by Ojo In Oz
“Is there not as much time on a mountain top as anywhere else?” asked Mooj loftily. “All you need to make clocks is a little skill and plenty of time. Here I have both.”
“Well, we have not!” snarled the Cowardly Lion impatiently. “We don’t care about clocks. We want to know about Ojo.
What did you mean by asking us whether we had brought him here, and why were you giving us five thousand sacks of sapphires?”
Before Mooj could answer there came a thundering knock on the door, followed by quick raps on the windows and rattlings of all of the shutters.
“The hand!” groaned Dorothy, throwing her arms around the Cowardly Lion’s neck. “The hand, it’s come back for us. Oh, dear, where shall we hide?”
“This way! This way!” urged the clock maker.
Ushering them hurriedly into a small workshop at the back he closed the door.
Then, seizing an iron bar, he struck the lion a terrific crack over the head.
The lion, though taken by surprise, made a ferocious snap at Mooj. But before his teeth had come together he had changed before the startled eyes of the girls to an enormous alarm clock.
“Ha, ha! Mooj, the magician as well as clock maker bids you beware!” shrilled the old Munchkin, brandishing his rod over the cowering figures. “That knock is doubtless the gypsies bringing Ojo to Moojer Mountain. But you will never know why he has been brought here or what will become Qf him afterward! “There! And there!”
At the first “there,” Mooj struck Dorothy; at the second, Scraps. And now on a shelf above the great alarm clock stood a small French mantel clock and on the wall beside the shelf hung a bright red cuckoo clock that, in spite of its wooden rim and glass face, looked pathetically like the Patchwork Gfrl.
Leaving them ticking hysterically, Mooj hurried out to open the door. But. to his fright and astonishment, instead of gypsies he encountered the right hand of Reachard. Thrusting the clock maker scornfully aside, the hand on its long elastic arm rushed through the rooms of the little house, opening doors even those of the clocks, dragging aside chests and peering inquisitively into closets. Then, failing to find any trace of its three charges, it seized Mooj, shook him unmercifully, and flashed out the door, slamming it so hard that three window panes shattered to bits and four grandfather clocks fell forward on their faces. Mooj himself was simply stunned. Magician and magic worker though he was, he had never seen an arm and hand like Reachard’s -an arm and a hand without an owner. But consoling himself with the thought that he had rendered Ojo’s three friends helpless and harmless, he bolted all the windows and doors and sat down to wait for the gypsies; for had not these foolish Emerald City-ites told him that the boy was in the hands of gypsies? Gypsies! Throwing back his head, Mooj laughed long and evilly.
CHAPTER 12
Meanwhile in Glinda’s Castle
ABOUT the time Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion and Scraps were leaving Dicksy Land, Ozma, Unc Nunkie and the Scarecrow were arriving at the red palace of Glinda, the Good Sorceress of the South.
This famous and lovely enchantress is almost as well known and loved as Ozma herself, practising only good magic and governing with wisdom and skill all the turbulent tribes and races of the Red-lands. Ozma, convinced that the Cowardly Lion, Scraaps and Dorothy were already with Ojo, had not used one of the Wizard’s wishing pills, but had driven south in the royal red wagon drawn by the Saw horse, a small, live, wooden beast who had been brought to life with the same powder used upon Jack Pumpkinhead and the Patchwork Girl. They had left the Wizard busily adjusting his search light, and feeling sure that Dorothy or the Wizard would locate Ojo before their return, Ozma and her two friends had made the journey quite hopefully and happily.
After welcoming them with great warmth and ceremony with a salute of twenty guns from the red tower, Glinda led her distinguished visitors into the throne room and begged Ozma to tell her the latest happenings in the capital. When Ozma explained the reason for their trip, Glinda looked grave and
anxious and hurried over to the huge book of records padlocked to its golden stand beside her throne. Turning back the pages to the day before, they all looked eagerly for some entry that might explain the mysterious disappearance of Ojo. A dozen birthday celebrations of various rulers were duly recorded, a small war between the Grigs and Twigs of South Mountain was briefly touched upon, but concerning the lost boy there was nothing at all.
