by Ojo In Oz
“Certainly!” Realbad peered critically into a tall can of merrily boiling water set among the embers. “Eggs, my lord, and blueberries, too.”
The resourceful bandit had risen long before the fog and scouting along the edges of a stream had found a nest of wild duck eggs. Filling his hat with blue berries and picking up a can left behind by some fisherman, he had hurried back and set briskly to work.
Shut in on all sides by the heavy curtain of the fog, the three wayfarers breakfasted heartily and
comfortably, eating their eggs in English fashion, out of the shells with small spoons that Realbad had picked up in Crystal City. Ojo had often read of the dense fogs that descend at times over the Oz country, but he had never experienced one before and being more interested than frightened could hardly wait to be off. Snuffer, ever conservative, was all for waiting till the fog lifted, but Realbad, reminding him of the level nature of the country they had seen the evening before, was convinced that there would be no harm in pushing forward. So, though they could see but a foot ahead, the three linked arms and stepped cautiously into the thick blue mist. Ojo and Realbad had removed their suspenders and tags, but Snuffer still wore the boots and suspenders he had got in Tappy Town and seemed to find them not only stylish but comfortable as well.
“I hope to hedgehogs we don’t bump into any more towns,” he muttered, trying to fit his rolling gait to that of his two companions. “Fine treatment we’ve had from them, I must say.” ‘Well, the forest wasn’t so much better,” argued Ojo, remembering his hair-raising encounter with the Snoctorotomus. “I say, Realbad, will the rings warn us of danger now?”
“They never ring when both wearers are together,” explained the bandit, steadying the boy as his foot slipped into a gopher hole.
“Then that is why they did not ring when Slayrum and Tiny tried to steal me,” mused Ojo thoughtfully. “Oh, well, they’ll protect us from actual harm. I wish Snuffer had one.”
“Don’t bother about me,” growled the bear. “I can take care of myself without any magic contraptions, thank you. Hey!” he burst out suddenly, “Were you wearing that ring when we wrestled back there in your cave?”
“Certainly!” answered the bandit calmly. “But I tell you what, old serious, some time we’ll try again when I’m not wearing it. How will that be?”
“Just too bad for Realbad,” sniffed the bear, looking up sideways at the tremendous outlaw. “But you wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, wouldn’t I, now?” laughed Realbad, marching confidently along through the choking mist. “Just you wait till we make camp.”
“Now why do you want to wrestle?” put in Ojo uneasily. “What difference does it make who is stronger. You are both brave. Isn’t that enough?”
“No!” grunted Snufferbux sullenly.
“If I can just overpower this fellow when he is not
wearing the magic ring and get Ojo safely out of his clutches, so much the better,” thought the bear to himself. He knew that in order to cut Ojo entirely off from Realbad it would be necessary to take the bandit’s ring also. He hated to deprive the robber-chief of his magic protection, but nevertheless, he resolved to try the plan at his first opportunity.
Then, remembering that Realbad had rescued them both from the earth serpent and made their journey both interesting and comfortable, Snuffer wondered whether it would not be better to travel along with the enterprising outlaw, trusting to chance to reach the Emerald City before they came to Moojer Moun-tam. It was all extremely difficult and distressing to decide. The more so because, in spite of his gruff speeches, Snufferbux had grown really fond of the sturdy woodsman. So, with his mind in as much of a fog as the morning, the poor bear trudged unhappily between his two comrades, now deciding one thing, now another. Realbad and Ojo, after trying to draw him into conversation and receiving nothing but growls and grunts finally gave up and devoted all their efforts to the task of making their way safely through the treacherous fog. It was so thick by this time that they could see only an inch before their
faces and after crashing into a fence and stepping unexpectedly into an icy brook, Realbad called a halt.
Cutting three long branches from a tree into which they had bumped with shocking suddenness, Realbad fashioned them with his sword into three limber rods. Taking one himself, he gave the others to Snuffer and Ojo. The bandit and the bear held their rods straight out before them, while Ojo moved his slowly along the ground and in this slow and laborious fashion, and much like blind men, they felt and tapped their way along. As Ojo was thinking how terribly funny they must look, the shrill and unexpected blare of a horn cut through the foggy silence like a knife, so startling the boy that he dropped his rod and flung his arms around Snufferbux.
