by Ojo In Oz
“Well, Chief, shall I lock up the treasure?” grunted Tiny, swinging the sack and Ojo down to the hearth.
“That depends,” murmured Realbad, blowing up the flames with a huge bellows.
“Brr-rah! Brr-ruh!” rumbled Snufferbux threateningly, as he was pushed and prodded into the cave.
“Bear! Bear!” Realbad jumped up clapping both hands to his ears. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Stop roaring with anger till you’ve something to be angry about. It’s a sheer waste of savagery.”
“Well, do you expect me to roar with laughter at the prospect of becoming a rug?” snarled Snuffer, rolling his eyes wildly. “Do you expect me to stand around and grin while this poor child is locked up in a chest — or worse?”
“Never worry about a thing until it happens?” advised Realbad, snapping his fingers under Snuffer’s nose. “We’ve all had a long march, let’s sit down and rest and talk matters over. Now, as to the treasure, let us see!” Jerking Ojo from the sack, Realbad set him not ungently on the floor. “Shall I lock you up, or will you give me your word of honor not to run away?”
“Why shouldn’t I run away?” demanded Ojo, in a somewhat shaky but nevertheless determined voice. “You are holding me against my will and intend to exchange me for five thousand sacks of sapphires. Why shouldn’t I try to escape if I can?”
“Why, indeed?” agreed Realbad, rubbing his hands
together with evident enjoyment. “Well,” he continued jovially, “I’ll tell you why. It will be pleasanter if you don’t, for one thing. Just promise not to run off and you shall sit by the fire, eat, rest and be merry. Of course, if you prefer to lie at the bottom of a dark chest, that is your own affair.”
“Promise nothing,” growled Snuffer warningly. Ojo looked from one to the other, hardly knowing what to say. Then, as Tiny made a quick grab for him, he moved closer to Realbad.
“All right, I promise,” he said stiffly.
“Good, let’s shake on it.” Realbad had to bend almost double to reach Ojo’s hand. “And I promise no harm shall come to you while you are in this cave,” he said, straightening up with his flashing smile.
“How about Snufferbux?” asked Ojo anxiously.
“So that’s what you call him?” Realbad looked long and mischievously at the great bear. “Well, he’s too thin for steak, and too moth-eaten for rugs so I suppose we’ll have to let him live. Can you do anything unusual or interesting, old Growler?”
“I can waltz,” answered Snuffer ill-naturedly. “I can play the accordion, hold a tin cup and beg and I can wrestle and hug you to death if you come too near me,” finished the bear, blinking his small eyes
savagely at Realbad.
“Splendid material for an outlaw,” murmured the bandit, pushing back his feathered hat. “We’ll certainly have to take you in, old Hugger. Throw over that accordion, Smackemback and let’s have a tune!” Smackemback, grinning broadly, turned over the accordion he had stolen from the gypsies. Snuffer caught it easily and sat down on a wooden bench by the fire. Then, still eyeing the whole company suspiciously, he began to play, bringing such gusts of rhythm and melody from the ancient instrument that the robbers stopped where they stood and stamped and shouted with approval. Ojo, climbing up beside him, felt unaccountably happy and light-hearted. For the present his comfort and safety were assured, and who knew what might occur before the robbers reached Moojer Mountain? So, kicking his feet unconcernedly in time to the accordion, he sniffed with keen appetite the great side of venison browning on the turnspit over the fire. Slayrum had already set the table with heavy plates, mugs, knives, forks and spoons and hopping heavily around to the swing of Snuffer’s music, the outlaws prepared to enjoy themselves.
Seated at the head of the table beside Realbad, with
Snuffer on his right, the boy had the first carefree moment since the gypsies had carried him away. The bandits’ meat was tender, the bandits’ bread was fresh. There were wild berries and nuts for dessert and brown sparkling root beer that made Ojo’s nose tingle. Realbad, noticing the tightness of Snuffer’s collar, cut it off with his hunting knife and the big bear, like Ojo, found himself growing more and more at ease and content. It was the only time in years the poor fellow had had enough to eat, and after downing twenty loaves of bread, three bowls of berries and a small barrel of root beer, he thankfully tapped his bulging middle and began to look more amiably at the robbers.
