L. Frank Baum - Oz 27

by Ojo In Oz

  “These rascals call me ‘Rufus,’ but my real name,” answered the bear, straightening up proudly, “is Snufforious, Buxorious, Blundorious Boroso!”

  “My!” Ojo swallowed with difficulty, for the bun was stale and dry as sawdust. “I’m afraid I couldn’t remember all that, Snufforious, Buxoroh, I say, do you mind if I call you Snufferbux, as a sort of nickname?”

  “Well,” the bear sounded a bit dubious, “it doesn’t sound very dignified, but then there is nothing dignified about a fellow who spends his life dancing attendance at the end of a chain. Go ahead, call me anything you like,” he finished dejectedly.

  “I think it’s a jolly name,” decided Ojo, “and maybe before long I can break that chain or get a knife and cut off that collar and then “Then I wouldn’t care what you called me,” exclaimed Snufferbux, giving Ojo a quick hug. “But be careful, my boy,” he cautioned, lowering his voice. “Do nothing to arouse the temper of these gypsies. They are terrible fellows, especially Zithero, the leader. Keep on the good side of Zithero or you’ll

  be black and blue,” he predicted gloomily. It was too dark even to distinguish the figures on the driver’s seat, and with a little shudder Ojo crept closer to Snuffer’s warm coat and right in the middle of worrying and wondering about his probable fate, fell into a sound slumber.

  When he awakened everything was still. Snufferbux was asleep on the floor of the wagon, his head on one arm, his other thrown protectingly around Oso. The wagon had stopped and the gypsies on the seat were asleep, too, slumped wearily down in their places. Slipping noiselessly from the bear’s embrace, Ojo parted the curtains at the back of the wagon Lnd peered out. In the grey light of early morning, he saw a great blue and unfamiliar forest. How the gypsies had managed to drive through the dense underbrush and between the gnarled old trees Ojo could not imagine, but here they were, all three wagons drawn up side by side in a gloomy clearing. The horses dozed heavily between the shafts; the little donkey was stretched out full length under a tree and there was not anywhere a sign of life or motion. But the momentary hope Ojo had of escaping was immediately dashed, for as he swung one leg over the back of the cart, one of the spotted dogs awoke and began to bark furiously. Stepping back

  as quietly as possible, Ojo again lay down beside Snufferbux and closed his eyes, so that when Zithero, roused by the dog, pulled aside the curtains, the boy was apparently fast asleep. Through half closed lids he watched the gypsy leader rub his eyes and crossly nudge the young woman beside him. Swinging down into the wagon he kicked Snuffer savagely, jerked Ojo to his feet and began calling out gruff orders to the rest of the band.

  Slowly and grumpily the gypsies arose, yawning and scolding and descended from their four-wheeled homes. The children, who had all been crowded into one of the wagons, began half-heartedly to collect firewood.

  Zithero, with a quick shove, propelled Ojo roughly toward them.

  “Get busy, Ojo, or Slowjo, or whatever they call you,” rasped the leader impatiently. “All who eat must work. And mind, now, no running off, or-” Touching the bright scimiter run through his scarlet belt Zithero snapped his black eyes warningly at Ojo, and Ojo hurriedly but most unwillingly joined the gypsy children. They gave him no trouble this morn-mg, evidently having received orders from the chief, but they chattered spitefully together in their own tongue and made such awful faces at him when no

  one was looking that Ojo felt miserably out of place and heartsick. The women were warming up the stew they had prepared for dinner the night before. Snuffer, fastened to a stake driven in the ground, had been given a bowl of onions to peel. With tears pouring down both cheeks he nodded encouragingly at Ojo, and though the boy did not feel at all like smiling, he could not help himself.

  Poking about among the damp leaves in search of twigs and small branches, he tried to plan someway out of his dreadful difficulties.

  Should he speak up boldly and demand his freedom, or wait for a lucky chance to escape. If he waited too long the gypsies would certainly turn him over to the unknown person who had offered the reward for his capture. Who could have done such a thing and why did they want him? With all of these questions buzzing round and round in his head, Ojo leaned down to pick up a piece of birch bark when a gleaming metal object caught his attention. Glancing over his shoulder to see that none of the children were watching him, he quickly snatched it up.

  It was a small, finely made silver whistle, and thrusting it into his pocket Ojo carried his bundle of wood to the fire.