“The King of Seebania is taking steps to secure his crown.” After reading this entry the Scarecrow turned to Glinda with a little chuckle. “I had the same trouble when I was Emperor of Oz,” he confided reminiscently. “I just could not keep my crown on. It kept slipping down over one eye and wrinkling up my cotton forehead. Why doesn’t this King of Seebania use a chin strap and tie it in place?”
“I think this means he is having trouble with his subjects,” smiled Ozma, turning the page quickly.
“The same thing,” insisted the Scarecrow, throwing his flimsy arm affectionately around Unc Nunkie.
“Anything on to-day’s page, Unc?” Unc Nunkie shook his head sorrowfully, for the record of morning’s happenings had nothing whatever to do with his small nephew.
“Perhaps Ojo is not important enough to be mentioned in the record,” mused Glinda, straightening up regretfully.
“Wrong!” Raising his skinny forefinger, Unc Nunkie wagged it reproachfully under Glinda’s nose.
“Of course he is important to us,” put in Ozma soothingly. “But Glinda means that the book cannot record the doings of all the every-day little boys in
Oz.”
“Not!” disapproved Une, turnmg away to look sadly out of the window.
“I agree with you,” said the Scarecrow heartily. “Ojo is not an every-day boy at all, but an every-other-day-but-to-day boy. Here he was yesterday, as lively as a Grig.
Where is he to-day? That’s the question. I move that we return to the Emerald City, my dear, and see what the Wizard has to report, and then, too, we can look again in the magic picture.”
There seemed nothing else to do, and though Unc Nunkie was too worried to eat and the Scarecrow was not made for the gentle art, Glinda and Ozma had a luxurious lunch on the balcony, after which the little rulers bade each other an affectionate farewell. Then Unc Nunkie and the Scarecrow shook hands with the clever Sorceress and they all climbed back into the red wagon and set off at the Saw
Horse’s best speed for the capital.
CHAPTER 13
Slaying of the Snoctorotomus
AFTER leaving Realbad, Ojo and Snufferbux trudged silently along through the blue forest. The sun was still high and the air cool and fragrant, but Ojo was so depressed and sorrowful at leaving the gallant robber chief that he found the day dull and uninteresting and did not even look up when a three-tailed squirrel whisked saucily across his path. Snufferbux, too, felt solemn and serious, for he realized that he and he alone must now protect Ojo from his unknown and dangerous enemies. Picking up a huge fallen branch he stripped off the leaves and with this improvised club peered watchfully to the left and right for signs of gypsies, wild beasts or other hidden perils. This big brown bear was determined to deliver the little Munchkin boy safely to his friends in the capital and then, with a clear conscience, return to the high and craggy mountain peaks of his youth. As Snuffer, in his slow, methodical way, pondered over the strange mystery of
Moojer Mountain and the probable reason for the stealing of Ojo, he broke into the slow shuffle and glide of an old gypsy folk dance. And so strange was the picture he made, dancing gravely through the forest, bowing now to one tree and now another, haughtily circling a clump of bushes with upraised arm or foot, that Ojo, in spite of his low spirits, stopped and burst into a loud roar of laughter.
“Oh, Snuffer, whatever makes you do that?” called the boy, fairly rocking to and fro with merriment.
“Foresight,” answered the bear, speaking calmly out of the corner of his mouth as he finished the second figure of his
number with a masterly pirouette on one toe. “Do you realize, my lad, that this poor talent of mine is all that stands between us and starvation? So a little practice will not come amiss. If there be on the other side of this forest a town or village, I will take steps to get us food and a night’s lodging. Perhaps you, too, can do something strange or interesting?” Ojo, smothering his chucides, admitted that he could walk on his hands and turn cartwheels, and after demonstrating his ability in both directions, he skipped more cheerfully beside the dancing bear.
“But if the Emerald City is on the other side of this forest we won’t have to dance for our supper,”
Ojo assured his companion. “You know, Snuffer, I believe we have been on the border of the Munchkin Country all this while, so we cannot be so far from the capital. And when we do get there I intend to ask Ozma to help Realbad.”
“Help Realbad?” growled the bear, stamping three times with his left foot and dropping his club so he could clap his paws over his head “He can perfectly well take care of himself; he’s been helping himself for years. The best thing for you to do is forget that good-for-nothing rascal.” “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” exclaimed Ojo in a shocked voice. “After all, Snuffer, he savedos from the gypsies and the blue dragon. And do you remember the way he pommeled all those crystal guardsmen?”
