The Baffled Bandits
“I’m so disappointed I could cry,” blubbered the robber chief, pulling
out his red handkerchief. “Shake them again Skally, shake them hard!”
Before him on the ground lay the few possessions of Grampa and
Tatters—an old silver watch, the four-pence, a rusty pen knife and two
copper medals. The chief had recovered from the terrible blow of the
cast iron weather cock, but had a large black lump over one eye. Bill,
who insisted on crowing in a dozen different keys, had been muffled in
the bandit’s cloak and put under a rock.
“I told you they were a poor lot,” sniffed Skally, but nevertheless, he
seized first Grampa and then Tatters and shook them violently by the
heels. This he could easily do, being eight feet tall and exceedingly
muscular. Two red gum drops rolled out of Grampa’s pocket, but that was
all.
“And they’re not even frightened,” complained the bandit in a grieved
voice, as Skally set the two roughly on their feet.
“Frightened!” puffed Grampa indignantly. (After the two terrible
shakings he had only breath enough to puff.) “You didn’t think a flock
of bush-whacking bandits like you could frighten an old soldier like me,
and a young Prince like Tatters, did you?”
“Prince!” gasped the bandit, blinking at Tatters through the smoke of
the wood fire, while the rest of the outlaws began to slap their knees
and roar with merriment.
“Yes, Prince,” shrilled Grampa, “and don’t make faces at me, you ugly
villain.”
“Well!” roared the chief, after another long look at Tatters, “he may
be a Prince to his mother, but he’s a pain in the eye to me!”
“Then shut your eyes,” advised Grampa promptly. “I’d do it for you if I
were not tied up. In a fair fight I’d beat you any day.”
“We’ve taken everything they have. Shall we hang them or let them go?”
asked Skally in a bored voice.
“No you haven’t,” screamed Grampa defiantly. “No you haven’t. Take my
picture you scoundrel! Take my rheumatism! Take my advice and clear
out of this forest before I report you to the Princess of Oz.”
Even Prince Tatters, who really was frightened at the fierce appearance
of the bandit, had to laugh a little at the surprised expression on the
chief’s face as the old soldier continued to stamp and scold. And the
more Grampa scolded the more cheerful the bandit became.
“He reminds me of my old father,” he remarked in an admiring undertone
to Skally.
“Does your old father know you’re a bandit?” shouted Grampa sternly,
“holding up honest adventurers and getting your living by breaking the
law?”
“Father always told me to take things easy,” replied the chief, popping
one of Grampa’s gum drops into his mouth. “‘Vaga,’ he said to me over
and over again, ‘always take things easy, my boy,’ and I do,” grinned
the robber wickedly. “But business is mighty slow in this forest lately.
Kings and Princes are getting poorer and poorer every day. Look at
him!” He waved scornfully at Tatters. “Not worth a shoe button and
the whole week it has been the same story. All we got to-day was a
wizard, but he was as false as his whiskers—couldn’t even change leaves
to gold or sticks to precious stones. All he had with him was a bottle
of patent medicine. Now medicine,” yawned Vaga, touching with his boot a
long green bottle that lay with a heap of rubbish near the fire, “is
something I never take.”
“But I thought wizards were not allowed to practice magic in Oz,” put in
Tatters, surprised into speech by the bandit’s last statement. “It’s
against the law isn’t it?”
“So are bandits!” roared Yaga. “But I’m here just the same, my boy,
taking things easy, and when I’ve saved up enough I’m going to open an
Inn and take things easier still.”
“Another way to rob honest travellers,” groaned the old soldier, “but
now, as you’ve taken our four-pence and our time, untie these bonds and
we’ll return to our camp.”
“Let him tell his story,” suggested Skally, “it might entertain us and
they certainly owe us something for all this trouble.”
“No, I’ve decided to make outlaws of them,” announced Yaga calmly. “The
old one is a fine fighter and can be a father to me; the young one would
frighten anybody; as for the cast iron bird it can be melted up into
bullets.”
“What shall we do now?” whispered Tatters, seizing Grampa’s arm. The old
soldier winked encouragingly.
“Not bad at all,” he murmured aloud, as if he were half pleased at the
idea of being a bandit. “Plenty of fighting and it’s as good a way as
any to make a fortune. Swear us in Mr Vagabandit, swear us in my son!”
