The Blue Forest of Oz
“Grampa,” said Prince Tatters, after the two adventurers had marched
along for a time in silence, “Pudge did not tell us where to look for my
father’s head, nor where to find the Princess and the fortune.”
“Trust a wise man for that,” replied the old soldier, striking a match
on his game leg and lighting his pipe.
“Then where are we going Grampa?” asked the Prince, shifting his
umbrella to his other arm and adjusting his stride to that of the old
soldier.
“That,” puffed Grampa, “depends on the four-pence.” Stopping short, he
took a small coin from his pocket. On one side was the head of King
Fumbo and on the other the coat of arms of Ragbad. “I may not be a wise
man,” explained Grampa, tossing the coin in his palm, “but I am sure
your father’s head can only be restored by magic. There are but two
people left in Oz who are permitted to practice magic. One is Glinda,
the good sorceress and Queen of our own Quadling country and the other
is the Wizard of Oz, who lives in the palace of Princess Ozma, ruler of
all Oz.”
Tatters nodded impatiently, for he had learned all this in his history
book.
“So,” continued Grampa, “we must march either to the East—for Glinda’s
castle is in that direction—or to the North to the Emerald City and the
palace of Ozma of Oz. Which shall it be? Heads for Ozma, arms for
Glinda!”
Up flew the four-pence and Prince Tatters, dropping on his knee, gave a
little cry of delight—for Fumbo’s head was uppermost.
“The King has decided himself,” chuckled Grampa, pocketing the coin, “so
North we go to the Emerald City. We’ll be on our way, my lad, and who
knows but on the way we may pick up a fortune or a Princess—and a couple
of new pipes and some rare old Oz tobacco,” finished the old soldier,
half closing his eyes. These last two items did not interest Prince
Tatters, but the thought of visiting the Capitol of Oz, of seeing
Princess Ozma, the little fairy ruler, and being presented at court,
sent the Prince, who had spent his whole life in the shabby little
kingdom of Ragbad, marching along the red highway so fast that Grampa
had to do double time to keep up with him.
Tatters began rehearsing all Mrs Sew-and-Sew had taught him of court
manners and speech and wondering whether he had better speak to Grampa
about his bad habits. The old soldier had but two. One was eating with
his sword and the other was taking snuff, but after a sidelong glance at
Grampa, trudging happily at his side, the Prince decided to wait until
they reached the Emerald City before offering any advice on etiquette.
Even Tatters did not realize how long a journey this would be. He knew
in a general way that Oz is a great oblong kingdom, divided into four
large countries and many small ones, and that the Emerald City is in the
exact center.
On the maps of Oz in the Prince’s geography the southern Quadling
country was marked in red; the country of the West, which was settled by
the Munchkins, was marked in blue; the northern Gilliken country in
purple; and the land of the Winkies, which lay to the East, was colored
yellow—for these were the national colors of the countries represented.
Though Grampa and Tatters had by this time left Ragbad far behind them,
they were still in the Quadling country and all the little farms and
villages they passed were of cheery red brick or stone and the people
themselves dressed in the quaint red costume of the south. Tulips,
poppies and red roses nodded over the tall hedges; the fields, rusty
with sorrel, had a reddish tinge and all along the highway giant red
maples arched their lacy branches. At noon they stopped under one of
these maples and had a bite of the lunch Mrs Sew-and-Sew had prepared
for them, but their pause was short for both were anxious to reach the
Emerald City as soon as possible, to learn from the Wizard of Oz the
best way to recover Fumbo’s head. To make the marching easier, the old
soldier played a lively rat-tat upon his drum, and as they passed
through the quiet Quadling villages many heads were popped out the
windows to see what all the racket was about. But soon these villages
became farther and farther apart, and the country more wild and
unsettled and just as the sun slipped down behind the treetops they
came to the edge of a deep blue forest.
“A long march,” puffed the old soldier, mopping his forehead, “but we’re
getting along, my lad, for this is the beginning of the Munchkin
country.”
“Do you think it’s safe?” asked Prince Tatters, peering anxiously into
the gloomy forest.
“Safe!” cried Grampa scornfully. “Well I hope not. Fortunes are never
found in safe places my boy. Shouldn’t wonder if there were a bear
behind every tree,” he continued cheerfully. “Shouldn’t wonder if there
were a dragon or two lying in wait for us. Come on!” Thrusting his drum
sticks through his belt and waving his sword, the old soldier plunged
recklessly into the blue forest, shouting the national air of Ragbad at
the top of his lungs.
“Oh, hush,” begged Prince Tatters, glancing uneasily from side to side
and treading close upon Grampa’s heels, “someone might hear you. Oh!
What’s that?” For with a shrill scream a great bird had risen from the
branches of a tree just ahead and flown squawking into the air.
“That’s supper!” chuckled the old soldier, and raising his gun he took
aim and fired. There was a sharp crash as the bullet struck home, then
down fell a large reddish fowl.
“Well?” the fowl rasped sulkily, as Prince Tatters and Grampa ran
forward, “what am I supposed to do now? I’ve never been shot before.”
“A bird that’s shot is not supposed to do anything,” said the old
soldier severely.
“Oh,” sighed the bird, “that’s easy!” and putting down its head, it lay
quietly on its side.
“It’s a rooster!” exclaimed the Prince, touching it with one hand, “an
iron rooster!” At this the bird sprang up indignantly.
“You may shoot me if you want, but I’ll not lie here and let you call me
names,” it shrilled angrily. “Where are your eyes? Can’t you see I’m a
weather cock?”
