by Ojo In Oz
himself turning to crystal and wondered how he would ever find his way back to Unc Nunkie with a glass head and a hollow body.
“Anyway, I won’t be hungry any more,” shivered the boy, rubbing first one arm and then the other. He heard two of the crystal guards’ heads crack together as Realbad strove to free himself and the roars of Snuffer almost drowned out the mumbling of the wise man.
“It cannot be done, Your Majesty,” shrilled the sage, after sending another shower of crystal sparks over Ojo. “Some power is working against me.”
“Then throw them out,” directed the king heartlessly. “This racket is ‘noiseating’!”
“Not the bandit,” cried the princess. “Crystal or not, I shall marry him.” Now Realbad had by this time more or less cracked up and broken ten of his crystal captors, and, as the ugly princess drew nearer, with a supreme effort he hurled off the other ten. Brushing Crystobel aside, he seized Ojo and darted through a swinging door at the back of the throne. Snufferbux, thus encouraged, made quick work of the remaining guards and with flailing arms beat his way through the startled servants and courtiers.
“Where to?” panted the bear, pounding heavily
after the bandit and Ojo.
“Out!” cried Realbad, raising his sword. “Out and on!” Down one passage and another they hurried, bursting at last through a great green door that led straight into the clear and heartening sunshine.
They had come out on the other side of Crystal City near the edge of a rippling blue stream.
“I don’t remember any body of water around here,” puffed the bear, shading his eyes with one paw.
“There was another kind of body, though,” Realbad reminded him, with a little laugh. “A blue dragon’s body. There is your dragon, Ojo. I carried wood from the kitchen, built a fire in the road and he melted away like a snowflake.”
“You must have worked pretty fast,” marvelled Ojo, recalling the mad dash they had made across the road between the dragon’s tail and head.
“Oh, I helped my fire along with gun oil and some cartridges I had in my pocket,” admitted Realbad modestly, “and now, boys, I expect we’ll have to swim the dragon. Hello, here come the king’s footmen and what’s left of the guards. Unless Snuffer wants to stay and dance with the princess, we’d better swim quick!”
“Wumph!” snorted Snuffer, and waddling rapidly
down the bank he plunged head first into the icy stream.
“Still got that ring I gave you?” asked Realbad, slipping off his boots and tying them around his neck. Glancing down at the golden circlet on his middle finger, Ojo nodded, one eye on Realbad and one eye on the crystal footmen running toward them.
“Then come on,” cried Realbad, and swinging Ojo to his back he stepped into the dragon-I mean the river-and swam easily across.
“We’re still in the Munchkin country,” said Ojo, as the robber chief set him down and gave himself a great shake. “See, there is a small blue house and the grass and fences are blue, too.”
“So’s the sky,” smiled Realbad, sitting down to draw on his boots. “What are you eating, Snuffer?
Would we like it?”
“Ants,” grunted the bear, who had turned up a blue rock and was licking it first on one side and then on the other. “Delicious little ants.”
“Let’s try the house,” said Ojo, who was sure he would not care for Snuffer’s breakfast. “It is so little it must belong to some one poor and poor peo ple are always kinder than kings.”
“So you’ve found that out, have you?” Realbad smiled down at the boy, and taking his hand started toward the cottage. The house was neat and tidy, evidently the property of some simple Munchkin shepherd, for they could see his flocks grazing in the distance. The shepherd himself was not at home, but there was milk, butter and fresh eggs in the kitchen, so Ojo and Realbad borrowed a hearty breakfast. Snuffer, tiring of ants, soon joined them and after several loaves of the shepherd’s fresh bread announced himself ready for anything. Leaving a short hunting knife to pay for the breakfast, Realbad stood uncertainly in the doorway. Across the dragon river they could see the twinkling spires of Crystal City, which none of them ever cared to visit again. To the east rose a long line of blue and misty hills. A forest edged the rolling pasture on the west and back of the house there seemed to be nothing but meadows and farmlands.
“Which way shall we go?” pondered Realbad, thoughtfully rubbing his lean cheek. “Those hills may lead to Moojer Mountain, but I am always happier in a forest.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Snuffer sharply. “What ails you, anyway? Just as I begin to like you real well, you start this Moojering again.