The bandit chief was surprised and overjoyed at Grampa’s change of
heart. He immediately ordered Skally to untie the captives. Each was
given a black mask and a dagger and, having raised their hands and
solemnly agreed to break every law in Oz, they were welcomed with cheers
and shouts into the outlaw band. After the excitement had died down,
they all gathered about the fire and Grampa told them the history of
Ragbad, how he had got his game leg and of the nine hundred and eighty
great battles he had fought in. The bandits listened attentively at
first, but the old soldier’s recital was so long that presently one and
then another of the bandits fell asleep, and by the time Grampa had
reached the nine hundredth battle the whole company lay sprawled about
the fire, snoring like good fellows instead of bad ones. Prince Tatters,
his head on the skin of the old thread bear, was asleep too.
“More ways than one of winning a battle,” chuckled the old soldier,
smiling behind his whiskers. First, he recovered his watch, medals and
the four-pence. They were still on the ground beside Vaga. Protruding
from the robber’s pocket was a rough blue pouch. Very carefully the old
soldier drew it out. “This will pay for the shakings,” said Grampa,
stowing it away in his game leg. “I’ll sample the scoundrel’s tobacco
when we’re well out of this.” As he straightened up the long, green
bottle of patent medicine caught his eye. “I’ll take this along too,” he
muttered, sticking it in his pocket. “Maybe it will help my rheumatism.”
The fire had died down and it was so dark and forbidding in the blue
forest that Grampa decided to snatch a few hours’ rest before making an
escape. Stretching unconcernedly beside long-legged Skally he fell into
a deep and peaceful slumber. And so well trained was this old campaigner
that in two hours, exactly, he awoke. The sun had not yet risen, but in
the dim grey light of early morning Grampa could make out the forms of
the sleeping bandits. Stepping softly, so as not to waken them, he
touched Tatters on the shoulder. The Prince started up in alarm, but
when Grampa, with fingers to his lips, motioned for him to come he
seized his red umbrella and tip-toed after him.
“Have I lived to this age to be an old father to a bandit?” puffed
Grampa indignantly as they hurried along. He shook his fist over his
shoulder. “Farther and farther away is what I’ll be.” Grampa laughed a
little at his joke. “But we can’t go without Bill,” he muttered
suddenly, as they passed the rock under which the robbers had thrust the
valiant weather cock. With some difficulty they lifted off the rock and,
first whispering strict orders for silence, unwound Bill from the
various coats and cloaks. Then Tatters, fearing the creak of Bill’s
wings would arouse the bandits, stuck him under one arm.
“Wish I knew where they kept their supplies,” whispered the old soldier
as they pushed on through the heavy underbrush and made their way around
gnarled old trees. “My teeth need some exercise.”
“What a dreadful lot of crows there are in this forest,” mused the
Prince, who had scarcely heard Grampa’s last remark. “Why the trees are
black with them!”
“Well, do you expect me to eat crow?” sniffed the old soldier, waving
his sword to disperse a flock of the birds that were circling around his
head.
“No, but—” Tatters got no further, for at that instant crows of an
entirely different nature made them both leap into the air. The sun had
risen and as the first rays penetrated into the dim forest Bill flew out
of Tatters’ arms and, perching on a low branch, burst into such a brazen
clamor of cock-a-doodle-doos that the whole forest rang with it.
“Hush! Halt! Stop that alarm!” gasped Grampa. “Now, you’ve done it!”
“Oh, Bill, how could you!” groaned the Prince. Snatching off the skin
of the thread bear, he flung it over the iron weather cock and seizing
him unceremoniously began to run after Grampa. They had already put a
goodly distance between themselves and the bandits, but a few minutes
after Bill’s crowing shots came echoing through the wood and the next
instant they could hear the outlaws crashing through the brush. They
sounded like a herd of elephants.
“We’ll have to hide,” panted the old soldier. “Here, crawl into this
hollow tree.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Grampa dove into the tree
himself and Tatters, taking a firmer hold on Bill and the red umbrella,
followed.
“Is there room?” gasped the Prince. “Grampa, are you there?” But Grampa
was not there. Neither, for that matter, was Tatters himself, for his
feet instead of resting on earth, rested on nothing. A great wind
whistled past his ears and blew his hair straight on end.
“The temperature’s falling!” The voice of the weather cock came
stuffily through the bear skin.
“Everything’s falling!” gasped the Prince of Ragbad, hugging Bill and
the red umbrella close to his chest. “Everything!”
You can easily understand what had happened. There was _no bottom_ to
the hollow tree. When Grampa, Prince Tatters and Bill crawled into the
hole, they simply disappeared. They dropped—down—down—down!