“Come, what’s on your mind, old Serious?” asked Realbad, catching one of Snuffer’s earnest glances.
“Tell us something about yourself, how you came into the hands of the gypsies and all that.”
“Yes, give us the bare facts,” yawned Tiny, leaning both elbows on the table and resting his chin in his huge palms. “Are you kind to little fish and children, are you pleasant or unpleasant and-”
“Unpleasant,” answered Snuffer promptly, and beginning to enjoy himself immensely. “I awaken every morning with a snarl and retire every evening with a growl.”
“And between times?” asked Tiny, with another
yawn.
“Oh, judge for yourself,” said Snuffer grufily, “but let me tell you one thing, never cross a bear. A crossed bear is a cross bear and beware of him.” Paying no attention to the mirth of the outlaws, Snuffer went calmly on with his recital.
“I am, as you have probably noticed, a plantigrade, carnivorous animal, though I much prefer fruit, vegetables, fish and honey.”
“Well, that lets me out,” roared Slayrum, setting down his mug and wiping his mouth carelessly on his sleeve. “Fish! Ha, ha! Honey! Ho, ho!”
“It was my taste for honey that proved my undoing,” went on Snuffer, rolling his eyes solemnly around at Realbad. “Five years ago, coming down from the mountains for a little change of scene and diet, I happened upon a gypsy encampment. At that time I knew nothing of gypsies, and as the camp seemed deserted I looked around to see whether they had left anything good to eat. Near one of the wagons there was a large pail of honey. Putting my head in the pail to sample the honey, I suddenly received a blow from behind that jammed my ears down into the pail. While in this unfortunate position and blinded by the sticky stuff, I was soon overpowered and tied fast to a tree. During the winter that followed, Zithero, the leader of the gypsies, taught me to dance, hold out a tin cup, and other tricks unbecoming to one of my size and dignity. In the spring we started out and traveled up and down Oz, begging at country fairs, stealing, peddling and living the miserable lives of outcasts. Half fed and cruelly beaten I have for five years existed as a wretched captive, with not even time out or one opportunity to lie dormant.” Snuffer’s voice cracked and broke at the memory of his wrongs.
“What savagery,” murmured Tiny, winking across the table at Ojo, “What savagery! Ho, hu’rn,! I’d like to lie dormant myself for a couple of centuries.”
“See here, why not stay with us?” proposed Realbad generously. “We will let you lie dormant once a year and make a real bandit of you. Snuffer the Bandit Bear of Oz, how does that sound, comrades?”
“Ha, ha! A robber bear. Ho, ho! But remember, you can’t make this year’s lily out of last year’s rose.” As the bandits laughed at Tiny’s sally, Snuffer cleared his throat and looked thoughtfully into the empty root beer keg.
“I would rather go free and take Ojo back to the Emerald City,” he announced boldly.
“What! Take our treasure?” exclaimed Realbad, flinging his arm around the little Munchkin. “Why, you can’t do that, and since Ojo has brought us such luck and good fortune, let Ojo tell his story. I, for one, would like to know why he is worth his weight in jewels.”
“Yes! Yes! Speak up and tell us all,” shouted the robbers, thumping on the table with their knives.
“Better begin at the middle,” advised Tiny, who was growing dreadfully sleepy. “Begin at the middle and leave out all dates, all favorite uncles and aunts, stone bruises, fish you have caught, all pet turtles, guinea pigs, white mice, puppies and don�
��t bother about Christmas and birthday presents!”
“I was not going to!” said Ojo, springing up indignantly.
“There, there, little splinter, don’t mind him,” murmured Realbad soothingly. “Begin where you want and stop where you wish.”
“Well,” began Ojo in a serious voice. “For as long as I can remember I have lived with Unc Nunkie in a small house in the middle of a forest.”
“Didn’t this Unc Monkey have a name?” asked Slayrum, with a malicious leer.
“Nunkie,” corrected Ojo severely, “and I never
heard any other name, though some call him the silent one, for Unc never talks if he can possibly
help it.”
“What fun!” commented Smackemback. “How cheery! What a life for you!”