“How about the way I pommeled them?” grunted the bear in a hurt voice. Abruptly stopping his dance he picked up his club and strode sulkily along ahead. The forest was full of little rustles and murmurs, and as Ojo trod hurriedly after Snuffer he became suddenly aware of the constant ringing of a small bell. Faintly but persistently it followed them everywhere. Soon Snuffer heard it too, and pricking up his ears swung around to face Ojo.
“What’s that?” he puffed in surprise. “There are no clocks, schools or churches in sight, yet I distinctly hear the ringing of a bell.”
“Sounds close,” breathed Ojo, glancing around uneasily. “What do you suppose it means, Snuffer?”
“Well,” answered the bear jocularly, “bells sometimes mean dinner or lunch. Maybe a picnic basket is about to fall on our heads or maybe a sandwich man is on his way to meet us. But come along, Ojo, it probably does not concern us at all.” As Snuffer pushed sturdily through the tangle of vines and bushes ahead, the ringing grew so loud that it fairly made their ears tingle.
“Why, it’s the ring! Realbad’s ring!” cried Ojo. Holding up his hand, he stared with big eyes at flashing band on his middle finger. Unmistakably and unaccountably, the peals were coming from the golden circlet.
“Quick, take it off!” yelled Snuffer, bounding clumsily toward the Munchkin boy. “Never heard of a ring ringing. Take it off! Throw it away! As sure as I’m Bruin, there’s mischief brewin’.”
“Oh! Oh! Earthquake!” screamed Ojo, throwing both arms around a small tree. And in truth, the floor of the forest was heaving like the sea, and before Snufferbux could catch hold of anything the
waving mass of green and brown split with a thun-erous roar and up flashed the terrible head and long serpent’s body of a Snoctorotomus. Ojo did not know until much later that it was a Snoctorotomus. Now he could barely make out the figure of the horrible monster, for its sooty breath was filling the forest with a dense smoke and its hideous howls sent the Leaves raining down in a thick shower. Realbad’s ring still kept up its furious pealing, and in addition to this it was sending out sharp flashes from its yellow stone.
“I do believe the ring tried to warn me,” shuddered the boy, trembling so violently that he skinned both knees on the rough bark of the tree he was clutching. Snufferbux, close by, was grasping his club in both paws, and as the immense head of the loathsome creature came curving toward him he struck it a mighty blow between the eyes. The club splintered to bits, but the smoke-breathing serpent did not even seem to feel the blow. Seizing Snuffer in its talons it hurled him wickedly over its shoulder and came with a hiss and splutter straight down upon Ojo.
Of all the frights and experiences he had had so far, this was the most terrible. Closing his eyes
tight, Ojo gave himself up for lost. Round and round the boy the monster curled its long, scaly body. Too petrified even to scream, Ojo couldn’t help wondering why the crushing weight of the creature gave him no pain or discomfort at all. In such a position it was useless to think, for Ojo could not move or even wriggle a finger, and in a mute sort of despair he waited for what was to come. This wait, I am glad to tell you, was not long. The thunderous roars and snarls of the monster rose all at once to an ear-splitting screech. Its scaly coils suddenly relaxed, and Ojo, breathless and exhausted was dragged out by strong and willing hands.
“What’s this, hide and seek?” At the sound of that gay and well remembered voice Ojo looked up, and at the sight of a handsome bronzed face he flung both arms around the bandit’s neck. Then peering fearfully over Realbad’s shoulder-for it was the handsome outlaw and no other-he saw the severed head of the Snoctorotomus on the ground a few feet away. The smoke caused by its noxious breath was already clearing off, and touching the flattened coils of the inert monster with his sword, Realbad explained that it was an earth serpent capable of traveling through the ground as swiftly as a sea serpent swims through the sea, and forced to rise every seven days
to the surface for food and air.
“It quite evidently mistook you for a lunch,” exclaimed Realbad, sitting down on a tree stump and drawing Ojo down beside him, for he could see that the boy was still weak and shaken. “Didn’t my ring warn you in time?”
“It tried to.” Ojo spoke in a low voice, for he still felt uncomfortable at the way they had deserted Realbad. “But how did you know?”