“Do you suppose I’d have wasted a good bullet on you if I had? I may
have an iron constitution but I don’t eat cast iron birds,” sniffed
Grampa. “What do you mean, flying through this forest deceiving hungry
travellers?”
“I don’t know what I mean,” replied the weather cock calmly, “for I’ve
only been alive since last night. What do you mean yourself, pray? Must
everyone have a meaning like a riddle?”
Grampa stroked his whiskers thoughtfully over this remark.
“But how did you come to be alive?” asked the Prince, leaning on his red
umbrella and regarding the bird with deep interest—for even in Oz
weather cocks usually stick to their poles.
“There was a storm,” explained the cock, lifting one claw, “lightning,
thunder, wind and rain. One minute I was whirling around on the top of
my barn and next minute I was spinning through space. Then all at once I
came in contact with a live wire, there was a flash, I was charged with
a strange force and to my infinite amazement I found that my wings would
work and that I could crow. So I crew and flew and flew and crew, till I
fell exhausted in this forest.”
“Humph!” grunted Grampa. “A likely story. In the first place there are
no live wires in Oz and—”
“Oz!” screeched the weather cock, “I didn’t say Oz. I was on a barn
near Chicago when the storm broke. Have you never heard of Chicago, you
odd looking, old creature?”
“Never,” answered Grampa emphatically, “but wherever you started from,
you’re in Oz now and you might as well get used to it. Come along,
Tatters. There’s nothing to be gained by arguing, it only makes me
hungry.”
“But tell me,” the weather cock fluttered into the air, “what am I to do
with my life?”
“Keep it—if you can,” chuckled the old soldier and started off between
the trees. But Tatters was loath to leave this singular bird.
“Let him come with us Grampa,” coaxed the Prince. “He won’t need
anything to eat and he might help us find the fortune.”
“Yes, do,” crowed the weather cock. “I can waken you in the morning,
tell you which way the wind blows and fall upon the heads of your
enemies. Have you any enemies?” the weather cock asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” murmured the Prince, looking ahead into the shadows,—“but—”
“Shouldn’t wonder if he would make a good fighter,” reflected Grampa,
half closing his eyes. “Never saw a cock yet that wasn’t game. Do you
agree to join this company, obey all commands and go by the name of
Bill?”
“I’ll go by the name of Bill, but what name shall I come by?” asked the
weather cock, putting its head on one side.
“The same, you iron idiot!” shouted Grampa, who was a bit short
tempered. “Do you agree?”
“Yes,” crowed the weather cock, putting up his claw, solemnly.
“Then forward fly,” commanded the old soldier. And up into the air with
a rusty creak flung the weather cock and just beneath marched Grampa and
the Prince. As they progressed through the ever darkening forest,
Tatters told Bill of the great storm in Ragbad, how he was seeking his
father’s head and his own fortune.
“Your father lost his head in the same storm I found my life,” wheezed
the weather cock earnestly, “so it is only fair that I should help you.”
“Hah! We shall be helped by fair means or fowl!” chuckled the old
soldier, who would have his little joke—but it was lost on Bill, who was
already looking around for the King’s head and the fortune. And though
he was not quite sure what a fortune was, he felt confident that he
should find one. It had grown so dark by now that Grampa soon called a
halt. Under a tall blue tree the little company made camp. Bill was most
helpful in collecting wood and Prince Tatters put up the red umbrella,
which was so large that it served them admirably for a tent. A little
beyond the rim of the umbrella Grampa kindled a fire, and after a cozy
supper of toasted sandwiches the old soldier unbuckled his leg and he
and Prince Tatters settled down to a quiet game of scrum. Bill flew to
the top of the blue tree to observe the wind and the weather, and
nothing could have been more peaceful. The stars twinkled merrily above,
the fire crackled cheerily below and Tatters had just beaten Grampa two
games to one, when a hundred little snaps in the underbrush made them
turn in alarm.
“Great gum drops!” gasped the old soldier, jumping to his foot.
Tatters snatched up the umbrella and, using it for a shield, began to
back away, for in the circle of the firelight and completely surrounding
the blue tree stood a company of bandits. They were tall and terrible,
with great slouch hats and blue boots. Pistols and daggers by the dozen
bristled in their belts and nothing could have been fiercer than their
whiskered faces and scowling brows.
For a moment no one spoke. Grampa frowned angrily and Prince Tatters
tried to look as if he was not scared. As usual, Bill was calm.
“Are you going to stop here and let them call you gum drops?” sneered
the leader, plucking a dagger from his boot. He took one stride forward,
then pitched on his face and lay perfectly still—for the weather cock,
convinced that this was an enemy, had fallen hard upon his head. The
suddenness of the blow surprised the outlaws and while they drew back in
confusion Grampa leaned down, seized his wooden leg and buckling it on
as he ran, joined Prince Tatters, who by this time had his back against
the tree.
“Go it Bill!” shouted the old soldier, laying about with his drum
sticks.
“Here I go by the name of Bill!” screeched the excited weather cock,
rising into the air again. “Here I come by the name of Bill. Su-cumb,
you blue monster!” And down went a second bandit. This enraged the
others, and though Prince Tatters poked away valiantly with the big
umbrella, and Grampa knocked out three of the outlaws with his drum
sticks and Bill fell upon the heads of two more, they were hopelessly
outnumbered. In a minute more they were overpowered, bound with heavy
ropes and dragged through the forest to the bandits’ camp. Even the
weather cock swung head down from the belt of one of the robbers.