L. Frank Baum - Oz 17 - The Cowardly Lion Of Oz

The Cowardly Lion Of Oz – Oz 17

L. Frank Baum

This book is dedicated to My sister Dorothy Thompson Curtiss

and all other lovely Dorothys including Dorothy of Oz

* Ruth Plumly Thompson

The Cowardly Lion of Oz

List of Chapters

Chapter

1 Mustafa of Mudge

2 Magic at the Circus

3 At the Court of Mudge

4 Mustafa's Mandate

5 Two Cowardly Lion Hunters

6 The Seven Doors

7 The Escape From Doorways

8 The Cowardly Lion's Quest

9 In Search of a Brave Man

10 On the Isle of Un

11 A Strange Fishing Party

12 Saved by a Flyaboutabus

13 Mustafa's Blue Magic

14 Flying in a Deluge

15 Mustafa Keeps Watch

16 A Fall From the Sky

17 The Stone Man of Oz

18 Notta's Last Disguise

19 In theEmeraldCity

20 The Cowardly Lion's Peril

21 Oz Magic Triumphs

22 A Happy Home in Oz

CHAPTER 1 Mustafa of Mudge

"TAZZYWALLER, I must have another lion," said Mustafa of Mudge, giving his blue

whiskers a terrible tweak. "Another lion, Tazzywaller, at once!"

"Your Highness already has nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine lions and a half!" said

Tazzywaller bowing humbly.

"Oh, that! "interrupted Mustafa impatiently. "Very careless of you, Tazzywaller, to bring me

half a lion-the wrong half, too! Monstrous annoying to see the back legs and tail of a lion jumping about

in the reservation. Unnatural, I call it."

"But, your Highness will remember that had not a fortunate blow of my scimitar cut off the right

half of the lion I would have been devoured, eaten, destroyed!" Tazzywaller's eyes bulged at the unhappy

recollection.

"I'd have endeavored to console myself," sniffed Mustafa disagreeably, "and Panapee would

make an excellent chamberlain. But this is wasting time. I must have another lion. A lion, I tell you, at

once!"

Mustafa's voice rose to a roar. Springing from his throne, he began stamping first one foot,

then the other. The round face of poor Tazzywaller grew paler at each stamp. "But there are no more

lions in Mudge," he pleaded. "Your Highness must know that. The royal hunters have tracked them all

down, and even if there were more, we cannot afford another single lion. I beg of your Highness to

consider the nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine already eating us out of our sandals. The

Mudgers are complaining of the lion tax-"Silence!" screamed Mustafa, jumping into the air so that he

could stamp both feet at the same time.

"You're making most of the noise yourself," said Tazzywaller sulkily.

"What is all this arguing about?" demanded a sleepy voice, and through a curtain at the back of

the apartment appeared the huge, turbaned head of Mixtuppa, Queen of Mudge.

"Lions! your Majesty," sighed the chief chamberlain, looking uneasily at Mustafa's wife, who

was even more unreasonable than her royal husband. "His Highness desires another lion."

"Well, why don't you get him one? You know I can't stand this stamping," wheezed Mixtuppa

irritably.

"Neither can I," grumbled Mustafa. "It hurts my royal feet."

"No one asked you to stamp. Why don't you stop it?" sniffed Tazzywaller.

"Will you get me the lion?" asked Mustafa, pausing with foot upraised.

"I would if there were any more, but there are no more lions in Mudge!" wailed Tazzywaller.

Down came Mustafa's foot with a terrible stamp.

"Great Gazupp!" screamed the monarch of Mudge. "What kind of a chamberlain are you? I'll

appoint Panapee chamberlain in your place and you-you may feed the lions!" he finished furiously.

Mustafa clapped his hands sharply and to the small Mudger who bounced into the room he

snapped, "Tell Panapee to appear before me at once." He paid no attention to the pleadings of

Tazzywaller, who was bumping his head on the floor, nor to the advice of Mixtuppa, who was wagging

her head through the curtain. The next moment Panapee stood before the throne. He was as tall and thin

as Tazzywaller was round and fat. His little eyes snapped with glee at sight of the chamberlain rolling

about on the floor. As purse bearer he always had to walk back of Tazzywaller in royal processions, and

to see his rival in disgrace was an exquisite pleasure to the envious old Mudger.