You are not going to take Ojo one step toward Moojer Mountain and I’m here to tell you so.”
“Let’s try the forest,” proposed Ojo, who hated these continued arguments. “Maybe the Emerald City is right on the other side of it. We can’t be so very far away.”
“All right,” yawned Realbad, who was somewhat wearied by the excitement in Crystal City. “If we come to the Emerald City first, you win. If we come to Moojer Mountain first, I win. How’s that?”
“Preposterous !” sputtered Snufferbux, flouncing on ahead “Come on!” Peace being restored for a little while, they proceeded amiably enough toward the shadowy forest.
“How will the Crystal King manage without his guards?” asked Ojo, switching at the long meadow grass with a long sapling.
“Oh, we didn’t break them all,” laughed Realbad, winking at Snuffer. “Just splintered a few heads and fingers. A little glue and they’ll be as lively as ever.”
“They’re all cracked anyway,” grumbled the bear, who could not get over the shabby treatment of King Christopher. “I’m glad I melted his cook. Serves him jolly well right.”
“But it’s funny they couldn’t crystallize me,” continued Ojo, trudging along contentedly between his two companions. “I thought for a moment I was done for!”
“You’re a brave little splinter.” Realbad looked approvingly down at the boy. “You’ll go far, my
lad!”
“No doubt, thanks to you,” put in Snuffer sarcastically. “A fine example you are to a growing boy, with your lawless advice and thugduggery.”
“Whatever that is,” yawned Realbad, patting Snuffer kindly on the shoulder.
“Yes, and suppose you had a son of your own,” persisted the bear. “How would you like him to be tracking through the woods with a bandit who’d trade him in a minute for a vile heap of treasure?”
“Stop! Stop!” begged the bandit, with mendous yawn. “Lectures make me so drowsy. I’ll simply have to have forty winks.” “Well, taking forty winks will harm no one,” went on Snuffer, in a milder voice. “I wouldn’t mind stopping a bit myself. My knee’s creaking like a rusty hinge.” As they had by this time reached the forest itself, they stopped under an immense chestnut tree to rest. Ojo was much too excited by all that had happened and all that might yet happen to
think of sleeping, but Realbad, exhausted by his battle with the guards, was asleep almost as soon as he touched the ground and did not even hear Ojo and Snuffer’s subdued conversation.
“It seems to me,” said Snuffer, rubbing his knee briskly with both paws, “it seems to me,” he repeated, squinting thoughtfully over at Ojo, “that you should be a lot more worried about this Moojer Mountain affair than you are. Now why aren’t you?”
“Well,” admitted Ojo, rolling over on his stomach, “I think Ozma and Unc Nunkie will find me soon and then everything will be all right.”
“But how will they find you?” demanded Snuffer. “The magic picture will help them,” answered the boy promptly. “As soon as Unc Nunkie discovered I was gone he probably hurried right over to the palace and asked Ozma to look in the magic picture.”
“Will it really show them where you are?” asked Snuffer incredulously.
“Of course!” Ojo spoke a bit condescendingly, for living in the
most famous fairy city in Oz he was quite used to magic appliances.
“Then you mean someone is coming to help you right now?” said Snuffer in a relieved voice. Ojo nodded.
“But I hope they won’t find me too soon,” he added dreamily. “We’re having such a fine time together.”
“Fine time! My fur and feathers!” wheezed the bear in disgust. “Just suppose Realbad really finds Moojer Mountain before Unc Nunkie finds you. A nice thing that will be. I tell you, Ojo, it’s madness to take the chance. Come! Now, while he’s asleep, let us steal off and get as far away as possible before he wakens.”
“I don’t believe he means to claim the reward,” insisted Ojo stubbornly. “Besides it was my fault he lost all his men. Why, he hasn’t anyone now except you and me.”
“And he won’t have us long,” decided Snuffer, rolling to his feet with agility and determination. “If you want to see your old friends again and reach the Emerald City, now’s the time to break away.”
