Charles Darwin And The Origin Of Species

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Charles Darwin And The Origin Of
Species

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 Charles Darwin And The
Origin Of Species

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.
look as though they would be able to take the offensive again for
quite a while to come. They were covered with bumps and swellings
and they limped and groaned and muttered.
“P-p-put mud on the stings,” Mark called to them. “It’ll take the f-
fire out.”
Not one of them said a word. They just mogged along to the
hotel, a pretty unhappy lot.
“Did you get stung much?” I asked Mark.
“Not once,” says he, with a grin.
“How ever did you work it?” says Plunk.
“Well,” says Mark, tickled to be getting some more admiration, “I
f-found that nest the other day and sat down to figger out how we
could use it. It wasn’t hard to figger what to do with it, but it took
more calc’latin’ to f-f-find how to do what I wanted to. But there’s
always some way.”
Now that was just like Mark Tidd. Always some way. He believed
that. It didn’t matter what happened, or what had to be done, he
knew there was some way to do it, and usually he’d figure and plan
and calculate till he found it.
“I got the idee,” he went on, “to take the n-nest in a pail and keep
the hornets in with a cover. So, when I n-needed ’em I sneaked up
and shoved the pail over the nest gentle-like and cautious. Then,
mighty quick, I can t-t-tell you, I cut down the nest with the cover
and s-s-slapped the cover on the pail. It was as easy as p-p-pie.”
“Yes,” says I, “and it made it easy for the enemy.”
Well, that was the last we saw of those Japanese that day. I
guess the whole army went into the hospital. But we didn’t feel like
organizing any Red Cross to help their wounded. Not much.
 CHAPTER XVI
Next morning we saw a little procession come out of the hotel.
Walking ahead was The Man, as jaunty as ever, or at least trying to
be. A man can’t be very jaunty with a limp in his left leg and his
eyes swelled ’most shut with hornet stings. Behind him were three
Japanese carrying bundles over their shoulders. It looked like they
were abandoning the siege.
“Hey, Mark!” I yelled. “Come look! The war’s over.”
He came hustling and watched the Japanese till they traveled out
of sight around the bend of the road.
“We licked ’em,” says I.
“Tallow,” says Mark, “you m-may be right. I hope so. But—I
calc’late you ain’t.”
“Then what are they goin’ away for?”
“To make you think what you thought,” says he. “And,” he says,
“where’s the fifth man?”
Would you believe it, but I hadn’t noticed the fifth man wasn’t
there. That did make it look a bit fishy until I had an idea. “Maybe
he was on guard across the lake,” says I.
Mark nodded. “Maybe so,” he says, “but I guess we won’t l-l-lower
the drawbridge, for all that. If Motu’s worth gettin’ he’s worth tryin’
for harder’n those f-fellows have tried. And if I’m any judge The Man
Who Will Come isn’t a quitter.”
“A nest of hornets’ll make ’most anybody quit,” says I.
“Yes,” says he, “but we’re just out of h-hornets—and he knows it.
He knows we can’t be f-f-firin’ hornet bombs at him every trip.”
“What do you figger they’re goin’ to do, then?”
 “Somethin’ we don’t f-f-figger on,” says he, with a grin. “That man
has got a scheme, I’ll bet, and it’ll be harder to beat him when he
schemes than when he just f-f-fights.”
“Well?” says I.
“Well,” says he, “we’ll get to work strengthenin’ our defenses.
Plunk and Binney keep watch—and a sharp watch, t-t-too. You and
Motu come along.”
I’ve told you that the citadel was three stories high. The lower
floor had been an old boat-house; the second and third floors had
been sleeping-rooms for the help and storage. There was just one
stairway leading up, and that was outside. It started from the
platform facing the hotel and went up to the first balcony; then it
took another start from there and went up to the balcony of the
third floor. There wasn’t any other way to get up.
“Here’s our secondary l-line of defense,” says Mark, when we got
to the stairs. “We’ll fix ’em so’s they’ll be hard to climb. S’pose the
enemy should make a landin’ on the island. Well, we’ll retreat to the
second floor—and there won’t be any stairs to climb up to us on.”
“Goin’ to chop ’em down?”
“No,” says he. “Goin’ to p-p-pull ’em up.”
“Can’t be done,” says I. “They’re nailed down.”
“I’ll show you,” says he.
There were some old tools in the boat-house and we got them
out. First we drew the nails that held down the bottom of the stairs.
Next we braced the stairs so they couldn’t fall, and sawed through
the side-pieces at the top. Mark fixed these just like he had fixed the
drawbridge—with hinges. When that was all done he drove staples
in the lower step, fastened a rope to them, and led it through
another staple in the roof. The end of the rope he tied to a nail at
the top of the stairs where it would be handy.
“Let’s try her,” says I.