  “Ha, ha! And how does the young gentleman like gypsying?” grinned Noma, who was stirring the

  great black cauldron with a huge ladle. “Nothing like life in the open, eh?

  “Oh, a gypsy’s life is gay and fre~ He knows no law, no law knows he; The wide world is his hearth and home! The open road is his to roam; And what he needs he takes for aye, And lets the stupid townsman pay!”

  croaked the old woman, keeping time with her ladle and leering through the steam like a mischievous goblin.

  “But I don’t see why you took me,” said Ojo, sitting down on a fallen log and trying to speak calmly. Maybe, if he were very careful and polite, Noma mght tell him something useful. But the old hag only gave an irritating screech of laughter.

  “We took you for a good reason, a reason you’ll know soon enough. Ha, ha! What a surprise is in store for you.” Ojo had a distinct feeling from No-ma’s expression that the surprise was going to extremely unpleasant, and throwing caution to the winds he jumped angrily to his feet.

  “You had better let me go, or Princess Ozma will

  see that you are punished. She is a fairy and a friend of mine and ruler of all Oz. She will send Une Nunkie and the army to find me and-”

  “No one finds the gypsies,” squealed Noma, hopping gleefully around the cauldron. “Let them try! Let them try!”

  “Here, here, what’s all this?” Striding up to the fire, Zithero spun Ojo round by the shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you to get to work? Quick now, off with you!” He gave Ojo a stinging blow on the ear that sent him sprawling among the gypsy children. Tears started to his eyes, but not for anything in Oz would he have made an outcry. Picking himself up slowly and paying no attention to the jeers and taunts of the ragged little gypsies, Ojo went on grimly and quietly gathering twigs. He didn’t look at Snuffer, but could hear the bear snarling and growling, and as an onion flew past his head and caught Noma squarely on the nose, he felt a little cheered and comforted. Whatever happened, decided Ojo, he would never desert the big brown bear.

  Soon after this, Zinaro, wife of Zithero, called all of them to come and eat. She was the one to whom Ojo had brought the pail of water and as she handed him a heaping plate of stew with a piece of yellow gypsy bread on the side, she smiled almost kindly

  at the forlorn boy. “Oh, maybe she will help me!” thought Ojo, who by this time was ready to grasp at any straw. The stew, though hot and peppery, put new life into the little Munchkin and when he had finished he diplomatically began to help Zinaro wash the tin plates in a little forest stream, thinking all the while how he could best go about enlisting her sympathy.

  As Ojo dipped the third plate into the sparkling water he happened to glance across the stream itself. Gingeration! Merciful Munchkins! Behind every great blue tree on the other side stood a giant huntsman! But come now, were they huntsmen? Ojo, trembling in both knees, took a second look. Huntsmen, never! They were robbers, brigands, bandits, outlaws.

  The very tilt of their feathered hats proclaimed their trade. And if that weren’t enough, each stout rosy-cheeked rascal was armed with a long sword, a short sword, a bilbo (which I must tell you is a curious kind of rapier) a brace of pistols and a hickory club.

  The tin plate slid out of Ojo’s fingers, but as he jumped up to give the alarm the bandit nearest the water’s edge put his fingers to his lips and gave Ojo such a merry wink that the boy stopped in spite of

  himself. After all, why shoud he warn the gypsies?r />
  They were cruel and heartless and his sworn enemies. Zinaro had her back to the stream and all the other members of the band were still gathered round the fire. So, closing his mouth stubbornly, Ojo dropped to his knees, picked up a tin cup and began nervously sloshing it up and down in the water. What would happen next? Would they all be robbed and captured? Might it not be possible in the general confusion for Snufferbux and him to slip away?

  Now, with muffled thuds and splashes, the robbers were crossing the stream. A bright gold ring with a sparkling yellow stone fell with a resounding clink into Ojo’s cup. For a moment a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Looking up fearfully, he met the blazing blue eyes of the bandit chief. Was the fellow thanking him, or was he in as great danger as the others?

  Before Ojo could decide, the outlaws, with yells, shouts and ear-splitting screeches, rushed to the fire and fell upon the gypsies. Without waiting to see how it would end, Ojo sprinted toward Snuffer’s post. Seizing the heavy chain he pulled, struggled, and tugged with all his might. The brown bear helped him so valiantly that between them they had loosened the pole, when a hefty bandit grasped Ojo round the middle, and plucking up the pole as if it

  had been a daisy, dragged them boisterously along to the fire.

