The Collected Works of L. Frank Baum (Illustrated). L. Frank Baum

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СКАЧАТЬ toward the giant porcupine. Pausing to look back, it asked: “All ready?”

      “All ready!” they answered.

      “Then cover up your ears and brace yourselves firmly. Now, then—look out!”

      The Woozy turned toward Chiss, opened wide its mouth and said:

      “Quee-ee-ee-eek.”

      “Go ahead and growl,” said Scraps.

      “Why, I—I did growl!” retorted the Woozy, who seemed much astonished.

      “What, that little squeak?” she cried.

      “It is the most awful growl that ever was heard, on land or sea, in caverns or in the sky,” protested the Woozy. “I wonder you stood the shock so well. Didn’t you feel the ground tremble? I suppose Chiss is now quite dead with fright.”

      The Shaggy Man laughed merrily.

      “Poor Wooz!” said he; “your growl wouldn’t scare a fly.”

      The Woozy seemed to be humiliated and surprised. It hung its head a moment, as if in shame or sorrow, but then it said with renewed confidence: “Anyhow, my eyes can flash fire; and good fire, too; good enough to set fire to a fence!”

      “That is true,” declared Scraps; “I saw it done myself. But your ferocious growl isn’t as loud as the tick of a beetle—or one of Ojo’s snores when he’s fast asleep.”

      “Perhaps,” said the Woozy, humbly, “I have been mistaken about my growl. It has always sounded very fearful to me, but that may have been because it was so close to my ears.”

      “Never mind,” Ojo said soothingly; “it is a great talent to be able to flash fire from your eyes. No one else can do that.”

      As they stood hesitating what to do Chiss stirred and suddenly a shower of quills came flying toward them, almost filling the air, they were so many. Scraps realized in an instant that they had gone too near to Chiss for safety, so she sprang in front of Ojo and shielded him from the darts, which stuck their points into her own body until she resembled one of those targets they shoot arrows at in archery games. The Shaggy Man dropped flat on his face to avoid the shower, but one quill struck him in the leg and went far in. As for the Glass Cat, the quills rattled off her body without making even a scratch, and the skin of the Woozy was so thick and tough that he was not hurt at all.

      When the attack was over they all ran to the Shaggy Man, who was moaning and groaning, and Scraps promptly pulled the quill out of his leg. Then up he jumped and ran over to Chiss, putting his foot on the monster’s neck and holding it a prisoner. The body of the great porcupine was now as smooth as leather, except for the holes where the quills had been, for it had shot every single quill in that one wicked shower.

      “Let me go!” it shouted angrily. “How dare you put your foot on Chiss?”

      “I’m going to do worse than that, old boy,” replied the Shaggy Man. “You have annoyed travelers on this road long enough, and now I shall put an end to you.”

      “You can’t!” returned Chiss. “Nothing can kill me, as you know perfectly well.”

      “Perhaps that is true,” said the Shaggy Man in a tone of disappointment. “Seems to me I’ve been told before that you can’t be killed. But if I let you go, what will you do?”

      “Pick up my quills again,” said Chiss in a sulky voice.

      “And then shoot them at more travelers? No; that won’t do. You must promise me to stop throwing quills at people.”

      “I won’t promise anything of the sort,” declared Chiss.

      “Why not?”

      “Because it is my nature to throw quills, and every animal must do what Nature intends it to do. It isn’t fair for you to blame me. If it were wrong for me to throw quills, then I wouldn’t be made with quills to throw. The proper thing for you to do is to keep out of my way.”

      “Why, there’s some sense in that argument,” admitted the Shaggy Man, thoughtfully; “but people who are strangers, and don’t know you are here, won’t be able to keep out of your way.”

      “Tell you what,” said Scraps, who was trying to pull the quills out of her own body, “let’s gather up all the quills and take them away with us; then old Chiss won’t have any left to throw at people.”

      “Ah, that’s a clever idea. You and Ojo must gather up the quills while I hold Chiss a prisoner; for, if I let him go, he will get some of his quills and be able to throw them again.”

      So Scraps and Ojo picked up all the quills and tied them in a bundle so they might easily be carried. After this the Shaggy Man released Chiss and let him go, knowing that he was harmless to injure anyone.

      “It’s the meanest trick I ever heard of,” muttered the porcupine gloomily. “How would you like it, Shaggy Man, if I took all your shags away from you?”

      “If I threw my shags and hurt people, you would be welcome to capture them,” was the reply.

      Then they walked on and left Chiss standing in the road sullen and disconsolate. The Shaggy Man limped as he walked, for his wound still hurt him, and Scraps was much annoyed because the quills had left a number of small holes in her patches.

      When they came to a flat stone by the roadside the Shaggy Man sat down to rest, and then Ojo opened his basket and took out the bundle of charms the Crooked Magician had given him.

      “I am Ojo the Unlucky,” he said, “or we would never have met that dreadful porcupine. But I will see if I can find anything among these charms which will cure your leg.”

      Soon he discovered that one of the charms was labelled: “For flesh wounds,” and this the boy separated from the others. It was only a bit of dried root, taken from some unknown shrub, but the boy rubbed it upon the wound made by the quill and in a few moments the place was healed entirely and the Shaggy Man’s leg was as good as ever.

      “Rub it on the holes in my patches,” suggested Scraps, and Ojo tried it, but without any effect.

      “The charm you need is a needle and thread,” said the Shaggy Man. “But do not worry, my dear; those holes do not look badly, at all.”

      “They’ll let in the air, and I don’t want people to think I’m airy, or that I’ve been stuck up,” said the Patchwork Girl.

      “You were certainly stuck up until we pulled out those quills,” observed Ojo, with a laugh.

      So now they went on again and coming presently to a pond of muddy water they tied a heavy stone to the bundle of quills and sunk it to the bottom of the pond, to avoid carrying it farther.

      13. Scraps and the Scarecrow

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      From here on the country improved and the desert places began to give way to fertile spots; still СКАЧАТЬ