We did, and the stairs came up as easy as falling off a log—just
raised up against the floor above, and didn’t leave a thing to come
up on. We lowered them again and braced them with two-by-fours.
After that we fixed the stairs between the third and second floors
the same way.
“I guess we’ll be pretty d-d-difficult to get at up here,” says Mark.
And I thought so, too.
“Bring the lances,” says Mark. And I got them and put them
handy at the top of the first stairway.
“Now,” says he, “barrin’ a surprise, we’re in pretty good shape.”
When we were all through we were pretty tired and sat down on
the ground under the spruce-trees to rest. Mark had a book and I
got out a Boston paper we had brought with us. It was pretty nearly
a week old, but I figured there might be something interesting in it,
for all that.
I sort of browsed around in it without finding anything to get
excited about, till I came to the third or fourth page, but there was a
little piece about two inches long that told how the Japanese
minister to the United States had taken a summer place at Fullington
in the State we were in, and was planning to stay there till the 1st of
September. It told a little about the house and grounds, but that
wasn’t so interesting.
“Mark,” says I, “listen.” And I read it to him. “Do you s’pose Motu’s
got anythin’ to do with him?” I whispered it so Motu wouldn’t hear.
He was a dozen feet off and dozing, anyhow.
“Somehow,” says Mark, “I b’lieve this would be as much news to
Motu as it is to us.”
“Funny thing,” says I, “that the Japanese minister would be in this
State, and that Motu would be here, and that five other Japs would
be if there wasn’t some connection.”
“Don’t b’lieve it,” says he. “We’ll see.” He turned and called Motu,
who opened his eyes quick and sprang up. “No danger,” says Mark,
with a grin, “just wanted to ask you a question.”
“Of course,” says Motu, “I shall be glad to answer.”
 “Did you know,” says Mark, “that the minister f-f-from your
country had taken a summer home in this State?”
“What?” says Motu, excited in a second.
“He has,” says Mark. “Near Fullington, wherever that is. Let’s see.”
Mark always carried one of those little pocket dictionaries with
maps of all the States, and how to tell the number of board feet in a
log, and how to get a sliver out of your finger, and how many folks
live in Timbuctoo, and how many ounces in a pound, and the area of
Greenland, and such-like wisdom. He took it out and found our State
and began looking for Fullington. In a minute he found it, and
according to the map it was about half an inch from our town.
“F-f-fifty miles to the inch,” says Mark. “Then Fullington’s only
about twenty-five miles from here.”
“From town,” says I. “We’re ten miles from town. Maybe
Fullington’s in the other direction.”
“No,” says he, “it’s almost n-north, and we’re almost north. So
Fullington can’t be more’n f-f-fifteen miles.”
Mark stopped and looked at Motu. Motu was sitting with his chin
in his hands, looking off across the lake, and if I ever saw anybody
thinking hard, he was doing it then. We waited quite a while, but
Motu kept right on thinking, just as if we weren’t there with curiosity
oozing out of every inch of us. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Did you know he was there?” I asked.
“No,” says Motu. “It was great surprise to me.”
“Do you know him?” says I.
Motu kind of hesitated. “I have seen him in my own country,” says
he. “Yes, I have even spoken with him.”
“A minister to the United States is a pretty great man, isn’t he?”
says I.
“He is a great man and a good man and a wise man,” says Motu.
Then he says to himself, like he had forgotten about us again:
“Fifteen miles.... Only fifteen miles.”
 Mark winked at me and we got up and went away as quiet as we
could. Motu never noticed us go, but just looked out across the lake
and thought and thought and thought.
“I wonder if Motu’s any relation to the minister from Japan?” I
says. “Maybe it’s his father.”
“If the m-m-minister was his father Motu would be apt to know
where he lived,” says Mark, a bit sarcastic.
“He was a heap interested in the news that the minister was in
Fullington,” says I.
“I can’t make him out. He didn’t seem glad, exactly,” says Mark.
“He didn’t seem s-s-sorry, either. Just interested—and speculatin’. I’ll
bet that right now Motu’s figgerin’ whether the minister can do him
any good, and if he can how we’re to get to him.”
“Maybe Motu wouldn’t want him to know he was besieged here.”
“I was thinkin’ that,” says Mark. “But,” he went on, after he’d
scowled and pinched his cheek for a couple of minutes, “I think it
would be a g-g-good thing if the minister did know it—if word was
got to him that Motu was here and what was goin’ on. Maybe he
wouldn’t be int’rested a cent’s worth, and maybe he’d be willin’ to
give a whole heap to know.”
“Anyhow,” says I, “he don’t know, and, furthermore, he ain’t likely
to find out very soon.”
“Tallow,” says Mark, sort of solemn, “I believe Motu’s somebody p-
p-pretty important. This ain’t just an ordinary scrape we’re in. S’pose
somebody important in Japan should come to the United States and
somethin’ unpleasant should h-h-happen to him. It would sort of
reflect on the United States, wouldn’t it? To be sure it would.