“Fog horn?” surmised Realbad. “But it couldn’t be a fog horn, for we are on land, not water. Do you hear anything else, Snuffer?”
“Drums,” wheezed the bear, “or something like
drums.”
“No, horses!” corrected Ojo, and remembering that he was a brave adventurer, he let go of Snuffer-picked up his rod.
“Now, then, shall we stand still and keep quiet, or let them know we are here?” debated Realbad anxiously. “If we stand still we may be run down, if we
go forward we may find ourselves in the hands of an army, for where there are horses there are usually men.” One thing seemed as bad as the other, and trying in vain to pierce the grim blanket of fog Realbad involuntarily stepped forward. To his dismay and consternation the pointed end of his rod immediately imbedded itself in a soft, yielding body.
“Oh! Oh! I’m stabbed! Destroyed! Punctured!” shrieked an agonized voice that was drowned out almost instantly by a deeper and more threatening blast of the horn they had first heard.
“Halt! Stop! Didn’t you hear my horn?” demanded an imperious being, and the air became so fraught with angry snorts, trumpets and whinnyings that Ojo turned pale beneath his freckles and Snuffer shook in his shoes.
“Horses! Wild horses! What’ll we do?” shivered Ojo. As Realbad hastily snatched back his rod, a silver pike bristled through the mist, so close to the nose of the bandit that he sprang back to keep from being impaled on the point.
“Who dares defy Roganda? Roganda, the fleet, the silver-footed, the magnificent,” snorted the same imperious voice. “Who dares?” Ojo and Snuffer exchanged uneasy glances, but Realbad, lowering his
rod, called out boldly:
“A thousand pardons, fair and invisible Queen. If by reason of this mischievous fog, I have injured you or one of your subjects, I stand not only ready but willing to make immediate and adequate amends.” A long silence followed Realbad’s offer, and as the three began to move noiselessly backward with arms interlocked, a crooked little hand pushed aside the pike and a dwarf with a long blue beard sprang up before them. He was about the same size as Ojo and over one shoulder he carried a red lantern on a pole. Letting the lantern slide to the ground he quickly lit it and holding it aloft peered earnestly up into their faces.
“Only three, your Majesty,” he piped in an important little squeak. “Shall I bring them in?”
“Ye-a!” The answer quivered like a silver whistle through the fog.
“Her ‘Yea’ is ‘Yea,’ but her ‘Neigh’ is terrible. Better come along,” advised the dwarf. Picking up his lantern he motioned for them to follow. Ojo could distinctly hear the hammer and pound of countless hoofs clattering along ahead.
“They must be horses,” he whispered, looking up to see whether Realbad was going to do as the dwarf suggested. The lantern had decided Realbad. Anything he concluded, was better than blundering helpless about in the fog, so seizing Ojo by one arm and Snuffer by the other, he stepped thankfully after the twinkling light. It made but a small pool of red in the gloom and not enough to enable them to see the strange horde they were following.
“Is it an army?” questioned Ojo, peering curiously at the little dwarf. “I wonder whether there are many more lik
e him? You know, he reminds me of the old Gnome King, only he’s much pleasanter.”
“Thanks!” The dwarf grinned cheerfully over his shoulder. Ojo had spoken so low he was astonished to find that the dwarf had heard him. “I’m Pat, the Prime Patter of her Majesty, Queen Roganda, the fleet.” He held up his right hand.
Fastened to the wrist by a leather band was a big silver-backed brush. “I lay it on soft or hard, just as her Highness commands,” chuckled the Prime Patter, trotting along contentedly. “If you please the queen you’ll be patted. If you displease her you will also be patted-but hard.”
“Well, it’s not safe to pat a bear, remember that,” growled Snuffer warningly.
“He couldn’t hurt you,” whispered Ojo. “He’s too
little.”
“Think so?” The dwarf with another grin gave a tall tree he was passing a light tap with his brush. Instantly it fell crashing to the ground.