Realbad held up his own right hand and on the third finger Ojo saw a ring similar to his own.
“Does your ring ring when my ring rings?” he asked in astonishment.
“If the wearers are separated,” answered Realbad. “You see, these rings are twins and will protect the owners from all bodily harm, and if either wearer is in danger both rings will give the alarm.”
“But how did you get here,” Ojo took another look at the Snoctorotomus and shuddered, “in time?”
“Well,” smiled the bandit, “as a matter of fact, I’ve been following you all morning. I knew my ring would protect you, but when I saw you all wound there like a papoose, I thought I had better take a hand, so” Realbad made a swinging sweep with his sword to show how he had slain the earth serpent. Then, giving Ojo a quick hug, he sprang energetically to his feet. “Now where’s that big frend yours?”
“Oh, poor Snuffer! He must be all broken up,’ cried Qjo. Darting off in the direction the Snoctorotomus had flung the bear he began a frenzied search for him. They found Snuffer lying beside a small stream about twenty yards distant, and as Realbad bent over to see whether he was hurt, Snufferbux opened one eye.
“You?” groaned the bear, quickly closing it again. “Why in fury can’t you mind your own real bad business and let honest people alone?”
“But Snuffer, he killed the earth serpent,” explained Ojo, giving Snuffer a little shake.
“Easy enough, after I stunned the creature,” grumbled the bear ungraciously. Slowly he sat up and after feeling himself carefully all over and finding no broken bones, he extended his paw stiffly to the bandit.
“Thank you very much,” he wheezed gruffly. “And now, would you mind going away, far away?”
“But Snuffer,” cried Ojo, aghast at such ingratitude. “Don’t you know that Realbad’s ring tried to warn us? It’s a magic ring and while I am wearing it nothing can happen to me at all. That’s what kept
me from being crystallized in Crystal City, and no harm can come to me, not even on Moojer Mountain.”
“I’ll bet Realbad gave it to you for his own bad reasons,” insisted Snuffer stubbornly. “Of course he does not want anything to happen to you until he has claimed the reward.”
“And quite bright of me, don’t you think?” Realbad made a lit
tle face at Snuffer and rested his hand on Ojo’s shoulder. “And now that is all settled, suppose we have something to eat. When I was hunting for you, I found a couple of other birds.” Quickly and expertly Realbad began to pluck and clean two wild fowl he had snared on his way through the forest, and so expert a woodsman was the clever fellow that he soon had the birds roasting merrily on a spit over a hastily built fire. Snuffer who did not care for meat, removed himself as far as possible from the appetizing aroma and lunched morosely on some nuts he found in a hollow tree, but Ojo had forgotten everything but his hunger.
“Did you really give me the ring so you would be sure of the reward?” sighed Ojo, after he had eaten one of the nicely roasted fowl. “Why, that couldn’t be!” He interrupted himself suddenly. “You gave it to me before you knew about the sapphires. I believe you do like me, Realbad.”
“Believe what you like,” grinned the bandit chief, stamping out the fire. “But be quick about it, for I should not care to spend the night in this place.”
“Me neither,” coughed Snuffer, coming heavily to his feet. “That serpent may pull itself together and have another swing at us.” As you probably know, this was not at all unlikely, as no person or creature in Oz can be permanently destroyed. And soon, though no one could tell how soon, the Snoctorotomus would be as lively and as dangerous as ever. So, first quenching their thirst at a small spring, Ojo and Realbad, with Snuffer grumbling and scolding behind them, set out at as rapid a pace as the denseness of the forest would permit.
Ojo was secretly delighted to be with Realbad again. And looking proudly down at his ring he could not help thinking how handy it would be when he wrestled with the boys in the Emerald City or fell out of the apple tree. And feeling, in the company of the tremendous outlaw, both safe and adventurous, he hoped they would not reach the Emerald City too soon, or before he had other opportunities of testing the ring’s magic powers.
As Snuffer had lapsed into a surly silence, Ojo and Realbad had the conversation all to themselves. Talking of this and that, they came finally to the edge of the forest. Directly ahead lay a strange, walled city, and Snuffer was so relieved to find a town and not a mountain on the other side of the forest that he could not restrain a huge sigh of relief.