Besides, how would f-f-folks in Japan look at it? From all I can
gather they don’t love the United States much. Havin’ somethin’
happen to a person they honor would make ’em mad, wouldn’t it?”
“Likely to,” says I, “but ’tain’t likely the Japanese nation would get
much excited over one boy—or honor him much, either. Motu’s all
right and I like him, but I don’t see as he’s any more wonderful than
the rest of us. Well, the whole United States isn’t honorin’ you and
me much, are they? I rather guess not. Then neither is Japan
honorin’ a boy, either.”
“Japan’s different. They’ve got emperors and princes and dukes
and such over there. Guess they’d honor a b-b-boy emperor,
wouldn’t they?”
“You don’t calc’late Motu’s Emperor of Japan, do you?”
“No, nor a prince, either, nor yet a duke. But he’s somebody
besides the feller that s-s-sells peanuts on the corner, you can bet.”
“What if he is? What are we goin’ to do about it?”
“Wish I knew.... If there was s-s-some way of doin’ it I’d send
word to the minister at Fullington, and l-let him do what he wanted
to. I wouldn’t say anythin’ to Motu about it.”
“But you can’t.”
“It l-looks that way. If you’re right and the Japanese have gone,
then there ain’t any need to send. If they h-haven’t gone—and I
don’t much think they have—why, they wouldn’t let a messenger get
past.”
“Correct,” says I.
“But,” says he, “we m-m-might as well get ready to take
advantage of anythin’ that h-happened.”
“How?” says I.
“By gettin’ the m-m-message all ready to send,” says he.
He went mogging off into the citadel where he had some paper
and ink and stamps to write to his folks with, and there he sat down
and wrote a letter.
The Minister from Japan [it began].
Dear Sir,—Are you interested in a Japanese boy named
Motu, who owns a short sword with things carved on the
blade of it? He is a Samurai, I guess. Anyhow, he talks
about them. He is here in an old hotel on Lake Ravona
with four American boys. They are besieged by five
Japanese men who want to capture Motu. So far we have
 beaten them. The leader of the enemy is a Japanese man
who wears one round eyeglass and carries a cane and
wears a Bankok hat and dresses like a dude. He is
dangerous, all right. If you are interested you had better
hurry along, because things are getting pretty shaky. I
never wrote to any Japanese ministers before, so I hope
this letter has not done any harm.
Yours truly,
Marcus Aurelius Fortunatus Tidd.
Mark read it over and then says: “I thought I’d better sign my
whole n-n-name when I was writing to a man like that. It l-looks
better than just Mark Tidd.”
“It looks longer, anyhow,” says I. “Now what’ll we do with the
letter? Throw it overboard in a bottle?”
“Not quite; but we’ll put it in an envelope with a stamp on it, and
if a c-c-chance comes we’ll either d-d-deliver it or mail it.”
“Here’s hopin’,” says I, “that the chance comes pretty quick.”
 CHAPTER XVII
“Tallow,” says Mark, “have you got the n-n-nerve to swim this lake
in the dark?”
“I’d do it in daytime,” says I. “It can’t be half a mile across, and I
could make that like rollin’ off a log. But night’s a different thing.”
I went out and took a look at the lake. It began to look wider to
me. That’s always the way with things. If you’re not going to jump
across a hole the hole don’t look wide, but just you step up to it
ready to jump and it seems to stretch out about twice as big as it
was before.
“If I could only have some kind of a mark to steer by—a light or
somethin’.”
“There’s that big h-hemlock,” says Mark, pointing. “That will s-s-
stick up against the sky, and you could head for it.”
“Well,” says I, “I’ll try it, but I’d rather go to an ice-cream festival.
It’ll be pretty chilly.”
“We’ll rub lard on you,” says Mark.
“Rather have it in pie crust,” I says, for the idea of being greased
up from top to toe didn’t set well on my stomach.
“I’ve been t-thinkin’ things over,” says Mark, “and it looks to me
like it was our duty to try to get this letter sent to the Japanese
minister.”
“It’s a shame,” says I, “that there ain’t more swimmers in this
crowd. I’ll turn into a fish.”
“You’d better start about an hour before s-s-sun-up,” says Mark.
“That will get you safe to shore before daylight. Then strike for the
road and wait for s-s-somebody to come along. Give ’em the letter
to mail.”
“Sure,” says I, “and what about comin’ back?”
 “Better get back as soon’s you can. They’re l-likely to make some
kind of an attack.”
“All right,” says I, “but I calc’late I’ll want to lay around a spell in
the sun and rest up.”
“Take some t-t-towels with you,” says Mark.
“What for? Be as wet as I would.”
