Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Keep back!” shouted the Major, in stentorian tones, “I’ll shoot the first man that interferes.”

  Noting the grim determination in the old soldier’s eye, they hesitated and came to a halt.

  “What do you mean by this infernal nonsense?” cried Tobey, in disgust.

  “Why, it’s just checkmate, and the game is up,” replied Uncle John amiably. “We’ve decided not to hold the proposed dance, but to take our departure at once.”

  He turned and passed Myrtle out of the window where Wampus took her in his arms, crutches and all, and carried her to the automobile. The remittance men, unarmed and confronted by their own revolvers, stood gaping open-mouthed and seemingly dazed.

  “Let’s rush ‘em, boys!” shouted Handsome Tim, defiantly.

  “Rush ‘em alone, if you like,” growled Knuckles. “I’m not ready for the graveyard yet.”

  “You are vot iss called cowardices,” said Dan’l, flourishing the revolvers he held. “Come on mit der courage, somebotty, so I can shoot holes in you.”

  “You’re building your own coffin just now, Dan’l,” retorted Tobey, in baffled rage. “We know where to get you, old boy, and we’ll have revenge for this night’s work.”

  “I vill take some popguns home mit me,” was the composed reply. “Den, ven you come, I vill make a receptioning for you. Eh?”

  Uncle John, Patsy and Beth had followed Myrtle through the window and disappeared.

  “Now, sir,” said the Major to the old fiddler, “make your escape while

  I hold them at bay.”

  “Nod yet,” replied Dan’l. “Ve must gif ourselves de most protectionment ve can.”

  With this he gathered up the firearms, one by one, and tossed them through the window. Then he straightened up and a shot flashed down the hall and tumbled the big Mexican guard to the floor just as he was about to glide through the doorway.

  “Dit ve say shtand still, or dit ve nod say shtand still?” asked Dan’l, sternly. “If somebody gets hurt, it iss because he don’d obey de orderations.”

  “Go, sir!” commanded the Major.

  “I vill; bud I go last,” declared the old man. “I follow you — see? Bud you take my violin, please — unt be very tender of id, like id vas your sveetheardt.”

  The Major took the violin and climbed through the window, proceeding to join the others, who were by now seated in the car. When he had gone Dan’l prepared to follow, first backing toward the window and then turning to make an agile leap to the ground below. And now with a shout the cowboys made their rush, only to halt as Dan’l reappeared at the window, covering them again with his revolvers.

  “So, you defils — make a listen to me,” he called. “I am experiencing a goot-bye to you, who are jackals unt imitation men unt haf no goot right to be alive. Also if I see any of you de next time, I vill shoot first unt apologise at der funeral. I haf no more monkey business mit you voteffer; so keep vere you are until I am gone, unt you vill be safeness.”

  He slowly backed away from the window, and so thoroughly cowed was the group of ruffians that the old fiddler had been lifted hastily into the automobile before the cowboys mustered courage to leap through the window and search in the darkness for their revolvers, which lay scattered widely upon the ground.

  Wampus, chuckling gleefully, jerked the hoods off his glaring searchlights, sprang to his seat and started the machine down the road before the crack of a single revolver was heard in protest. The shots came thicker after that, but now the automobile was bowling merrily along the road and soon was out of range.

  “De road iss exceptionalment goot,” remarked Dan’l. “Dere iss no dangerousness from here to der rifer.”

  “Danger?” said the chauffeur, scornfully. “Who cares for danger? I am

  Wampus, an’ I am here!”

  “We are all here,” said Patsy, contentedly nestling against the cushions; “and I’m free to confess that I’m mighty glad of it!”

  CHAPTER XV

  THE ROMANCE OF DAN’L

  It did not take them very long to reach the river, a muddy little stream set below high banks. By Dan’l’s direction they turned to the left and followed the wind of the river for a mile or so until suddenly out of the darkness loomed a quaint little bungalow which the old German claimed to be his home.

  “I haf architectured it mineself, unt make it built as I like it. You vill come in unt shtop der night mit me,” he said, as Wampus halted the machine before the door.

