L. Frank Baum - Oz 27

by Ojo In Oz

  Angry as he was, he soon had cause for laughter, for Snuffer, embracing his partner too vigorously on one of the turns, touched the top button of his coat and both zipped unexpectedly into the air until Snuffer was out of sight. Only Pando’s blue legs continued to waltz and just as Ojo began to grow worried he dropped down to his normal size. Snuffer’s eyes had a wild and betrayed look. Dropping the Elevator Man’s hand he stepped away from him.

  “Always rise on the third count, but not that high, not that high,” quavered the bear, shaking his head reproachfully. “Come along, Ojo, I think we’d better walk after all.”

  “No! No! I insist on giving you a lift,” cried Pan-do, wiping his beaming face on a neat rubber handkerchief. “I positively owe it to you. I never experienced a more delightful waltz in my life.” Stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket, he picked up his cap and fairly pouncing upon them touched the top button of his coat and elevated himself and his companions to the dizzy level of the clouds. After the first two hundred feet, Ojo closed his eyes. Then, feeling an unmistakable sinking sensation, he quickly opened them again. To demonstrate to the full his ability and skill, the Elevator Man had carried them high above the top of the mountain. Then, lowering himself with gentle little jerks, he set them proudly on the mountain top and politely tipping his cap sank out of view.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” said Ojo, looking over at Snuffer, who still seemed dizzy and dazed. “If we go down this mountain as quickly as we came up we’ll be in the Emerald City in no time.”

  “Yes, but what’s that noise?” grunted the bear, straightening up anxiously. “Or is my head still buzzing?”

  “No, I hear a funny noise, too,” admitted Ojo. “Sounds like clocks, hundreds of clocks, ticking all out of time. Why, there’s a little house, Snuffer, right beyond that fringe of trees! Maybe an old mountaineer lives here and will tell us whether we are

  on the right path. Come along!”

  “Hold on a minute! Be careful, now,” rumbled Snufferbux, thudding heavily after Ojo. “No use taking any chances.”

  But Ojo had already reached the little mountain hut and was knocking briskly on the door. It was unbarred so swiftly that he almost tumbled through. A bent and hideous old Munchkin stood in the opening examining him sharply. Then, glancing with alarm and evident distrust at the big brown bear behind Ojo, he reached out a long skinny arm, snatched the boy through the door and slammed it hard in Snuffer’s face.

  “Stop!” roared the bear. “Stop! Unhand that boy! Let me in, d’ye hear?” Snuffer pounded on the door with all of his strength. But not a sound came from the other side, not a sound but the mingled ticking of a hundred clocks. “That’s queer,” panted the bear, and running around to the side he tried to look in the windows. But they were all closely shuttered and as he returned to have another try at the door, a second-story window opened and a perfect bombardment of small sacks began to cascade to the ground. Jumping back just in time to keep from being buried under the avalanche, Snuffer clutched his middle with a groan of frenzied despair. One of the sacks had split open and a shower of twinkling sapphires rolled at his feet. Faster and faster the bags tumbled and shot from the window till the heap rose as high as the little house itself.

  “Oh! Oh!” moaned poor Snuffer, rocking back and forth with fright and grief as the last bag fell with a spiteful thud on the top of the heap.’ “I’ve brought the boy right to the wrongest place in Oz and delivered him straight into the hands of his enemies. This is Moojer Mountain or my name is never Snufforious, Buxorious, Blundorious Boroso!”

  “Right!” answered a harsh voice, and looking up the bear saw the hideous old Munchkin leaning out of the window. “Now as you have what you want and I have what I want, suppose you go away,” rasped the old clock maker. “Go away, go away at once!” he finished venomously.

