Chapter Twelve

The Giant Porcupine

Next morning they started out bright and early to

follow the road of yellow bricks toward the

Emerald City. The little Munchkin boy was

beginning to feel tired from the long walk, and he

had a great many things to think of and consider

besides the events of the journey. At the

wonderful Emerald City, which he would presently

reach, were so many strange and curious people

that he was half afraid of meeting them and

wondered if they would prove friendly and kind.

Above all else, he could not drive from his mind

the important errand on which he had come, and he

was determined to devote every energy to finding

the things that were necessary to prepare

the magic recipe. He believed that until dear

Unc Nunkie was restored to life he could feel

no joy in anything, and often he wished that

Unc could be with him, to see all the astonishing

things Ojo was seeing. But alas Unc Nunkie was now

a marble statue in the house of the Crooked

Magician and Ojo must not falter in his efforts to

save him.

The country through which they were passing was

still rocky and deserted, with here and there a

bush or a tree to break the dreary landscape. Ojo

noticed one tree, especially, because it had such

long, silky leaves and was so beautiful in shape.

As he approached it he studied the tree earnestly,

wondering if any fruit grew on it or if it bore

pretty flowers.

Suddenly he became aware that he had been

looking at that tree a long time—at least for

five minutes—and it had remained in the same

position, although the boy had continued to

walk steadily on. So he stopped short. and when

he stopped, the tree and all the landscape, as

well as his companions, moved on before him

and left him far behind.

Ojo uttered such a cry of astonishment that

it aroused the Shaggy Man, who also halted.

The others then stopped, too, and walked back

to the boy.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Shaggy Man.

“Why, we’re not moving forward a bit, no

matter how fast we walk,” declared Ojo. “Now

that we have stopped, we are moving backward!

Can’t you see? Just notice that rock.”

Scraps looked down at her feet and said:

“The yellow bricks are not moving.”

“But the whole road is,” answered Ojo.

“True; quite true,” agreed the Shaggy Man.

“I know all about the tricks of this road, but I

have been thinking of something else and didn’t

realize where we were.”

“It will carry us back to where we started

from,” predicted Ojo, beginning to be nervous.

“No,” replied the Shaggy Man; “it won’t do

that, for I know a trick to beat this tricky road.

I’ve traveled this way before, you know. Turn

around, all of you, and walk backward.”

“What good will that do?” asked the cat.

“You’ll find out, if you obey me,” said the

Shaggy Man.

So they all turned their backs to the direction

in which they wished to go and began walking

backward. In an instant Ojo noticed they were

gaining ground and as they proceeded in this

curious way they soon passed the tree which had

first attracted his attention to their difficulty.

“How long must we keep this up, Shags?”

asked Scraps, who was constantly tripping and

tumbling down, only to get up again with a

laugh at her mishap.

“Just a little way farther,” replied the Shaggy

Man.

A few minutes later he called to them to turn

about quickly and step forward, and as they

obeyed the order they found themselves treading

solid ground.

“That task is well over,” observed the Shaggy

Man. “It’s a little tiresome to walk backward, but

that is the only way to pass this part of the

road, which has a trick of sliding back and

carrying with it anyone who is walking upon it.”

With new courage and energy they now

trudged forward and after a time came to a

place where the road cut through a low hill,

leaving high banks on either side of it. They

were traveling along this cut, talking together,

when the Shaggy Man seized Scraps with one

arm and Ojo with another and shouted: “Stop!”

“What’s wrong now?” asked the Patchwork Girl.

“See there!” answered the Shaggy Man, pointing

with his finger.

Directly in the center of the road lay a

motionless object that bristled all over with

sharp quills, which resembled arrows. The body was

as big as a ten-bushel basket, but the projecting

quills made it appear to be four times bigger.

“Well, what of it?” asked Scraps.

“That is Chiss, who causes a lot of trouble

along this road,” was the reply.

“Chiss! What is Chiss?

“I think it is merely an overgrown porcupine,

but here in Oz they consider Chiss an evil spirit.

He’s different from a reg’lar porcupine, because

he can throw his quills in any direction, which

an American porcupine cannot do. That’s what

makes old Chiss so dangerous. If we get too

near, he’ll fire those quills at us and hurt us

badly.”

“Then we will be foolish to get too near,

said Scraps.

“I’m not afraid,” declared the Woozy. “The Chiss

is cowardly, I’m sure, and if it ever heard my

awful, terrible, frightful growl, it would be

scared stiff.”

“Oh; can you growl?” asked the Shaggy Man.

“That is the only ferocious thing about me,”

asserted the Woozy with evident pride. “My growl

makes an earthquake blush and the thunder ashamed

of itself. If I growled at that creature you call

Chiss, it would immediately think the world had

cracked in two and bumped against the sun and

moon, and that would cause the monster to run as

far and as fast as its legs could carry it.”

“In that case,” said the Shaggy Man, “you are

now able to do us all a great favor. Please

growl.”

“But you forget,” returned the Woozy; “my

tremendous growl would also frighten you, and

if you happen to have heart disease you might

expire.”

“True; but we must take that risk,” decided

the Shaggy Man, bravely. “Being warned of

what is to occur we must try to bear the terrific

noise of your growl; but Chiss won’t expect it,

and it will scare him away.”

The Woozy hesitated.

“I’m fond of you all, and I hate to shock you,”

it said.

“Never mind,” said Ojo.

“You may be made deaf.”

“If so, we will forgive you.

“Very well, then,” said the Woozy in a

determined voice, and advanced a few steps 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 be cause 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.