“But I hate to leave him here all by himself,” sighed Ojo, as Snuffer began to pull him along.
“Just think of it as a game,” pleaded the bear earnestly. “It’s our move now. If we don’t take it you may never see Unc Nunkie again.”
In his heart Ojo could not help feeling that Snuffer was right, so slowly and reluctantly he tiptoed after the bear, looking back every few minutes at the long, handsome figure resting so quietly and unsuspectingly under the chestnut tree. How he would miss this frank and fearless comrade. It seemed almost as if he were betraying him.
CHAPTER 8
Meanwhile in the Emerald City
NOW Ojo had been right in thinking Une Nunkie would immediately report his absence to Ozma. After searching all through the little blue cottage and after tramping frantically all over the deserted gypsy encampment, the old Munchkin nobleman ran all the way back to the palace. Ozma and her councillors were at dinner, so Unc was ushered right into the Grand Dining Hall.
“Gone!” gulped the old gentleman breathlessly, and twisting his blue hat miserably in his hands.
“You mean the gypsies?” asked Ozma, quietly setting down her emerald goblet, for Unc Nunkie had duly reported the presence of the mischievous band outside the city walls.
“Ojo!” explained Unc Nunkie, sinking into the green chair a footman hastily brought for him.
“Stolen!”
“Oh! Oh! Ojo’s stolen by gypsies!” wailed Scraps, clasping her cotton fingers anxiously. As Ojo had been present at her coming-to-life party and had brought her with him to the Emerald City, the Patchwork Girl was fonder of the boy than of anyone else in the capital.
“Get down your guns, roll up your sleeves! And stop these villains, rogues and thieves!”
yelled Scraps, bounding to her feet and wildly waving her arms.
“There, there, my good girl, you’ll burst a seam,” cautioned the Scarecrow, who was sitting beside her. “Calm yourself, I beg, and stand on your own feet if you don’t mind!”
“Quiet, please!” Ozina smiled kindly but reprovingly at the cotton-stuffed maiden. “Sit down, Scraps, and we’ll all try to think of the best thing to do.”
“Perhaps Ojo just followed the gypsies,” suggested Dorothy, a little Kansas girl who now lives in the Emerald City as a Princess of Oz.
“Good,” muttered Unc, shaking his head solemnly.
“Of course he’s too good!” said Ozma soothingly.
“No, I do not believe Ojo would willingly run away from Unc Nunkie. What do you think, Wizard?”
“I agree with Scraps. I believe Ojo has been stolen,” answered the Wizard of Oz, from his place at the foot of the long table.
“But why would anyone steal Ojo?” demanded Trot, another little mortal from America who lives in the Emerald Palace.
“Yes, you’d think they would have come here and tried to steal some of your treasures,” added Betsy Bobbin, popping a cherry into her rosy little mouth. Betsy, too, is a little American girl now making her home in the famous capital and much preferring Oz to the United States.
“Ve-ry strange!” droned Tik Tok, the Machine Man, who, not requiring any food, stood in back of Betsy’s chair. “Ve-ry sing-u-lar.” And with all the celebrities and courtiers chiming in with surmises and opinions it was soon impossible to make head or tail of the matter. Finally Ozma tapped for silence.
“If Ojo has been stolen, some one must be sent to find him,” decided Ozma in her gentle voice. Unc Nunkie said nothing but jumped eagerly to his feet.
“Let me go,” begged Scraps, pushing back her chair. “Not being a real person, the worst that can happen to me is a tear or rip that may be easily mended.”
“And I’ll go, too,” declared Dorothy. “For I know almost all of the cities and countries in Oz.”
“If Dorothy goes, I go.” Scrambling out from under the table where he had been comfortably finishing off a rare roast, the Cowardly Lion blinked nervously at the little Ruler of Oz. “What could two girls and an old man do with a band of rascally gypsies? There’ll probably be b-battles, fighting and d-dangers of all kinds.” The Cowardly Lion’s voice shook woefully at the prospect, but his eyes were fixed steadfastly and devotedly on Dorothy and he wagged his tail vigorously to keep up his courage.