"Your Excellency sent for me?" asked Panapee bowing deeply.

"Yes," shrilled Mustafa, pushing back his turban and pointing a trembling finger at Tazzywaller.

"He says there are no more lions in Mudge and I, Mustafa, must have another lion."

"Your Highness knows best," murmured Panapee, rolling up his eyes and putting his finger tips

together.

"You know as well as I that there are no more lions in Mudge," cried Tazzywaller, springing to

his feet and shaking his fist under Panapee's nose.

"There are other countries besides Mudge," said Panapee loftily. "Now I presume your

Highness was thinking of an odd, unusual sort of lion; something bigger and better than the kind now

fighting amiably in the royal reservation?"

"How well you understand me," sighed Mustafa, sinking back among his cushions. "That's just

what I do want, Pannya strange, rare, royal sort of lion; one who will keep the rest in order and add to

the honor and dignity of our court."

"I have a book," confided Panapee, placing his finger mysteriously beside his nose, "a book of

lions, and if your Highness will but excuse me I will fetch it from my tent."

"Are you going to get a lion out of a book?" asked Mixtuppa sleepily. "How stupid of

Tazzywaller not to have thought of that."

Now, while Panapee goes for his book, I must tell you that Mudge is a blue and barbarous

country in the southwestern part of the Munchkin country of Oz. It is a hot, dry, desert land and the

Mudgers themselves are a short-tempered, long-legged tribe of trouble-makers. They live in blue, striped

tents and, if it were not for their bright blue whiskers, you would take them for Arabs, as they wear

sweeping white robes and turbans to protect themselves from the heat and desert sands.

In olden Oz times the Mudgers used to descend upon the helpless little countries that

surrounded them and carry off everything of value. But Glinda, the good sorceress of Oz, put a stop to

that. One night, flying over Mudge in her swan chariot, she had dropped a blue book and it had fallen on

the oldest Mudger in the kingdom, hitting him a terrible blow on the nose. It had been a blow to them all,

for in gold letters on the first page of the book stood this sentence:

"From this day on, any Mudger leaving thelandofMudgeshall lose his head. By order of Ozma,

Ruler of all Oz."

There were other warnings in the blue book, but the first had changed the whole history of the

country. No Mudger was brave enough to venture out of Mudge after that, so the thieving raids on other

countries had stopped instantly, and the Mudgers, deprived of the pleasure of stealing from their

neighbors, stole from each other, and were always quarreling among themselves and moving their tents

from place to place. The peoples of the surrounding countries would come to the borders of Mudge to

bargain for the dates, figs and cocoanuts for which the land was famous, but Mustafa's grandfather, who

was then ruler of the desert kingdom, disagreeably decided that since no Mudger might leave Mudge no

outsider should enter his country. Warnings were posted on all the borders of Mudge and soon no one

came near the horrid little kingdom, so that it went on growing more blue and barbarous all the time, as

people are bound to do who have no friends or neighbors.

When Mustafa, who really was not a bad fellow at heart, assumed the throne he tried to divert

the minds of his quarrelsome subjects by organizing hunts. There were many lions in the uninhabited parts

of the desert, and for a time hunting lions kept the Mudgers out of mischief. But soon they were

quarreling over even that, and the royal hunting expeditions were more in the nature of battles than

pleasure excursions.

Mustafa, in despair, confided to Tazzywaller that he much preferred the lions to his subjects.

So Tazzywaller had mildly suggested that he keep a few for company. Mustafa, who was terribly bored

with his duties as King, was delighted with the idea and issued orders that hereafter all lions should be

brought to the royal tents.

