in a disappointed voice, after running his paw carefully all over Ojo’s tousled black hair. “But I distinctly heard Zithero say there was a price on your head, and they came all the way to the Emerald City with the express purpose of stealing a Munchkin boy named

  Ojo.”

  “That’s me, all right!” groaned Ojo dolefully. “And the price wouldn’t have to be marked on my head. It just means that somebody is willing to pay the gypsies a great deal of
money for me,” he explained solemnly, for Ojo had read enough stories to know something about such matters. “But I can’t see why anybody would want me,” he continued hoarsely. “I’m not rich or important or anybody at all!” The ease with which the gypsies had seized and carried him off made Ojo feel exceedingly small and insignificant.

  “There, there! You seem real important to me,” murmured the bear consolingly, and putting a huge arm around Ojo he drew him close to his shaggy fur. Snuggling gratefully against him the boy felt somewhat reassured and comforted.

  “Couldn’t we jump out the back?” he suggested

  worriedly.

  “And be crushed by the next wagon? No use!” sighed the bear. “They’d only catch and starve us for a week. I’ve tried it again and again, but I’ll help you all I can,” he promised gruffly.

  “And I’ll help you, too,” said Ojo, trying to speak Bravely. The long Oz twilight was fast drawing to a close. Soon it would be dark and already the air had grown sharp and penetrating. Moving closer to the kindly bear, Ojo, as the gypsy wagon carried him farther and farther from friends and safety, wondered what unknown dangers and experiences were in store for him. He could well imagine Unc Nun-kie’s fright and anxiety when he returned to find the little cottage empty and the gypsies gone. He could not help thinking longingly of the chicken pie and chocolate pudding they had planned for supper.

  “Hungry?” growled the bear, almost as if he had guessed Ojo’s thoughts. Reaching in a leathern pouch strapped around his waist he brought out two small apples and a stale bun. “A little girl gave me these at noontime. Better than nothing,” he grunted cheerfully. He tried to give them all to Ojo, but Ojo insisted on dividing the bun and taking the smallest apple.

  “What do they call you?” he asked presently, munhing away thoughtfully. “Since we are to be friends I ought to know your name.”