  Trussed up like pigs on market day, Zithero and his band were ranged in a neat row between two trees. Ojo was relieved to see that none of them had been injured, and as they kicked and struggled and called out dire threats and abuse he could not help feeling that they had got exactly what they deserved. The robber chief was calmly ladling out what was left of the stew to his men, and as Ojo was dumped roughly on the ground beside him he gave a little chuckle of recognition and pleasure.

  “Not too rough there, Tiny!” he cautioned, as a huge bandit wound a rope round and round Ojo and then similarly bound up Snuffer. “This boy is a friend of mine. Isn’t that so, little fellow?” Ojo was too breathless to answer, but Snuffer, snarling and growling, spoke for him.

  “A fine way to treat a friend,” raged the bear, gritting his teeth in helpless fury. “When I get loose from here I’ll tear you into a hundred pieces and throw the pieces away.”

  “Really!” roared the bandit, staring at Snuffer with both hands on his hips. “D’ye think I’d make that many?”

  “I see the pot is empty.

  How about roasting the bear, Realbad?” boomed Tiny, making a sudden lunge at Snuffer.

  “Bear for breakfast!” exclaimed Realbad in mock horror. “How distressing, how repelling! You know I never eat bear for breakfast. But he’ll make a splendid rug for the family cave. Now then, boys, fall to, and when we’re finished we’ll see how many gold pieces we can shake out of these villains.” Moving closer to Snuffer, who had turned pale under his fur at the robber’s words, Ojo cast curious Side long glances up at Realbad as he downed the gypsies’ stew with evident relish. In spite of his threats, Ojo could not help having a feeling of friend liness for the high and handsome outlaw. He seemed utterly unlike the other members of his burly robber band, and in his rough suit of blue leather, his great boots and feathered hat, he looked more distinguished than the finest gentlemen at Ozina’s court.

  “It’s the way he stands,” decided Ojo, straightening up under the ropes pinioning his arms to his side.

  He had immediately slipped Realbad’s ring on his finger and looking down at it anxiously he wondered whether he was going to be safer with the bandits than with the gypsies.

  “We go from bad to worse!” groaned Snuffer dePage 26

  spondently, as Realbad, finished at last with his breakfast, bade his men bring the captives nearer the fire.

  “Watch closely there, little splinter!” he called with a good-natured grin at Ojo. “Watch closely and see how we bandits work, for ‘pon my sword hilt, I’m minded to make a bandit of you! A bad business, you think? But wait till you’ve tried it. Ho, “I’m Realbad, the bandit, and real bad am I, And I’ll have what I want in the wink of an eye!” he shouted, slapping his sword gaily against his boot.

  Fascinated, Ojo watched the robbers at work. One at a time the gypsies were dragged forward, untied, thoroughly searched and shaken, and securely bound up again. Soon a heap of bracelets, rings, copper coins and other odds and ends which the gypsies had stolen in the course of their wanderings, lay at Realbad’s feet. The women and children were not molested, and as Realbad himself went methodically through the pockets of Zithero the rest of the robbers went off to investigate the wagons. Zithero’s short coat and sash were lined with gold pieces and as they fell ringing to the ground he snarled and snapped like a dog. But calmly and unhurriedly Realbad continued his search. In an inner pocket of the gypsy leader’s blouse he found a small folded piece of parchment. Holding the squirming rascal in one hand he flipped open the parchment with the other. Ojo saw his eyes snap and kindle with excitement as he read.

  “Slayrum! Boldoso! Tiny!” roared the bandit, waving Zithero as if he were a flag. “Come here! Come back! Quickly!” When the three bandits arrived panting at the fire in answer to his booming summons, he triumphantly held up the parchment, reading it out to them in a high, jubilant voice:

  “Whoever brings the boy, Qjo, to Moojer Mountain within twenty moons shall receive five thousand bags of sapphires. No questions asked or answered.”

  “Leave all this trash!” commanded Realbad, giving the heap at his feet an impatient kick. “Here is our real booty!” He swept his arm in the direction of Ojo. “This is no gypsy.