“Shucks! Use your head. D-d-didn’t expect to carry ’em in your
mouth, did you? No. Well, just put ’em in a dishpan and float ’em
ahead of you. Then you can rub yourself hard and get up circulation.
Get you warm in a jiffy.”
“Put in my shoes, too,” says I. “Climbin’ over the rocks ain’t good
for bare feet.”
We didn’t see a Japanese before I went to bed, which was pretty
early, because I wanted to get in a good sleep. I got it, too.
Shouldn’t wonder if I’m close to being the world’s prize sleeper.
Anyhow, I come next to Mark. But he can wake up when he wants
to. I never wake up till somebody gets rough with me.
Mark did just that—got rough with me—about three o’clock in the
morning, and I turned out in the chilliest morning air you ever felt. It
seemed like it would frost-bite you as fast as you got out from under
the covers into it. Honest, it was just like sticking your feet into ice-
water to shove them out of bed. Right there I lost my ambition to go
swimming.
“I guess,” says I, “that I’ve done about all the letter-writin’ to the
Japanese minister that I need to. I don’t owe him any letter.”
“’Tis chilly,” says Mark, and he grinned and sort of wriggled all
over like he enjoyed something.
“I wish it was you goin’,” says I. “Maybe you wouldn’t giggle so
hard.”
“Water’ll be warmer t-t-than the air,” says he.
“It could do that and still freeze you to death,” I says, as cross as
two sticks. “Gimme the letter.”
 I wrapped a blanket around me to keep me alive till I got to the
water. Mark had the dishpan all ready with the towels and my shoes
tied into it, and the letter under them.
“Now,” says he, “git off the end of the island and s-s-slide in
cautious. Likely we’re bein’ watched every second.”
I went off alone into the dark and for once I wished I’d never
seen Mark Tidd. I wished he hadn’t moved to Wicksville, and I
wished he wasn’t fat, and I wished he didn’t stutter. I just wished he
wasn’t at all. But when I got into the water I felt better. It was
surprising how warm and comfortable the water was, after the air. I
swam easy and slow till I could get my bearings. It was pretty dark,
but not so dark but what I could see the black shape of the old
hemlock against the sky. When I had it located I laid low and
steered for it.
It was a good long swim, but I had swum distances enough to
know better than to tire myself out at the start. I just mogged along,
stopping to float every once in a while, and before I knew it I was
across. It hadn’t been anything. The worst part was the
lonesomeness of it and the thought that came a couple of times;
what would I do if I got cramps? Ugh!
But I didn’t. I made it—and then had to get out into that air
again. Wow! Cold? It was as cold as Greenland multiplied by Iceland,
with Hudson’s Bay thrown in to fill the basket.
You better guess that I grabbed those towels and began to rub
myself. I rubbed and scrubbed till the skin was ready to come off like
the peel of an orange. But it did warm me just like Mark said it
would. After I was tired rubbing I picked out an open space and
capered up and down in it. I expect I looked like a luny there in the
woods without anything on but a towel tied around the middle of
me, and me doing some sort of wild Injun dance all by myself. I
almost had to laugh.
Pretty soon it began to grow light and I made for the road, going
pretty careful. There was no telling where those Japanese might be.
It was lucky I did go careful, too, for I hadn’t gone a quarter of a
mile before I smelled smoke and in a minute saw the glow of a fire.
Right there I stopped navigation. When I went ahead again it was
at quarter speed with my hand on the throttle. You’ve heard about
Injuns and how still they can go through the woods. Well, that
morning I beat any Injun Cooper ever read about. I made so little
noise that the woods were stiller than if I hadn’t been there at all.
The fire was down in a little hollow. I skirted around it, but near
enough so I could see who was camping there. It was two Japanese,
one asleep, the other watching. I laughed inside. He wasn’t doing as
good a job of watching as he thought he was. I could have plunked
him with my slingshot, and I had half a mind to do it. But common
sense came along just then and I made tracks away.
One thing was sure. The Japanese hadn’t left us. They were
trying to bamboozle us into getting careless, just as Mark had said.
It got lighter and lighter as I went along, and after a while I came
to the road. The first thing I did was to find a sheltered place where
I could keep out of the breeze, watch the road, and be out of sight.
Then I started in to wait.
Waiting is the meanest job in the world. I’d rather do ’most
anything else than wait. You keep thinking every minute that what
you’re waiting for will be along, and then when it don’t come you get
impatient, and then you get irritable, and then you get mad, and
after a long while you just sit there and chaw your knuckles and
wish there was somebody to kick.
I’d got to the kicking stage when I heard something coming from
away from town. A man was talking.
“Don’t yuh stop,” he says. “Keep on a-goin’. Jest shove one foot
ahead and then foller it with another. If yuh stop agin I calc’late to
most take the hide offn you. Whup! Wiggle your ears if you want to.
G’wan, now.”