  There was a little murmur of protest at this, for the house appeared to be scarcely bigger than the automobile. But Uncle John pointed out, sensibly enough, that they ought not to undertake an unknown road at nighttime, and that Spotville, the town for which they were headed, was still a long way off. The Major, moreover, had a vivid recollection of his last night’s bed upon the roof of the limousine, where he had crept to escape rattlesnakes, and was in no mood to again camp out in the open while they traveled in Arizona. So he advocated accepting Dan’l’s invitation. The girls, curious to know how so many could be accommodated in the bungalow, withdrew all further objections and stood upon the low, pergola-roofed porch while their host went inside to light the lamps.

  They were really surprised at the cosy aspect of the place. Half the one-story dwelling was devoted to a living room, furnished simply but with modest taste. A big square table was littered with music, much being in manuscript — thus proving Dan’l’s assertion that he was a composer. Benches were as numerous as chairs, and all were well-cushioned with tanned skins as coverings. A few good prints were on the walls and the aspect of the place was entirely agreeable to the old man’s guests.

  As the room was somewhat chilly he made a fire in the ample fireplace and then with an air of pride exhibited to his visitors his tiny kitchen, his own bedroom and a storeroom, which occupied the remainder of the space in the bungalow. He told them he would prepare beds in the living room for the girls, give his own room to Mr. Merrick and Major Doyle, while he and Wampus would bunk in the storeroom.

  “I haf much blankets,” he said; “dere vill be no troubles to keep varm.”

  Afterward they sat before the fire and by the dim lights of the kerosene lamps chatted together of the day’s adventures.

  Uncle John asked Dan’l what had brought him to this deserted, out-of-the-way spot, and the old man told his story in a manner that amused them all greatly.

  “I haf been,” said he, “much famous in my time, unt had a individualness pointed out whereeffer I went. I vas orchestra leader at the Theater Royal in Stuttgart, unt our king haf complimented me many times. But I vas foolish. I vas foolish enough to think that ven a man iss great he can stay great. I married me to a clefer prima donna, unt composed a great opera, which vas finer as anything Herr Wagner has efer done. Eh? But dere vas jealousness at work to opposition me. Von day ven my fine opera vas all complete I vent to the theater to lead mine orchestra. To my surprisement der Herr Director tells me I can retire on a pension; I am too old unt he has hired a younger man, who iss Herr Gabert. I go home bewildered unt mishappy, to find that Herr Gabert has stole the score of mine opera unt run avay mit mine vife. Vot I can do? Nothing. Herr Gabert he lead my orchestra tint all der people applauds him. I am forgot. One day I see our king compliment Herr Gabert. He produces my opera unt say he compositioned it. Eferybody iss crazy aboud id, unt crown Herr Gabert mit flowers. My vife sings in der opera. The people cheer her unt she rides avay mit Herr Gabert in his carriage to a grand supper mit der nobility unt der Herr Director.

  “I go home unt say: ‘Who am I?’ I answer: ‘Nobody!’ Am I now great? No; I am a speck. Vot can I do? Veil, I go avay. I haf some money — a leedle. I come to America. I do not like crowds any more. I like to be alone mit my violin. I find dis place; I build dis house; I lif here unt make happiness. My only neighbors are de remittance men, who iss more mischiefing as wicked. Dey vill nod bother me much. So after a time I die here. Vy nod? I am forgot in Stuttgart.”
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br />   There was pathos in the tale and his way of telling it. The old man spoke cheerfully, but they could see before them the tragedy depicted by his simple words. His hearers were all silent when he had concluded, feeling they could say nothing to console him or lighten his burden. Only Wampus, sitting in the background, looked scornfully upon the man who had once been the idol of his townspeople.

  Dan’l took a violin from a shelf and began to play, softly but with masterly execution. He caught their mood instantly. The harmony was restful and contented. Patsy turned down the lamps, to let the flicker of the firelight dominate the room, and Dan’l understood and blended the flickering light into his melody.

  For a long time he continued to improvise, in a way that fairly captivated his hearers, despite their varied temperaments, and made them wonder at his skill. Then without warning he changed to a stirring, martial air that filled the room with its rich, resonant tones. There was a fugue, a wonderful finale, and while the concluding notes rang in their ears the old man laid his violin in his lap, leaned back against his cushions and heaved a deep sigh.