At first he had kept two or three in a large enclosed cage in his garden, but as his subjects

grew more unmanageable, his affection for lions increased. He insisted upon more and more lions, until,

as Tazzywaller had stated, there were nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine and one-half in the royal

collection. Mustafa pretended that he kept these lions to frighten away the enemies of Mudge, and for

this purpose he had a large iron enclosure erected all around the kingdom, so that no one could come in

or go out without passing through the royal lion reservation. Indeed, when the little Munchkin boys and

girls recited their lessons, they always described Mudge as a country entirely surrounded by lions. But

this was only an excuse. Mustafa knew well enough that no one dared leave Mudge, and that no one

wanted to come there, but it sounded well when the people complained of the lion tax.

Mustafa's lions were a terrible trial to poor Tazzywaller. To keep his position as chief

chamberlain of Mudge, he must produce a lion whenever Mustafa demanded one. This was pretty often;

By his orders the whole country had been combed for lions and only the week before word had been

brought that there was not another lion left in the whole country. Then Tazzywaller himself had gone

hunting, and after an exhausting trip had come upon the very last old lion of Mudge. When Tazzywaller

tried to capture him, the beast had selfishly tried to devour the fat chamberlain. In protecting himself

Tazzywaller cut the old lion in two with his scimitar. Before he could remedy the disaster the front, and

best part, of the lion had jumped over the lion enclosure and disappeared.

In the Fairy Kingdom of Oz nothing can really be killed, so that both halves of the lion were

quite unhurt and lively, but Mustafa had been very angry when Tazzywaller brought him the half he had

managed to catch. It had almost cost him his position.

"To think it was I who suggested lions in the first place," groaned poor Tazzywaller. "Lions!

Bah! Mustafa has a taste for lions and lions have a taste for me!"

"That's odd of them," drawled Mixtuppa, rolling her blue eyes at Tazzy. "Poor taste I call it!"

"Silence!" exploded Mustafa so sharply that Mixtuppa hastily drew in her head. Mustafa was already

regretting his unkindness, but he was too proud to take back his words. Yes, Tazzy would have to feed

the lions. He sighed mournfully; but just then Panapee came whirling through the tent flap, a large book

under his arm.

"This book," puffed Panapee proudly-but he got no further.

"Give it to me," commanded Mustafa, snatch up the volume from Panapee. Even Tazzywaller

edged nearer, and the sleepy head of Mixtuppa was again thrust through the curtain.

"Famous Lions of Oz," read Mustafa, and opened the dusty volume with trembling fingers. But

he got no further than the second page, for there was a picture of the most splendid lion he had ever seen

in his whole Mudger existence, and underneath, in blue letters, stood the words "This is the famous

Cowardly Lion of Oz, King of all forest creatures."

"Cowardly Lion?" gasped Mustafa. "How singular! How rare! Why, he doesn't look cowardly

at all."

"If your Highness will but read," exulted Panapee, pointing to the opposite page. Breathlessly

Mustafa began.

"The Cowardly Lion is one of the most unusual and celebrated lions in Oz. For many years he

ruled over the forest kingdoms, but in the reign of the famous Wizard of Oz the Cowardly Lion was

discovered by a littleKansasgirl named Dorothy. He became so attached to Dorothy that he

accompanied her on her journey to theEmeraldCity, saving her life many times on the way, and proving

so brave, in spite of his cowardice, that he won the love and admiration of all Oz. Since then he has spent

most of his time in the capital city, sharing in all the adventures of court celebrities, and of Dorothy, who

has been made a Royal Princess.

He has, by his many brave deeds, endeared himself to the whole populace and-"

"Panny!" burst out Mustafa, without waiting to read any more, "Panny, that is the lion I want,

the Cowardly Lion of Oz!"

"That is the lion he wants!" repeated Mixtuppa, nodding her head approvingly.

"And of course he shall have it," sniffed Tazzywaller, relieved to think he was no longer

chamberlain. "Panapee, produce this Cowardly Lion. At once!"

"It will take a little time," began the new chamberlain of Mudge nervously. "An expedition must

be fitted out and-"

"How about the warning in the book of Mudge?" asked Tazzywaller sarcastically. "Do you

suppose anyone is going to risk his head just for the honor of catching this Cowardly Lion?"

"It would be a great honor," said Panapee, looking slyly at his rival, "a very great honor. I was

about to suggest that you, dear Tazzywaller, undertake the journey. Even though you were to lose your

head, you could still feed the lions of Mudge."