“Why, that will be splendid,” agreed Ozma, who knew from long experience that however cowardly the lion felt, he could always be depended upon to act courageously.
“But with my new search light it will be unnecessary for anyone to go,” protested the Wizard, leaving his place at the foot of the table and talking earnestly into the little fairy’s ear.
“I know,” mused Ozma, resting her elbow on the arm of her green chair. “But we’ll take no chances, Wizard. To-morrow you start working on your search light; meanwhile we will look in the magic picture and see where Ojo now is; then to-morrow, Dorothy, Scraps and the Cowardly Lion can go to help him.
But the Scarecrow, Unc Nunkie and I will drive to the castle of Glinda the Good to consult the book of magic records. For surely it will tell why Ojo has been carried off in this mysterious fashion.”
Now Glinda, as most of us know, rules over the Red Quadling Country of Oz and in her castle is an enormous record book in which daily entries are magically entered concerning all of the important happenings in Oz. This record book, closely guarded and frequently consulted, has more than once saved Oz from disaster and destruction.
Loud cheers greeted Ozma’s announcements, and too excited to wait for dessert the whole company trooped upstairs to the little fairy’s private sitting room. Pulling the cord that parted the velvet hangings before the picture, Ozma commanded it to show them the missing little Munchkin. First, a dark and dangerous looking forest appeared on the cloudy glass surface of the picture. Then, swinging and swaying from side to side, came the three gypsy wagons, and as the curtains of the last wagon blew aside they could see Ojo firmly clasped in the arms of an enormous brown bear.
Covering his face with his hands, Unc Nunkie sank groaning into a golden rocking chair, and with solemn and anxious faces Ojo’s friends watched until the gypsy wagons faded from view. Even Ozina looked serious, and Scraps was so alarmed at the size of the bear that she was all for starting out at once. But they finally persuaded her to wait till morning so that Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion could have some rest before starting out on so perilous a mission.
Setting her alarm clock for four o’clock, with the lion dozing fitfully at the foot of her bed and Scraps slumped down gloomily in a green arm chair, Dorothy retired at once. Near the clock was a box of the Wizard’s famous wishing pills. As soon as the clock struck four, Dorothy meant to look again in the magic picture, swallow a pill and wish herself and companions to the spot where Ojo happened to be at that moment. Convinced that she and her two friends could safely bring Ojo back to the Emerald City, Dorothy fell almost immediately into a sound and dreamless slumber. Unc Nunkie stayed at the palace all night, for Ozma intended to start at daybreak for Glinda’s
castle and as all the celebrities, courtiers, servants and attendants wished to be up to see the royal rescuers off, they all retired immediately and by eight O’clock there was not a single light in that whole magical castle.
Dorothy awakened to find Scraps beside her bed. She was clutching the alarm clock in one hand and thumping the Cowardly Lion with the other.
“Are you deaf?” demanded the Patchwork Girl impatiently. “Come on, it’s time to go!” Dorothy had been sleeping so soundly that she had not heard the alarm, but snatching her clothes from a chair she scurried into her little green dressing room and in five minutes was all ready for the journey. Tiptoeing into Ozma’s sitting room she snapped on the light and commanded the picture to show her Ojo again. The magic picture immediately flashed back to another view of the blue forest and there was Ojo fast asleep in the gypsy wagon. So, hastening back to her companions, Dorothy picked up the basket of magic supplies and charms given her by Ozma the night before, climbed on the Cowardly Lion’s back and prepared to swallow a wishing pill.
“Now be careful how you wish,” cautioned the Cowardly Lion nervously. “If you wish too fast we’re sure to bump into something.”
“wish your wish and wish it quick, This wait and worry makes me sick,”
muttered Scraps, springing up behind Dorothy. “I wish we were in that grumpy forest this very minute!” With a bounce that sent the basket of charms flying out of Dorothy’s hand, the Cowardly Lion shot through the open window and disappeared. If you have never been transported by a wish, you have no idea how swift and upsetting an experience it can be, and when, exactly forty-nine seconds later, Ojo’s three rescuers bounced down in the Blue Forest, they were almost too stunned and breathless for speech.