In a minute along came a mule with ears about a foot long. He
was a humorous-looking mule, with a sort of twinkle in his eye. He
was dragging a two-wheeled thing the like of which I’d never seen
before, and in it was the disappointedest-looking man you ever saw.
He wasn’t a big man, nor a little man. He was just an in-between
man. Not only in size, but I guess in everything else. He was shabby,
and his hat was battered, and he hadn’t shaved for about two
weeks. My, but he looked mournful!
All the time he kept talking to his mule, begging him to keep on
going and not to stop, till I stepped out in the road and said good
morning.
The mule stopped and spread all four legs like he wasn’t willing to
be pushed in any direction. He looked like something that somebody
had braced up so the wind wouldn’t blow it down.
“Good mornin’?” says the man, making a question of it. “Good
mornin’ nothin’. Look what you’ve up and done. You’ve stopped my
automobeel. Dumbdest enjine in this here automobeel you ever
seen.”
“Sorry I stopped him,” says I, “but I just had to do it.”
The man sighed. “Well, young feller, ’tain’t as if I wasn’t used to
it. It’s startin’ that hurts my feelin’s. Why, when this here
automobeel of mine decides to start it s’prises me so I come nigh to
fallin’ off my seat!”
“No!” says I, like I was astonished.
“Yes,” says he. “Honest. D’yuh know, I bought this here outfit to
travel in. To git from one place to another place. I kind of had it in
mind to make a bid for the job of carryin’ mail on the rooral free
delivery. That’s what I done. So I bought me this here automobeel.
Then d’yuh know what I done?”
“No,” says I.
“I built me a garage,” says he, pronouncing garage as though you
spelled it garagh. “Yes, sir. I up and built me one of them garages.
Fine one it was, too. Roof on to it and four sides and a door. Got it
done. Looked fust class. Then what did I do but run this here
automobeel up alongside and show the garage to him.” He stopped
and rubbed his nose with his sleeve.
 “What did he do?” says I.
“Do? Why, young feller, he done what he’s doin’ now! He reached
out with his four hoofs and took a holt of the ground and hung on.
Ever try to pull a cat offn your coat when she’s a notion she wants to
stay with you and sticks her claws into the cloth? To be sure. This
here automobeel of mine’s jest like that. He hung on to the ground,
and would he go in? No, he would not. Not any. That was two weeks
ago, and he hain’t been in yet. I’m a-goin’ to take the advice of a
hoss-doctor, that’s what I be. The critter’s out of his head.”
“What did you do with him nights?”
“Jest left him. He liked it. Give this here automobeel of mine his
choice between standin’ with his legs braced, and eatin’ a peck of
oats, and he’ll pick the standin’ every time. Ornery! Jim Sloan says
why didn’t I p’int his hind quarters toward the garage and pull the
other way. Figgered the contrairiness of the critter’d cause him to
back off and go plumb where I wanted him to. Did it work? Naw.
Couldn’t fool him. Not a mite. All the movin’ he done was sideways.
Got a scheme now, though.”
“What is it?” says I.
“Goin’ to peg him down. Four pegs, one to each leg. Hold him
tight. Then I’ll git help and move the garage over him. He! he! he!
Guess that’ll s’prise him some.”
“Better put your garage on wheels so’s it’ll be easy to wheel it
around,” says I. “Then you can push it over him every night.”
“Young feller,” says the man, “that’s a noble idee. It’s wuth the
money. Glad you stopped me.”
“Much obliged,” says I. “What I stopped you for was to get you to
carry a letter for me. Just drop it in the post-office.”
“Any hurry, young feller?”
“Sort of pressin’,” says I.
“I’ll do my best, but I hain’t guaranteein’ nothin’. May be a week
’fore I post it. How far you calc’late I live up the road?”
“Haven’t any idea,” says I.
 “Four miles. How long you calc’late I’ve been gittin’ to here?”
“Half an hour,” says I.
“Ho! Half an hour! I swan! Young feller, I’ve been clost to two
days and a night. Started from home that long ago. Spent most of
the time beggin’ this here automobeel of mine to move. Rests an
hour, then gits a move on for a hundred feet, then rests an hour.
Calc’late I’ll git to town along ’bout Christmas.”
“Well,” says I, “you ain’t encouragin’, but you’re the best chance
I’ve got. Here’s the letter. And much obliged.”
“Welcome,” says he. “Wonder if it’ll go. Dumbdest engine ever
was in a automobeel.”
I went off and left him pulling and hauling at the mule’s ears,
trying to get him to start. For fifteen minutes I could hear him
arguing with the critter, and then I passed out of sight. I’d been
gone from the island and the citadel about four hours and a half, I
figured.
 CHAPTER XVIII
I started to swim back, pushing my dishpan ahead of me. The sun
began to warm things up and it was a lot more comfortable than it
had been on my first trip across. I just poked along, enjoying myself
and hoping breakfast would be kept warm for me. That was as near
as I came to having breakfast for quite some time. When I got back
to the citadel I had something to think about besides eating; in fact,
I had before I got to the citadel.