“C-careful!” cautioned Realbad, tightening his hold on his two companions, and without venturing any more remarks the three thoughtfully Accompanied their puny but powerful little guide. They had been traveling through the fog so long that a bright and unexpected glow ahead made them blink with discomfort. The dwarf, was hurrying into an immense enclosure surrounded by trees more grand and enormous than Ojo had ever seen before. A whole house could easily have been set in the trunk of each tree. In the center of the enclosure made by these giant trees stood a lantern bush shedding a soft and radiant light on all sides. For the first time it was possible to see the invisible company they had been following through the fog.
“They are horses!” exclaimed Ojo, tightening his grip on Realbad’s arm. “But they have horns!”
“No wonder!” Realbad raised his sword to a blue and flashing sign hung from the lantern bush.
“UNICORNERS,” read Ojo, with a little shiver of fright and anticipation.
“And unicorns,” added Realbad. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Ojo nodded solemnly, for the hundred snow
white steeds, with flying silver manes and tails and tapering silver horns, swiftly encircling the forest enclosure would make any boy’s heart beat faster.
“Pretty is as pretty does,” said Snuffer grimly. “And don’t forget, it was one of those horns that came poking through the mist.” Dozens of the blue-bearded dwarfs had run out to meet the spirited animals and Ojo quite correctly guessed them to be caretakers. The queen, distinguished from her subjects by a silver crown that grew right out of her head, had for the moment forgotten them. She was talking earnestly with Pat, who seemed to be Head Dwarf as well as Prime Patter. Wary of the unicorns’ flying heels and still a bit worried by their silver horns, the three travelers stood as close to the lantern bush as they could, gazing with interest and admiration at what they saw.
The giant trees had been hollowed out to form odd but magnificent stalls for the unicorns. There were a hundred of these majestic forest monarchs and their hollowed centers did not seem to have injured their bark or foliage at all. The trunks of the trees were a soft green and they bore, besides myriads of silver leaves, great clusters of silver apples. At convenient intervals about the enclosure were tree
stumps, and climbing on these, the dwarfs began briskly brushing the glossy coats of their charges. Then, galloping at a furious pace, came the Queen of the Unicorns, sounding her horn as she came.
“It really blows!” gasped Ojo, scarcely believing his ears and eyes. “It blows!” And he backed so far into the lantern bush that he bumped his head on a crimson lantern.
CHAPTER 16
Uniconiers
STRANGELY enough, Roganda did not have to remove her horn to blow upon it, producing the crashing notes by vigorously tossing her head. As backing any further into the lantern bush was impossible, Ojo and his companions were forced to face the music with what courage they could summon. With a final and furious blast, her Majesty came to a sliding halt before them. Now her horn shot out like a silver lance past Realbad’s ear and vanished into the lantern bush.
“I am the queen!” trumpeted Roganda, lowering her head and pawing the earth temperishly with her flashing forefoot.
“The queen!” panted Pat, who had lost most of his breath in keeping up with her silver-heeled Highness.
“The queen!” whinnied all the other unicorns in unison, and rather wildly Ojo wondered just what her Majesty expected them to do about it. As her lance-like horn whistled back past his head, shortening to its proper length, Roganda fixed her eyes sternly on Realbad.
“About the amends?” she inquired haughtily. “You, or one of these others, poked Ann Gora, my favorite lady in waiting, severely in the ribs. What do you intend to do about it?” As the queen finished speaking a smaller unicorn trotted forward. There was a large purple bruise on her side and on her face an expression of sullen anger.
“Oh, but that was the fault of the fog,” burst out Snuffer, coming hastily to Realbad’s assistance. “He couldn’t help it, you know.”
“I trust her Ladyship will accept my sincere apol ogies,” murmured Realbad, doffing his plumed hat and bowing deeply before Ann Gora.
“Well, Ann?” The queen tossed her head selfconsciously. “Will you accept the fellow’s apology or not?”
“Not!” shrilled Ann Gora, drawing back her lips
and showing a double row of teeth.
“How mad are you?” asked the queen in an interested voice.