  CHAPTER 18

  On Moojer Mountain

  As soon as the old clock maker had Ojo safely inside the hut, he again looked him carefully up and down. Then, giving a hoarse croak of triumph, he seized a stout rope and in spite of the boy’s cries and struggles bound him fast and tight. Then, shoving him roughly into the little room at the back of the shop, he went clattering upstairs to fling the sacks out to Snuffer. All this happened so quickly that Ojo scarcely knew what to do or to think. The loud and confused ticking of the clocks made thinking impossible anyway, but as a small rag bird bounced out of a red cuckoo clock on the wall and settled on his shoulder, Ojo jumped in good earnest. “Oh! Ojo! Oh, no! On go!” piped the cuckoo in shrill warning. Now, where had he heard that voice before? And what was the incessant low growling rising above the ticking of the other clocks? It seemed to come from the huge alarm clock on the floor at his feet and dropping heavjly to his knees Ojo stared wildly into its shiny face. Honest yellow eyes were looking at him sorrowfully through the glass, and on the shelf above his head a little French mantel clock began striking so violently that it almost bounced off the shelf. Ojo’s hands were tied behind his back and his feet were bound so close together that he could take only the smallest steps.

  Straightening up with great difficulty he looked despairingly around him.

  “It’s Scraps!” buzzed the little red bird on his shoulder. “Don’t you know me? Go away! Go away quick! This man means to destroy you. He has changed Dorothy to that mantel clock, the Cowardly Lion to an alarm clock and look at the rest of me!” wailed the cuckoo, flapping her cotton wings at the red clock on the wall. “It is Mooj, the magician, I tell you. Go, go now, before it is too late.”

  Too late! With sinking heart, Ojo realized that it was already too late. He and Snuffer had walked Unwittingly right into the arms of the enemy. If the clock maker was Mooj, then this must be Moojer Mountain. The doors and windows were locked and he himself was quite helpless. Putting his cheek down to touch the little red bird that was Scraps, and waving tremulously to his other two anxiously ticking friends, Ojo dropped down on a rough bench to wait for the old man’s return. The thumps and bangs of Snuffer had been alarming enough but now footsteps came thumping straight for the room. Horrors! What next? With a tremendous crash the door burst open and Mooj, followed by three others, came hurtling into the crowded little workshop.

  CHAPTER 19

  The King of Seebania

  WHILE Ojo was helplessly waiting in the little back room of the hut, Snuffer, paying no attention to the orders of the old clock maker to go away, hurled himself again and again at the door. But the cabin was so sturdily built that it resisted all his efforts to break in. Sinking finally in an exhausted heap beside the great mound of treasure, Snuffer tried to think of some other way to rescue kis small companion.

  “So, ho! Claimed the reward yourself, I see!” At these words, spoken in low but distinct voice, the bear almost jumped out of his bear skin. Worried and engrossed with his own dark thoughts, Snuffer had not even heard the clatter of hoofs on the mountain side, and now he gazed in a sort of stupor at the figure before him. It was Realbad, nonchalant and gay as ever-Realbad, mounted on Roganda, Queen of the Unicorns.

  “Behold the honest bear who would save Ojo from the wicked robber chief,” murmured the outlaw, springing lightly to the ground, “the honest bear,

  surrounded by his ill-gotten treasure!”

  “Shall I run him through, or simply trample upon him?” whinnied Roganda in a stern voice.

  “I deserve both,” groaned poor Snuffer, leaning disconsolately against the little house and turning away his head from the accusing eyes of the bandit. “I let Ojo run right into this. DQ you realize that we are on Moojer Mountain? And now nothing can be done! Nothing! But you know I meant to take Ojo to the Emerald City. You know that,” insisted the bear broken-heartedly.

  “Of course I know it!” Realbad, stepping closer, gave Snuffer a resounding thump between the shoulder blades. “Even when you tied me up with those blue suspenders instead of wrestling, even when you took my ring, I knew you thought it was all for the best We
all make mistakes,” went on Realbad generously. “How were you to know that I had changed, that Ojo means more to me than all the treasure in Oz. So I forgave you at once, but feeling that you might need help I came as soon as Pat released me. Roganda kindly offered to carry me on her back, and here we are! We’ve ridden like the wind. Come, buck up, we’ll save Ojo yet!”