"Me!" screamed Tazzywaller, almost turning a somersault. "Oh, no, my brave Panapee, it

would be too great an honor for me. I am only the lion feeder. I must feed them at once!" Tazzywaller

started on a run for the door, but Mustafa called him back.

"You used to give me good advice, Tazzywaller," sighed the ruler of Mudge. "Who do you

think could catch this Cowardly Lion of Oz?"

"Why not Panapee?" asked the former chamberlain wickedly. "He is a strong, brave man."

"Yes, but what would your Highness do without an adviser?" quavered Panapee in a tremulous

tone.

"He could take my advice," drawled Mixtuppa, "and to begin with I'd-" What Mixtuppa was

about to advise will never be known, for right here fifteen Mudgers burst into the royal tent. " Lion!"

screamed the first. "Lion! Lion.-Lion!" screamed all the others, whirling their scimitars until the confusion

was terrible.

"Let me catch him!" cried Tazzywaller, but Panapee clutched at his sleeve.

"No, let me!" squealed Panapee, brushing past him. "I am chief chamberlain of Mudge!"

"Perhaps it is the Cowardly Lion," puffed Mustafa, springing rapturously from his throne, and

next minute they had all rolled, run or tumbled out of the tent, screaming in a way to curdle the blood of

twenty lions. Under the largest palm tree in the sandy waste Mustafa was pleased to call his garden stood

a very lumpy and peculiar-looking lion!

*************************************************************

CHAPTER 2

Magic at the Circus

It was raining outside, it was hot and stuffy inside and it was the last day of the circus in

Stumptown. All over the big tent people moved about restlessly on the hard seats, and grumbled when

sudden splashes of rain came pelting through the tent top. Mothers were thinking anxiously of the wet

journey home, young ladies were worrying about their spring bonnets, and even the boys and girls were

only applauding half-heartedly as old Billy, the elephant, rang dinner bells in one ring and the Glicko

sisters swung dizzily from trapezes in the other. The chief clown ran distractedly around both rings. He

stood on his head, he walked on his hands, he leaped over the elephant, he pretended he was a balky

donkey. But no one laughed. They didn't even smile at his oldest jokes.

"This is too terrible," gulped the clown, stepping behind a pillar "Not one real laugh the whole

afternoon! What's the matter with these folks anyway?" He wiped the perspiration from his forehead,

hastily powdered his nose and dashed out again.

It was beginning to thunder now, and the animals in the outside tent set up a dreadful roaring.

From looking bored, the people began to look frightened. Something must be done. The worried clown

rushed into the center ring and sprang to the back of the big elephant.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the clown, waving his arms to attract attention. "Ladies and

gentlemen, I am about to perform one of the most astonishing and amazing feats ever executed-a trick

that has astounded the crowned heads of Europe, Asia and Africa. Ladies and gentlemen-"

People on the back rows, who were already pushing their way toward the exits, paused. A

little girl in the twenty-five-cent seats cheered faintly. Thus encouraged, the clown turned a really

marvelous somersault and landed on the tip of the elephant's trunk.

"Will some small boy kindly step forward," begged the clown, glancing hurriedly along the

front rows. "For this trick I need a small, active boy. Ah, there he is!"

Urging the elephant to the very edge of the ring, the clown snatched a small, red-headed boy

from a group of solemn-eyed orphans, who had been brought to the circus for a special treat. The crowd

gasped with surprise, and the orphan tried to wriggle out of his coat, but the clown held on firmly.

"One toss of this boy into the air, and he will disappear; a toss of my cap and he will reappear.

Watch!" cried the clown, putting his fingers to his lips.

"What are you trying to do?" demanded the ringmaster in a hoarse whisper. "You can't really

make him disappear, you know."

The clown realized this, but he was going to make that crowd laugher disappear himself. With

a shrill whistle that made even the old elephant prick up his ears, he tossed the orphan to his shoulder and

reeled off the first ridiculous rhyme that popped into his head. And this was it:

"Udge! Budge! Go to Mudge! Udger budger, You're a Mudger!"