“Wee-gh! Wa-aah! Wu-uuuh!” trumpeted her Ladyship, stamping all four feet and lashing her tail. “Wee-eeeh! W~aaaah! Wu-mp!” Ann Gora’s outrageous outcries ran up and down Ojo’s spine, and Realbad, snatching out his handkerchief, mopped his forehead anxiously.
“Perhaps Ann would like the feather out of my hat, or my belt to wear for a collar?” he suggested hopefully. After a whispered conference with her favorite, the queen threw up her head.
‘Neigh!” announced her Highness with stomach-shaking violence. “Neigh!”
“I told you her ‘neigh’ was terrible,” groaned the blue dwarf, covering his ears. “Hurry, think of something else or we’ll all be deafened.”
“What would your Highness like me to do?” Demanded the bandit in an exasperated voice, as the horrid echoes of the queen’s neigh finally died away. After another conference with her lady in waiting the queen spoke, again.
“Ann Gora would like to poke you as hard as you poked her,” she stated frankly.
“So–o! This Ann Gora means to gore us,” growled
Snuffer, grabbing a lantern from the tree and waving it over his head. “Well, just let her try it.”
“Sh-h! I have the ring,” whispered Realbad under his breath. “She cannot hurt me but she can poke a real hole in you. Careful, old fellow, this is my affair.” Ojo, as ready as Snuffer to fly to Realbad’s assistance, subsided at the bandit’s words. With horrified eyes and clutching tightly to Snuffer’s paw he watched the perverse little unicorn dash at Realbad and thrust her sharp horn deeply into his chest It came out without leaving even a hole in his leather coat and Ann Gora found the experience so novel that she poked him five or six times before Roganda lifted her hoof.
“Stop!” directed the queen sharply. “He only poked you once, Ann. This two-leg is brave as well as handsome. Pat him!” commanded her Majesty, nodding at the dwarf. “Pat them all!” And turning on her heel, or rather on her heels, Roganda moved off majestically, followed more slowly by her lady in waiting. Ann Gora kept looking over her shoulder at Realbad as if she could not believe he were true.
“Well, if this doesn’t beat the gypsies,” puffed Snuffer, as the dwarf, with a wink at Ojo, began to brush him briskly with the silver brush. The bear’s
fur was dusty and tangled and the brushing felt so good that he gradually became calmer.
“Each of you fellows pick a lantern and let’s go,” he advised in a low voice, “before any more goring begins. Queens with two feet are dangerous enough, but queens with four feet and a horn are simply impos
sible.”
“And how she can blow it,” shuddered Realbad, shaking his head to get the heart-breaking sound out of his ears. “Do all her Majesty’s subjects blow upon their horns and thrust them out like swords?” he inquired, turning to Pat.
“Roganda’s the only one who can blow her horn or lengthen it out into a pike,” the dwarf told them. “That’s why she is queen. And say, why not stay here till the fog lifts? I am sure her Highness is pleased with you now, and whoever eats the silver apples of the unicorns will not feel the pangs of hunger for seven days.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” ruminated Realbad, glancing up at the tempting bunches of silver fruit. “Besides, we may never have a chance to see this many unicorns again.”
“One is too many for me,” grunted Snuffer, giving himself a pleased shake as the Prime Patter finished brushing his coat and turned his attention to Ojo.
Pat used a smaller brush on the boy, and it was comical indeed to have his hair brushed and his head patted by a blue-whiskered dwarf. Ojo, like Realbad, was quite willing to stay and see more of this singular forest kingdom. All his life, thought the boy, he would remember the silver shadows cast by the giant trees and the flashing, beautiful bodies of the unicorns moving about in their lovely and leafy enclosure. Near the lantern bush there was a clear and sparkling pool and Roganda’s subjects seemed to enjoy more than anything else gazing at their reflections in the still surface of its waters. But Snufferbux cared little for beauty. His years of roaming with the gypsies had dulled his curiosity and made him wary of danger. His one thought was to get Ojo safely back to the Emerald City and return to a life of comfort and ease.
Swinging his lantern impatiently while Pat whisked the dust from Realbad’s coat, he again urged them to take lanterns and push out into the fog.
“Wait till we have sampled these famous apples,” drawled Realbad, throwing his arm around Snuffer’s shoulder. “And we may pick up something else.”