  Feeling in his leather pouch, Snuffer pulled out the robber’s ring and without a word handed it back

  to him. It had been exactly as Realbad had said. As soon as the bandit had removed his magic ring, Snuffer had fallen upon him from behind, bound him securely with his suspenders and, making up the story about the unicorn’s treasure, had dragged Ojo off to safety - or what he supposed to be safety But Realbad seemed really have forgotten and forgiven the unfortunate business and, pulling the sorrowful bear to his feet, he turned determinedly toward the little hut

  “Now then, all together!” he ordered shortly. “Let’s break down that door.” Roganda, with a furious neigh, sent her silver horn crashing again and again through the heavy oak timbers until, weakened by the gaping holes, it went crashing down under the weight of Realbad and Snufferbux. Sweep-mg into the front room with the miserable old magician just three jumps ahead of them they pelted into the back workshop. Here, with outflung arms, Mooj turned and confronted them.

  “Stop!” shrieked the old man defiantly. “One step more and you will be in my power forever, transformed, enchanted, bewitched and destroyed.” As Mooj finished speaking Realbad stopped in his tracks.

  “You !” choked the bandit, recoiling with disgust

  and horror. Roganda, on the point of sending her horn through the miserable magician, turned inquiringly to Realbad, but Snuffer, rushing past all three, threw his arms around Ojo. The clock maker, as he returned Realbad’s steely gaze, seemed to kindle and burn with wicked excitement.

  “You!” he quivered in his high cracked voice. “You have dared to return! Then watch out! You know the penalty!” For the first time since he had known Realbad Ojo saw the bandit turn pale and actually tremble. But he recovered quickly, tore off his plumed hat, threw it over his shoulder, and made a savage lunge at the old magician.

  “How dare you touch this boy? What do you want with him? Why have you offered a reward for the capture of Ojo, a harmless little Munchkin?”

  “Because,” screamed Mooj, leering up evilly at the tremendous outlaw, “because he is the king’s son and when he is safely out of the way I shall be Ruler of Seebania forever and even longer.”

  “You lie!” rasped Realbad, taking Mooj by the collar and shaking him like a rat. “The King of Seebania has no son and well you know it!”

  “Ho, ho! I know it, do I? Well, this time I know more than the king, for a son was born after the king’s banishment and spirited away by his great

  uncle. But I have my magic and ways of knowing and I traced him to the Emerald City. Then I offered this reward to all the roving bands in Oz, and here he is. I shall serve the son as I served the father and the grandfather and the queen, too. Forfeit! Forfeit! You have broken your word and the’ queen’s safety is forfeit. She, too, shall vanish and disappear!”

  As Ojo, Snuffer, Roganda and the bewitched rescuers from the Emerald City tried to understand the old magician’s screaming sentences, he squirmed out of Realbad’s clutches and dashing the lantern out with a blow from his long rod, plunged the little room into complete darkness.

  “Ojo!” called Realbad in an anguished voice. “Ojo! My son!” But no voice came to answer him and, when a few moments later the outlaw succeeded in lighting the lamp, Ojo and Mooj had both vanished. “Magic!” quavered Roganda, looking around nervously. “I thought the practice of magic was forbidden in Oz except harmless magic like this. The queen blew a few frightened notes on her silver horn, then sent it splintering through one of the shuttered windows. “Where is that poor boy now? And why are we standing here doing nothing?”

  “Because nothing can be done,” groaned Realbad, flinging himself down on the bench beside Snuffer and covering his face with his hands.

  “Look here, what’s the meaning of all this?” panted the bear. “Did I hear that fellow say that Ojo was a king’s son? And you, you called Ojo ‘Son.’ Are you really the King of Seebania, and Ojo’s father?” Realbad nodded without lifting his head.

  “And to think I never knew I had a son,” he groaned heavily. “To think I find him only to lose him again.”

  “Help! Help! Help” screamed the cotton cuckoo, flying in wild circles around Realbad’s head. We’re all bewitched. Don’t stand here like dummies, go for

  help!”

  “More enchantments,” wailed Snuffer. “But come on, the bird is right. This is no way to act Come along, King, we can still go to the Emerald City and ask the Wizard of Oz to help us.”

  “No, no, everything is ruined. Don’t you understand, if I reveal what has happened to me, the queen, my wife, who is still in Seebania, will be destroyed by this terrible old magician. My hands are tied, I tell you. Tied!”

  “Well, I have no hands,” declared Roganda, beginning to paw the floor with. her small silver hoof. “I,

  myself, will go to the Emerald City and appeal to the ruler of all Oz.”