  They forebore disturbing him for a while. How strange it seemed that this really talented musician should be banished to a wilderness while still possessing power to stir the souls of men with his marvelous execution. Truly he was a “maestro,” as he had said; a genius whose star had risen, flashed across the sky and suddenly faded, leaving his future a blank.

  Wampus moved uneasily in his chair.

  “I like to know something,” he remarked.

  Dan’l roused himself and turned to look at the speaker.

  “You have one bad eye,” continued Wampus, reflectively. “What make him so? You stick violin bow in eye some day?”

  “No,” grunted Dan’l.

  “Bad eye he no make himself,” persisted the little chauffeur. “What make him, then?”

  For a moment there was an awkward silence. The girls considered this personal inquiry offensive and regretted admitting Wampus to the room. But after a time the old German answered the question, quietly and in a half amused tone.

  “Can you nod guess?” he said. “Herr Gabert hurt mine eye.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Wampus, nodding approvingly “You fight duel with him?

  Of course. It mus’ be.”

  “I haf one goot eye left, howefer,” continued Dan’l. “It vill do me fery well. Dere iss nod much to see out here.”

  “I know,” said Wampus. “But Herr Gabert. What happen to him?”

  Again there was a pause. Then the German said slowly:

  “I am nod rich; but efery year I send a leetle money to Stuttgart to put some flowers on Herr Gabert’s grave.”

  The chauffeur’s face brightened. He got up from his chair and solemnly shook Dan’l’s hand.

  “You are great musician,” he announced. “You can believe it, for it is true. An’ you have shake the hand of great chauffeur. I am Wampus.”

  Dan’l did not answer. He had covered his good eye with his hand.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE LODGING AT SPOTVILLE

  “Wake up, Patsy: I smell coffee!” called Beth, and soon the two girls were dressed and assisting Myrtle to complete her toilet. Through the open windows came the cool, fragrant breath of morning; the sky was beginning to blush at the coming of the sun.

  “To think of our getting up at such unearthly hours!” cried Patsy cheerfully. “But I don’t mind it in the least, Beth; do you?”

  “I love the daybreak,” returned Beth, softly. “We’ve wasted the best hours of morning abed, Patsy, these many years.”

  “But there’s a difference,” said Myrtle, earnestly. “I know the daybreak in the city very well, for nearly all my life I have had to rise in the dark in order to get my breakfast and be at work on time. It is different from this, I assure you; especially in winter, when the chill strikes through to your bones. Even in summer time the air of the city is overheated and close, and the early mornings cheerless and uncomfortable. Then I think it is best to stay in bed as long as you can — if you have nothing else to do. But here, out in the open, it seems a shame not to be up with the birds to breathe the scent of the fields and watch the sun send his heralds ahead of him to proclaim his coming and then climb from the bottomless pit into the sky and take possession of it.”

  “Why, Myrtle!” exclaimed Patsy, wonderingly; “what a poetic notion.

  How did it get into your head, little one?”

  Myrtle’s sweet face rivaled the sunrise for a moment. She made no reply but only smiled pathetically.

  Uncle John’s knock upon the door found them ready for breakfast, which old Dan’l had skilfully prepared in the tiny kitchen and now placed upon a round table set out upon the porch. By the time they had finished the simple meal Wampus had had his coffee and prepared the automobile for the day’s journey. A few minutes later they said good-bye to the aged musician and took the trail that led through Spotville.

  The day’s trip was without event. They encountered one or two Indians on the way, jogging slowly along on their shaggy ponies; but the creatures were mild and inoffensive. The road was fairly good and they made excellent time, so that long before twilight Spotville was reached and the party had taken possession of the one small and primitive “hotel” the place afforded. It was a two-story, clapboarded building, the lower floor being devoted to the bar and dining room, while the second story was divided into box-like bedrooms none too clean and very cheaply furnished.

  “I imagine we shall find this place ‘the limit’,” remarked Uncle John ruefully. “But surely we shall be able to stand it for one night,” he added, with a philosophic sigh.

  “Want meat fer supper?” asked the landlord, a tall, gaunt man who considered himself dressed when he was in his shirt sleeves.

  “What kind of meat?” inquired Uncle John, cautiously.

  “Kin give yeh fried pork er jerked beef. Ham ‘a all out an’ the chickens is beginnin’ to lay.”