“It was pretty lonely,” admitted Ojo thoughtfully. “But one day, when our bread tree stopped blooming and there was no more to eat, we left the little house in the forest and started out to find some other place to live. The first place we came to belonged to Dr. Pipt, the crooked magician, who lived on a mountain on the other side of the forest. When we reached the house, Dr. Pipt’s wife, Margolotte invited us in, gave us a fine dinner and showed us a Patchwork Girl she had made out of an old quilt and stuffed with cotton. The magician himself was busy making a new batch of the Powder of Life. He wanted to make the Patchwork Girl live so she could be a servant for his wife. As the powder was almost finished, he begged us to stay and watch him do it.” “And how did it work?” inquired Realbad, leaning over to light his pipe with one of the tall candles.
“It worked all right, but something terrible happened,” explained Ojo, with a little shiver at memory of that awful afternoon. “You see, when the crooked magician shook the powder over Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, she came to life so suddenly that Unc Nunkie and Margolotte jumped up together and knocked a bottle of the Liquid of Petrifaction from a shelf over their heads. The liquid spilled all over them and they were immediately turned to marble.”
“You don’t say!” grunted Slayrum, as if he did not believe a word of the story. Ojo nodded and proceeded hurriedly with his recital.
“Well, after that the crooked magician looked in his book of magic and found that the only way to restore Unc Nunkie and Margolotte was to brew a mixture of five objects: a six-leaved clover, the left wing of a yellow butterfly, a gill of water from a dark well, three hairs from a Woozy’s tail, and a drop of oil from a live man’s body.”
“Sounds difficult,” puffed Realbad, while Snuffer regarded Ojo with round-eyed interest and attention. Even the robbers stopped talking and joking among themselves to listen.
“It was,” answered Ojo soberly. “But the Patchwork Girl and the wizard’s Glass Cat went with me and in case we should not succeed the wizard began making a new batch of the Powder of Life. But as that would take him five years of constantly stirring four kettles with his hands and feet, he hoped very
much that we would find the necessary articles. The Woozy we found almost at once, and as we could not pull the three hairs out of his tail he agreed to come with us. When we reached the Emerald City, I found a six-leaved clover outside the walls and picked it without asking permission. For this I was arrested and put into jail, but when Ozma learned why I wanted the six-leaved clover she immediately forgave me and also asked Dorothy and the Scarecrow to go with me to help find the other articles. We found them, too,” asserted Ojo proudly, “all but the yellow butterfly’s wing. The Tin Woodman who rules the yellow Winkie country would not let us kill a yellow butterfly so we had to return to the Emerald City without it. But Glinda, the Good Sorceress of the South, and the Wizard of Oz had already found another way to break the spell and when we arrived at the palace we found that Ozma had brought Unc Nunkie, Margolotte and the Crooked Magician to the capital.”
“And in the wink of a cat’s eye and whisker-they were restored to their proper shapes,” finished Tiny helpfully.
“Yes,” said Ojo pensively. “And since then, the Glass Cat and Scraps have lived with Ozma in the palace and Unc Nunkie and I have lived in a green
cottage with blue shutters just outside the city walls. And we go to all the royal parties and celebrations, too,” finished Ojo a bit complacently.
“But that does not explain the five thousand bags of sapphires,” rumbled a robber from the foot of the table. “It’s as much of a mystery as ever. When did these gypsies get hold of you?”
“Last night,” answered Ojo, hanging his head as he remembered how all this trouble could have been avoided had he only minded Unc Nunkie. “Why not let me go?” he asked, turning suddenly to Realbad. “Take me back to the Emerald City and I am sure Ozma will reward you all.”
“No! No! No!” shouted the bandits, springing angrily to their feet. “We took you in a fair fight and will be paid for our trouble.”
“It wouldn’t do for an outlaw to go to the Emerald City,” explained Realbad patiently. “I’d probably be thrown into jail, and it wouldn’t be good business to let you go either.”
“And is banditry good business?” growled Snufferbux disgustedly. “It’s a bad business, a mighty bad business, and well you know it.”