A roar of delight went up from the crowd, and a roar of terror from the ringmaster, for the

orphan had disappeared - disappeared as completely as a punctured balloon!

"Help!" screamed the clown, dancing frantically up and down on the elephant's head. The

audience was enchanted and rocking to and fro with merriment.

"That's the best trick I've ever seen," gurgled a fat man, mopping his face. "Look at him

pretending to be frightened. Come on now, bring him back, you!"

The clown cried out another verse:

"Udge! Budge! Go to Mudge! Udger budger, I'm a Mudger!"

There was a tearing rip and a clap of thunder. The crowd stared, rubbed its eyes and stared

again. No clown, no orphan! Why, this was tremendous! They stamped with glee and shouted their

approval. But the ringmaster fell breathlessly against a post, and the owner of the circus, with popping

eyes, started on a run for the dressing tent. Not a bit too soon, either, for in a few seconds the crowd

stopped laughing as suddenly as it had begun. Umbrellas were brandished furiously, and people shouted

at the ringmaster to produce the orphan at once. The ringmaster was shaking in his shiny shoes, but he

resolved to save himself if he could. Raising his whip for silence, he announced in his most impressive

voice that the best part of the trick was to come-that the clown and orphan were at that minute standing

at the circus gate to wave goodbye to the company, one of the most distinguished and delightful

companies it had ever been their pleasure to entertain. He clicked his heels together, made a deep bow

and the crowd, convinced that he was speaking the truth, began to stream out of the big tent.

Without waiting another second, the ringmaster grasped old Billy by the ear and ran him

toward the animal tent. In five minutes the whole circus force was dashing about in the pelting rain,

dragging out cages, prodding the elephants, tugging at the big horses, pulling down the tents.

"Something terrible has happened; we've got to move out of here," chattered the owner of the

show, rushing from group to group. By the time the indignant old gentleman who had brought the orphans

to the circus had been to the gate and back, the first of the heavy circus wagons was already rattling over

the hill. The few workmen, hastening the last bits of loading, shook their heads dully when he demanded

the orphan and, after threatening and stamping in vain, the distracted old gentleman ran off to fetch the

police, with the thirty-nine other orphans splashing delightedly behind him.

Police! What could police do against magic? How did the clown know that the rhyme that had

popped into his head was an old Oz formula? It had carried off the orphan like a skyrocket, and when

the clown had frantically repeated the magic words, he too had been snatched into the air, hurled through

the tent top, and flung down beside the frightened little boy in the strangest land he had ever seen.

Fortunately they had fallen on a soft dune of sand, and around them for miles and miles stretched a flat

and silvery desert.

CHAPTER 3 At the Court of Mudge

NEITHER the clown nor the boy spoke for several minutes. To tell the truth, they were

breathless. Then the clown sat up and looked doubtfully at the orphan.

"Well, here we are," he said, winking more from force of habit than because he felt particularly

jolly.

"Yes, sir!" gulped the orphan, swallowing hard.

"Now don't call me sir," begged the clown, making conversation to gain time. "Don't call me sir

because I worked in a circus. My name is Notta-Notta Bit More. I was the last of twelve children, and

my mother and father could not agree on a name for me. Every time my mother said, 'Call him Augustus

Elmer More,' my father said, 'not a bit of it.' After while, being a clown himself and a joker by trade, he

began calling me 'Notta Bit More' and Notta I've been ever since." The clown winked again. "Call me

Notta, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," replied the orphan, swallowing again and trying not to cry. Seeing this, Notta turned

a double somersault and stood on his head.

"And what is your name?" he asked, waving his legs cheerfully. "Bobbie Downs," sniffed the

orphan, with another swallow.

"How did you get it?" The clown dropped down beside the little boy.

"I think it came with me, sir," said Bobbie faintly.

"Well, if you don't mind, we'll change it to Bob Up-for that's what we've done-and Bob Up

sounds more lively than Bobbie Downs, don't you think?"

While Notta was talking he was glancing anxiously around him. "Bob," he said finally, "I think

we've fallen in with another circus. See, there are tents, and I hear lions roaring." "So do I," said Bobbie

beginning to look more interested than frightened.