I was about a hundred yards from the citadel and going easy
when I heard a splashing off to one side. I raised up, and there, not
two hundred feet away, was a raft with two Japanese on it. They
hadn’t seen me, but were making for the citadel as fast as they
could go. I got as low in the water as was possible to anything but a
fish, and put on full steam. It was lucky they had such a clumsy raft
and such rotten paddles or I couldn’t have made as good time as
they did, but I managed to keep ahead and gain a little.
When I got close to shore I raised my head and let out a bellow:
“Mark Tidd! Hey! Look out!”
I hadn’t seen anybody around the citadel and thought maybe the
Japanese were going to take them by surprise—and I was right, as I
found out later. Plunk had been on watch, and because he was all
tired out he had gone to sleep for a few minutes. My yell woke him
up, and the rest of them, too. After that things moved fast.
I got to shore and made a dash for some clothes. I wanted more
on than a towel if there was going to be a fight. Pants and a shirt
aren’t exactly armor, but fighting with nothing on at all does make
you feel sort of exposed. I ducked up the stairs, and as I went I
happened to look across to the other side of the island. There came
wallowing another raft with two Japanese on it. We were being
attacked from two sides.
 I gave another yell. Mark came rushing out and saw what was
going on.
“G-g-git into your clothes quick,” says he; and I did.
When I came out both rafts were near the shore and Mark and
Plunk and Binney were shooting at them with their slingshots, but
their attention was divided. I joined in with Plunk, but in a jiffy we
saw a third raft coming for the end of our island with The Man Who
Will Come on it. Three sides to defend!
“Ho, Mark!” I yelled. “Here comes another detachment.”
He just took one look. “Make for the citadel,” says he. “Up-stairs,
quick, and p-p-pull the stairs after you.”
My, but he was excited! and the way he stuttered sounded like
hail falling on a tin roof.
We didn’t lose a minute, but made for the stairs and hauled them
up. When we were safe on the second floor Plunk says:
“What’s this for? Now they can land all they want to.”
“Yes,” says Mark. “We’d ’a’ had a f-fine chance to keep them off.
Three parties of ’em. We might have kept off one or two, but some
of ’em would have been sure to l-land, and where’d we have been?
It was good strategy. They forced us to retreat—but it would have
been rotten strategy for us to have stood and fought. As it is we
drew off our army without l-l-loss and occupied a strong defensive
position. If we’d stayed we might have lost an army corps or so.”
“Wish we had one of them aeroplanes,” says Plunk.
“We hain’t,” says I. “Nor we hain’t got balloons nor submarines.
We hain’t got anythin’—not even a chance.”
“We’ve got a chance,” says Mark, sharp-like, “till we’re driven off
the roof. We’ll make the enemy take this floor, and then we’ll r-r-
retreat to the next, and then, by Jimminy! we’ll take to the roof. I
don’t want to hear any more talk about no chance. We’ve got all the
chance we need.”
All this time we were keeping our eyes on the Japanese, who had
landed and seemed sort of surprised they did it so easy. They came
cautious-like, because I guess we’d made them think a bit in the last
fight and they didn’t want to walk slam into a trap. They gathered
off among the spruce-trees and had a council of war. Then they
came toward the citadel in a body, with The Man walking ahead.
He was considerable improved, but it would be several days
before he’d be fit to go to a party. His eye-glass was there, and his
dude clothes, but we had his cane. Somehow he didn’t look natural
without it. It seemed like that cane was a part of him, like it had
grown on him.
They came up close, and then Mark gave the word to fire. We let
them have several good licks with our slingshots, and they backed
off for another talk. Next time they came on the run, and before we
could pelt them enough to do any good they were under the gallery
where we couldn’t hit them. But we could hear them moving around,
and, by laying down on our stomachs, we could see them through
cracks between the boards.
First they went inside, looking for a stairway, but of course they
didn’t find any. We were just out of stairways and didn’t expect to
get any more for quite a while.
We held a council of war ourselves.
“There’s just t-three ways they can get up,” says Mark. “One is to
get the stairs lowered, one is to climb up over the front balcony with
l-l-ladders, and the last is to get into a second-story window on the
west side with a ladder. They can’t attack the back. The water keeps
’em off t-t-there.”
“If I was goin’ to attack,” says I, “I’d send three men and maybe
four to come up ladders to the front balcony. While they were
bangin’ around there, attractin’ attention, I’d have one man sneak up
into one of those west windows, and come creeping across behind
us to cut down the stairs.”
“G-good for you, Tallow,” says Mark. “How would you guard
against it?”
“Why,” says I, after scratching my head a minute, “I guess I’d
fasten the windows so nobody could get in.”