“Well, it’s the only business I have at present, so you’ll just have to make the best of it.” Smiling
through his pipe smoke, Realbad rose and stretched his arms high above his head. It seemed to Ojo that he looked both sorry and worried, but as he made no move to stop the robbers when they rushed toward the enormous Oz map on the wall, he concluded that he must have been mistaken.
“Here it is, Moojer Mountain!” yelled Slayrum. “Right here in the southern part of the Munchkin country, sticking up like the wart on Tiny’s nose.”
“Never mind the wart on my nose,” muttered Tiny sullenly, as the bandits swarmed noisily around the map. “Who’s to go to Moojer Mountain and fetch those jewels?”
“Let’s toss for it,” drawled Realbad, indifferently drawing the dagger from his boot top. “Let’s throw our daggers at the map and the man whose weapon sticks nearest to this mountain shall take Ojo and claim the reward.”
“But, remember, it’s to be divided!” Tiny reminded him jealously.
“Certainly,” agreed Realbad. “Don’t we always divide everything? Stand back, all of you, and Tiny shall have first try.”
“Oh, Snuffer!” wailed Ojo, crowding close to the brown bear. “They really mean to go on with it.”
All the bandits were keen shots and most of the
daggers landed on Moojer Mountain. But one perched victoriously on the very tip.
“Realbad’s,” muttered Tiny, plucking it out with a little grimace. “Might know he’d best us.”
“Three cheers for Realbad!” called Smackemback, who always seemed to be good-natured and jolly. “Realbad shall take Ojo to Moojer Mountain and turn him into jewels!”
CHAPTER 4
The Silver Bird
FORGOTTEN, now, was the merriment and good fellowship of the past few hours in Realbad’s cave. All that Ojo now felt was repugnance and terror at the robber band’s greed. “Anyway, I’m glad Tiny did not win the right to take me to Moojer Mountain,” he confided in a gloomy whisper to Snuffer.
“Take you!” growled the bear in a savage undertone. “Why wait? What do you say we make a run for it, Ojo? I can knock over a dozen of these rascals with one arm, and they’re so busy with that map that we might make it.”
“But I promised,” objected the boy, drawing back sorrowfully.
“Promised!” wheezed the bear in exasperation “what have promises to do with a pack of ruffians
like this?”
“Sh-hh, here comes Realbad,” warned Ojo, as Snuffer rolled off the bench and reared angrily up on his hind legs.
“Hah, isn’t this the fellow who could wrestle?’ inquired the bandit teasingly, as Snuffer stood stubborn and scowling in his path. “Come on, let’s have a try. Wrestling a bear with bare hands. What ho!”
S
quaring off, the outlaw grinned at Snuffer and with a snarl of fury the bear rushed in, flinging both arms around the bandit. But Realbad slipped through his claws like quicksilver, and though they rolled, tumbled and squirmed all over the floor, Snuffer failed to get a firm hold on the wily, wiry, steel-muscled outlaw. Forming a circle around the two, the bandits yelled with interest and enthusiasm and even Ojo could not help a squeal of excitement as Realbad, catching Snuffer a bit off balance, bowled him over like a ten pin.
“Fine work!” Seizing the paw of the prostrate bear, the bandit shook it warmly. “We’ll try again soon. I won this time, but one more biff and you
would have had me down. Now, how about some root beer to celebrate?”
With a dazed and puzzled expression in his little button eyes, Snuffer sat up. Yet strangely enough he felt no resentment.
Realbad had fought bravely and well and had downed him in a fair test. No use trying again till he had back his wind, and for the present all thought of escape would have to be abandoned. Gulping down the huge mug of beer, Snufferbux sat thoughtfully blinking at the floor while the robbers vociferously clapped first him and then Realbad on the shoulders.
They had tarried so long at the table listening to Snuffer and Ojo’s stories that the afternoon was already far advanced. To Ojo’s intense relief it was decided that Realbad would not start for Moojer Mountain till daybreak, and after another bite to eat the bandits stretched themselves out on the floor to rest. Each man had his own bearskin rug, and surrounded by their bristling weapons the robbers lay down in orderly rows like soldiers in a barracks.
Ojo and Snuffer shared a rug by the fire, and the bear sorrowfully felt and measured the hide of his huge and fallen kinsman.