"Yes, it's either a circus or a sea shore without any sea," continued the clown, running his

fingers through the sand. "But anyway, here I am and here you are, and so long as you are here we'll bob

up together. Let's go on to the main tent and see the show."

Bobbie stood up and shook the water from his cap. They were both dripping wet from the

storm they had passed through, but the sun and wind of this queer desert country soon dried them off

and, conversing almost cheerfully, they trudged through the deep sand toward a large blue, striped tent.

"I've done a heap of traveling in my time," confided Notta, "but never in just this way. I've run

into some strange places and walked into others; but this is the first time I ever talked myself into a

country. There we were in a circus, quiet and natural like, then that rhyme pops into my head. I say it and

off we go like a couple of skyrockets. We were just talked into this country, Bob, my boy, and a mighty

tricky business I call it. But never mind, we'll just follow the rules anyway.

"What rules?" asked Bob, looking curiously at some tall palm trees, waving in the distance. He

had never supposed palm trees existed outside of geography books.

"Why," explained Notta, "just four simple little rules I made up to use in case of danger or

trouble. First," he pulled out his little finger, "first I disguise myself. If that fails, I'm extreemly polite. If

politeness doesn't do, I tell a joke. If the joke fails, I shout something no one can understand and run like

sixty. So don't you worry, Bob; stick to me and run when I run and everything will turn out right. Do you

know what makes me so fat?"

Bob shook his head.

"Disguises!" whispered Notta triumphantly. "I use them for padding. Mighty handy when I

tumble about. Yes, sir, in here." Notta fondly patted his bulging Suit. "In here I have six marvelous

disguises ready to put on at a moment's notice, and in here," Notta tapped his powdery forehead, "in

here, I've sixty different jokes, and lots of things I don't understand myself, so you see we are prepared

for everything." "Yes, sir," said Bobbie solemnly, for he was a very solemn little boy. Living in an orphan

asylum had made him that way and, as for adventures, he had never had an adventure in his life. There

were lessons and meals and punishments, and once in a while a fight among the older boys, but no one in

that big, busy home had time to talk to Bobbie Downs, nor answer his questions. So Bobbie had grown

quieter and more solemn each year of the seven he had spent in the dull gray asylum.

Notta looked at the little boy curiously as he trudged along beside him. The kindly clown

decided that he was going to like Bob Up, and right there he decided that Bob Up was going to have a

little fun. "I'll bet he's never laughed out loud in his whole life," thought the clown to himself, and began

running over in his head the funniest jokes that he knew. He had just determined on the one about the pig

and the pound of bacon, when an ear splitting screech knocked all thought of joking out of his mind. A

huge figure, with bristling blue whiskers, had stepped out from behind a palm tree, taken one look at the

two strangers and then disappeared in the direction of the blue tent, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Is it Blue Beard?" quavered Bob, clutching Notta.

"Bob," said the clown, swallowing hard, "I don't know, but we'll just try rule one." Fumbling in

the bosom of his suit he dragged out a brown bundle, and before the little boy could wink had stepped

into it and dropped on all fours.

"I'm a lion," panted Notta, "and if I roar loudly enough I may frighten them off. Stick close to

me, Bob, and try to remember the rules. If I run, you run-understand?"

"Yes, sir!" gasped Bob, his eyes as round as cookies, for Notta's disguise was so real that he

was almost afraid himself. Scarcely had Notta cleared his throat for a growl than a white robed company

burst out of the blue tent, and descended upon them in a whirl of sand and scimitars. Bob was as brave

as any boy, but his retired life in an orphan asylum had not prepared him for anything like this. Tears

started to his eyes. With a scream. of fright, he grasped Notta's woolly mane.

"You'd better stop crying and get ready to run," whispered the clown nervously and finished

his sentence with such a roar that Bob jumped quite three feet. But the wild white company kept right on

coming and, before Notta could get another growl going, a net was thrown over his head, a dozen of the

blue whiskered villains were upon him and next instant he was rolling over and over in the sandy road.

L. Frank Baum - Oz 17 - The Cowardly Lion Of Oz

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