 “F-f-first class,” says Mark. “Now if we could only think of some
way to f-fasten ’em.”
“Why,” says I, “they’ve got fasteners!”
“Yes,” says he, “but how about the glass! They could b-burst it
and reach in to unlock ’em.”
That was a fact. We couldn’t nail them, because we didn’t have
any nails, and anyhow, it wouldn’t have done much good, for a man
who had his mind set on it could have smashed through, anyhow.
“There ain’t but one way,” says Mark, “to keep the Japanese out
of those windows, and that’s to w-w-watch ’em. All the time we’ve
got to keep track of f-five Japanese. Somebody’s got to keep his eye
on the windows, somebody’s got to watch the s-stairs, and the rest
of us have got to be ready for an attack here in front.”
“Good!” says I. “Post your guards.”
“Ever read of cliff-dwellers?” says Mark.
“I’ve heard tell of ’em. But right now I’m more curious about
Japanese.”
“Huh!” says he. “We m-m-might as well get as much pleasure out
of this mix-up as possible. You can get p-pleasure out of sittin’ on a
tack if you go at it right. We’ll pretend we’re cliff-dwellers in a stone
castle up on a shelf on a m-mountain. The only way to attack us is
to scale the cliff with ladders. A tribe of the enemy has come down
on to us.”
“I’ve heard,” says Plunk, “that cliff-dwellers ate dogs.”
“Guess,” says Mark, with a grin, “we won’t pretend that far. Motu’s
dog don’t look like he’d cut up into good steaks.”
“That satisfies me,” says Binney. “Cliff-dwellers we are, and, if my
ears ’ain’t gone to dreamin’, those enemies are gettin’ ready to stir
up somethin’.”
“Quick!” says Mark. “You, Binney, get to the west cliff where the
leetle cave openin’s are. Plunk, you watch the m-main ladder that’s
hauled up. Motu and Tallow and I will f-f-fight off the main attack if
it comes.”
 It came, all right. There wasn’t any pretending about that. One
Japanese scooted out and cut the rope that held the drawbridge,
and down she dropped. Then two more put their heads down low so
we couldn’t get a good pelt at them and ran as fast as they could
across to the hotel.
They were gone about three minutes when we saw them coming
back with a ladder—with two ladders. One was a long ladder, the
other was short. We made it as pleasant and sociable for them as
possible, but they dashed under cover in spite of all we could do.
“L-l-lances ready,” says Mark. Then he raised his voice and yelled
to Plunk and Binney. “Keep your eyes open, guards.”
I leaned over the railing and out came three Japanese with the
ladders, and what do you think they had on to protect them from
shots from above? Bushel baskets! Yes, sir, every one of them had a
basket on his head. They looked like some newfangled kind of mud-
turtle.
“Look!” says I to Mark.
He looked and shook his head and grinned sort of admiring.
“I knew that Man Who Will Come was a s-s-smart one,” says he.
“Couldn’t have invented b-better armor. Slingshots ain’t any good
now.”
“Might hit their fingers,” says I.
“Waste of time tryin’,” says he. “Lances are the thing. Don’t let
’em p-plant their ladders against the cliff. As soon as a man gets
near with a l-ladder give it a shove and topple it over.” He stopped a
minute. “Don’t see anythin’ of The Man or the other Jap, do you?”
“No,” says I.
“Well,” says he, “we’ll have to trust to the guards.”
The men were raising their ladders. The shorter one got in reach
first and Mark gave it a shove that sent it and the man who had it
over on to the ground with a good sound flop. That didn’t stop the
two with the big ladder. They used different tactics. Off they got a
ways and then pointed the ladder at the railing like a battering-ram,
and came on with a run. We had as much chance of stopping it as a
hippopotamus has of climbing a cherry-tree.
Bang! went the ladder against the railing, and as soon as it struck
the men jumped on it to hold it down. We pushed and pried, but it
only wabbled. It was too heavy for us.
“S-sideways,” says Mark. “Shove sideways.”
That was a real idea. We both got on one side and pushed. The
ladder moved a foot. By now the first man was half-way up.
“Shove hard!” says Mark. “Now!”
All three of us put our weight against it and it started, slow at
first, but gradually getting faster, until it went with a swoop. The top
man jumped all sprawled out and rolled over a couple of times when
he struck.
“Whoop!” says I.
Mark grinned, and so did Motu.
“Good!” says Motu. “That will stop them for one moment. It is like
the sieges of ancient strongholds in stories of my grandfather.”
They got up their ladders and tried again, but now we had the
trick of it and put them over easy.
“I wish,” says Mark, “I knew what The Man is d-d-doin’.”
“Restin’,” says I.
“Not him,” says Mark. “He’s got a scheme. This attack in f-front
wasn’t expected to win. He’d know better. It’s to cover up somethin’
m-more serious.”