  As Roganda swung round to gallop through the door, a blinding light flashed through the little hut, settling in a round spot of brilliance on the place where Ojo had been seated. Fearing that Mooj had returned and meant further mischief, Realbad and Snuffer leapt to their feet, and the Queen of the Unicorns, lowering. her head, made ready to impale the wicked fellow on her horn. But it was not Mooj who came stepping stealthily into the hut. It was a little bald-headed man with a black bag. He was carrying what appeared to be a telescope and from the end of the telescope the blinding light was issuing. After him tiptoed a thin, white-bearded old Munchkin and a young and lovely dark-haired Princess with a tall Emerald crown.

  “Ozma!” twittered the little rag cuckoo, dashing herself against the lovely girl’s shoulder. “Save us! save us! We’re all enchanted, tick tick, and Ojo’s gone forever!”

  “No time, no time! We must follow the light!” mumbled the Wizard-for of course it was the little Wizard of Oz himself. “If we stop now we’ll never find the boy!” Without looking up or paying any attention to Roganda, Realbad or Snuffer, the Wizard tramped through the house and out the back door.

  “Then take us with you,” screamed Scraps, flapping her wings angrily. “There, that red clock on the wall is the rest of me, that big alarm clock is the Cowardly Lion and the china clock is Dorothy. These others are Ojo’s friends, so let them come, too.”

  “All right! All right, hurry along!” called the Wizard ove? his shoulder. “If this light goes out everything is ruined.”

  Snuffer, quick to catch an idea, handed the china clock to Ozma, the alarm clock to Realbad, and snatching the red cuckoo clock from the wall, went staggering through the back door after the little Wizard of. Oz. A hoarse cry made him swing round.

  “Alla Bad, my dear nephew! I thought you were destroyed!” Unc Nunkie, with both arms around the tall outlaw, was weeping unashamedly and using more words at one time than Dorothy had ever heard him use before.

  “Uncle Stephen!” The bandit lifted the old gentleman off his feet and looked delightedly into his eyes. “And I thought they had done for you, too. Was it you who took Ojo from Seebania and until now saved him from our enemies?” The old man nodded silently. Then, with his fingers to his lips,

  he motioned for them all to follow.

  “Alla Bad! So that’s your real name!” puffed Snuffer, taking a firmer hold on the cuckoo clock and dropping back beside his erstwhile comrade.

  “Ree Alla Bad!” whispered the outlaw, in something like his old joking manner. “Realbad to you, old fellow! May I thank your Imperial Highness for this interference in my behalf?” he murmured in the same breath, sweeping off his hat as the little Princess Qf Oz hurried by.

  “Oh, wait till I really
have helped you,” begged Ozma in her gentle, serious way. “Are you a friend

  of Ojo’s?”

  “He’s Ojo’s father!” burst out the bear, nearly beside himself with excitement. “He’s a bandit, a highwayman, King of Seebania-and what else, you long-legged rascal?”

  “A brave and charming gentleman,” whinnied the unicorn, trotting sedately at Realbad’s side. “A brave and charming gentleman!” Ozma looked from one to the other in dazed astonishment, then began whispering earnestly in the Wizard’s ear.

  “Yes, yes!” muttered the little man, only half attending. “Yes, yes! Here, give them each a flying pill, my dear. No use sliding down this mountain.

  The light is still going on!”

  So, without explaining, Ozma turned back and gave each member of the little company one of the Wizard’s famous flying pills. And they, without question, swallowed them down and sailed as lightly as birds after the Wizar&s search light, carrying the three whirring and ticking clocks along with them through the air.

  CHAPTER 20

  The City

  of Shamsbad

  SNUFFER should have been used to strange exp-riences by this time, but, clutching the Cuckoo Clock as he straddled awkwardly through the air, he wondered if he should ever again feel the good earth beneath his feet. Roganda enjoyed the sensation to the fullest extent and, like a strange, mythological creature of the past, sped through the midnight air. The Wizard’s search light, sparkling just ahead of them, began all at once to point downward. Snuffer saw with a groan of apprehension that they were over a many-spired and splendid city. Closing his eyes, for he could not imagine coming down safe and unhurt among so many points and pinnacles, Snuffer