  This is Ojo. Boy, you have brought me luck! The gypsies have stolen you hoping for the reward. But now we have you and shall collect it ourselves. Put the treasure in the sack, Tiny, and let us away to this Moojer Mountain.

  “What treasure?” asked Tiny, blinking his eyes stupidly, for he had only understood half of what he had heard.

  “The boy, dumbhead, the boy!” roared Realbad. “He is our treasure, good as gold, only better.

  Five thousand bags of sapphires. What a day’s work this

  is!”

  “I won’t come! I won’t come !” screamed Ojo, kicking out furiously as Slayrum started to lift him into the great sack hanging from Tiny’s broad shoulders. But even as he screamed, he was tumbled headlong into the dark leather bag and fell choking and sobbing to the bottom.

  Then, more gently, he ‘felt himself drawn upward and his head was pulled through the opening at the top of the sack.

  “Well, well! I thought you were a brave fellow,” whispered Realbad, wiping Ojo’s tears on his own fine handkerchief. “Come, come! A boy worth five thousand sacks of sapphires need not cry about anything.” Fastening the string of the sack gently about Ojo’s shoulders, Realbad gave him a hearty slap on the back and turned quickly to his men.

  “Come! Come, all of you!

  Bring the bear, Slayrum,” he commanded gruffly. Then sweeping off his hat, Realbad bowed mockingly to the gypsies. “Farewell, gentlemen!” he called gaily. “Gentlemen, farewell!”

  Leaping easily across the small brook he started

  swiftly off through the blue forest, followed closely

  i

  by Tiny with Ojo in the sack, Slayrum dragging Snuffer by his chain, and the three and twenty other grinning and perspiring outlaws.

  CHAPTER 3

  In the Bandits’ Cave

  AS Ojo bumped up and down in the sack on Tiny’s shoulder, he tried to collect his scattered wits and summon back his courage. Where was this Moojer Mountain, and who had offered this immense reward for his capture? He was bitterly disappointed in Realbad, for at first he had felt that the handsome outlaw was his friend. If he had only not found that miserable parchment offering the bags ofjewels, the robber chief might really have let him join the band. Life in the blue forest would have been exciting and new, and what tales he could have carried back to Unc Nunkie and his friends in the Emerald City! Now everything was ruined, he would be taken to Moojer Mountain and dumped down like merchandise for five thousand sacks of treasure.
But why should

  anyone pay that much for a simple, unimportant little Munchkin? Try as he would Ojo could not understand it and as the mystery soon made his head ache he gave it up for the time being and looked sharply to the right and left for signs or landmarks in case he should be able to escape.

  The forest was old and beautiful. Now and then a rabbit would scurry across their path or a deer look inquisitively out through the shadowy tree trunks. In the branches overhead, bluejays and other birds kept up an incessant chatter, and the bandits, as they trudged along, bawled out so cheery a song that it was difficult to believe they were really such villains. Prodded by Boldoso and jerked along by Slayrum, Snufferbux shuffled unwillingly at the end of his chain, letting out from time to time heart-rending growls and roars. Several times answering roars came back, as if some of the four-footed forest folk saw and sympathized with his predicament but were too afraid of the robbers’ guns to come to his assistance. After an hour’s tramp, the forest grew less dense, great rocky clearings made their appearance, and Ojo noticed that the rocks were marked with strange blue crosses and figures. Hurrying across the third clearing, the bandits made their way toward

  a huge tumble of impassable boulders. Ojo, squinting over Tiny’s shoulder, could see no break or pass in the slaty barrier, yet Realbad had already disappeared and, next thing, Tiny himself had stepped around a great jutting rock and started gaily down a stone passageway. The passage went down and then up, coming out at last into an immense and rugged cavern. Open to the sky on one end, protected by its blue crystal roof on the other, it was as snug and comfortable a hide-away as the heart of a woodsman could wish for. A long, rough table of logs ran down the center, with log benches on either side for the bandits. Bearskin rugs were spread over the polished stone floors; the heads of deer, elk and other large animals proved the robbers to be doughty hunters. An enormous stone fireplace took up one entire end of the cave and along the edges were ranged long chests evidently containing the clothes and booty of the bandits. With a huge yawn and stretch, Realbad unstrapped his gun and let it slide to the floor, and leaning forward set fire to the logs.