  “Eggs?”

  “Of course, stranger. Thet’s the on’y thing Spotville chickens lay, nowadays. I s’pose whar yeh come from they lay biscuits ‘n’ pork chops.”

  “No. Door knobs, sometimes,” said Mr. Merrick, “but seldom pork chops. Let’s have eggs, and perhaps a little fried pork to go with them. Any milk?”

  “Canned er fresh?”

  “Fresh preferred.”

  The landlord looked at him steadily.

  “Yeh’ve come a long-way, stranger,” he said, “an’ yeh must ‘a’ spent a lot of money, here ‘n’ there. Air yeh prepared to pay fer thet order in solid cash?”

  Uncle John seemed startled, and looked at the Major, who smiled delightedly.

  “Are such things expensive, sir?” the latter asked the landlord.

  “Why, we don’t eat ‘em ourselves, ‘n’ thet’s a cold fact. Eggs is eggs, an’ brings forty cents a dozen to ship. There’s seven cows in town, ‘n’ forty-one babies, so yeh kin figger what fresh milk’s worth.”

  “Perhaps,” said Uncle John mildly, “we can stand the expense — if we won’t rob the babies.”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout thet. The last autymobble folks as come this way got hot because I charged ‘em market prices fer the truck they et. So I’m jest inquirin’ beforehand, to save hard feelin’s. I’ve found out one thing ‘bout autymobble folks sense I’ve ben runnin’ this hoe-tel, an’ thet is thet a good many is ownin’ machines thet oughter be payin’ their bills instid o’ buyin’ gasoline.”

  The Major took him aside. He did not tell the cautious landlord that Mr. Merrick was one of the wealthiest men in America, but he exhibited a roll of bills that satisfied the man his demands would be paid in full.

  The touring; party feasted upon eggs and fresh milk, both very delicious but accompanied by odds and ends of food not so palatable. The landlord’s two daughters, sallow, sunken cheeked girls, waited on the guests and the landlord’s wife did the cooking.

  Beth, Patsy and Myrtle retired e
arly, as did Uncle John. The Major, smoking his “bedtime cigar,” as he called it, strolled out into the yard and saw Wampus seated in the automobile, also smoking.

  “We get an early start to-morrow, Wampus,” said the Major. “Better get to bed.”

  “Here is my bed,” returned the chauffeur, quietly.

  “But there’s a room reserved for you in the hotel.”

  “I know. Don’t want him. I sleep me here.”

  The Major looked at him reflectively.

  “Ever been in this town before, Wampus?” he asked.

  “No, sir. But I been in other towns like him, an’ know this kind of hotel. Then why do I sleep in front seat of motor car?”

  “Because you are foolish, I suppose, being born that way and unable to escape your heritage. For my part, I shall sleep in a bed; like a Christian,” said the Major rather testily.

  “Even Christian cannot sleep sometime,” returned Wampus, leaning back in his seat and puffing a cloud of smoke into the clear night air. “For me, I am good Christian; but I am not martyr.”

  “What do you mean by that?” demanded the Major.

  “Do you sometime gamble?” inquired Wampus softly.

  “Not often, sir.”

  “But sometime? Ah! Then I make you a bet. I bet you ten dollar to one cent you not sleep in your bed to-night.”

  The Major coughed. Then he frowned.

  “Is it so bad as that?” he asked.

  “I think he is.”

  “I’ll not believe it!” exclaimed Major Doyle. “This hotel isn’t what you might call first-class, and can’t rank with the Waldorf-Astoria; but I imagine the beds will be very comfortable.”

  “Once,” said Wampus, “I have imagination, too. Now I have experience; so I sleep in automobile.”

  The Major walked away with an exclamation of impatience. He had never possessed much confidence in the Canadian’s judgment and on this occasion he considered the fellow little wiser than a fool.

  Wampus rolled himself in a rug and was about to stretch his moderate length upon the broad double seat when a pattering of footsteps was heard and Beth came up to the car. She was wrapped in a dark cloak and carried a bundle of clothing under one arm and her satchel in the unoccupied hand. There was a new moon which dimly lighted the scene, but as all the townspeople were now in bed and the hotel yard deserted there was no one to remark upon the girl’s appearance.