“Well,” says I, “all we can do is wait and ’tend to matters as they
come.”
“I ain’t so sure,” says Mark. “You f-f-fellows stay here. I want to
go back by the side.”
He went. Motu and I watched the Japanese drag the ladders
under the porch and listened to them jabber. Motu understood what
they were saying and grinned at me friendly and sort of proud.
 “They say, ‘Boys be great warriors some day.’ Also they are
saying, ‘We have been told Americans cannot fight, and do not want
to fight. We have been told Japan with a little army could win from
America with big army; but if the men fight like the boys, it is not
so.’ That is good to hear, Tallow. I wish all Japanese could hear it. I
wish it because all good Japanese—all men who think—have a great
friendship for the United States. We do not like talk of war. We like
to think only of peace forever. But some there are who have hot
heads—just as you have hotheads in America. They see insults
where there are no insults. They blame all America for what one part
of America does. It hurts Japanese pride to be treated as we are by
California—yet California has reasons. Thinking men know that. So I
wish all hotheads might know how great America is and what
fighting-men she raises.” Motu stopped a moment and raised his
head in a dignified kind of way. “Not,” says he, “that Japan fears
good warriors and would make war only on the weak. Russia was
not weak, but those who talk war most go to war least. A little fear
would make them cautious. So I wish all could know the warrior
spirit that sleeps in America, that they might never awake it.”
“Me, too,” says I. “If all Japanese were like you, Motu, I guess
there wouldn’t be any row at all.”
Motu smiled. “Not all have the advantage to see America and
England and the world that I have. They live at home and their
vision is narrow. They cannot understand. But some day I shall
teach them.” He caught himself suddenly and looked at me; then he
went on as if he would make me think he had said what he didn’t
exactly mean: “Some day I will do all a common boy can do to make
them know. I will tell many friends.”
“Sure,” says I, but I wasn’t fooled. Right there I was convinced
that Motu was pretty important and powerful at home in Japan. You
could tell it by the way he spoke when he wasn’t thinking.
All of a sudden Plunk let out a yell.
“Hey!” says he. “Git away from there! Git! I’ll lam you good!” he
says.
 Motu and I ran around the corner and saw Plunk poking his lance
at somebody through the stairway. Just then Mark Tidd came out of
the door, rolling a big barrel that he’d found. He frowned at us.
“Your p-p-place is in front,” says he. “Git back there quick.”
He was right about it. We had left our station unguarded.
“What’s the matter?” I yelled at Plunk.
“Man tryin’ to cut the rope that holds up the stairs,” says he, “and
I’m pokin’ away his knife. He’s got it tied to a pole.”
Motu and I hurried around in front and got there just in time, for
two Japanese were trying to sneak up a ladder, quiet, without
hearing. From then on we didn’t have time to bother about Plunk
and his troubles.
 CHAPTER XIX
Motu and I soon disposed of the two Japanese and their ladder.
As soon as they had picked themselves up we heard The Man Who
Will Come calling to them. Motu said he was telling them to quit
monkeying around there and come to help him.
“I will watch here,” says Motu. “You go to help Mark Tidd.”
I was willing enough because I wanted to see what was going on,
so I ran around the corner just in time to see Mark leaning as far
over as the size of him would allow and smearing something on the
stairs where they were hauled up.
“What you doin’?” I asked. “Feedin’ them?”
“Sure,” says he, without so much as the shadow of a smile. “They
was askin’ for f-f-food, so I’m rubbin’ it into ’em. It was in this
barrel.” He pointed to the big barrel I’d seen him rolling out.
I went over and looked. In the bottom of the barrel was about a
pailful of some messy-looking stuff—soft soap or something like that.
“What’s the idee?” I asked him.
“M-makin’ the stairs easy to walk up,” says he.
I didn’t quite understand, but it wasn’t very many hours before I
understood good and plenty—and it was one of the slickest sights
Mark Tidd ever arranged.
Mark went right on daubing the messy stuff on the stairs as thick
as he could get it, while Plunk kept poking away at the knife a
Japanese was trying to cut the rope with.
“I wish that rope was wire,” says I. “It wouldn’t be so easy to
cut.”
Mark straightened up and looked at me. “Tallow,” says he, “that
idee was worth your board for the rest of the summer. There’s a coil
of w-w-wire clothes-line hangin’ up in there. Get it.”
 I found it hanging on a nail and brought it along. By that time
Mark was done daubing, and he took the wire and rigged it
alongside the rope to the stairs that led up to the third floor.
“We’ll use the r-rope to haul up the stairs,” says he, “if it gets so
we have to h-haul ’em up. Then we’ll f-f-fasten ’em with the wire.
Tallow, I’m proud of you. You’re promoted. For this wire idee I dub
thee knight. Git down on your knees.”
“Don’t b’lieve cliff-dwellers had knights,” says I.
“We’re the kind that does,” says he. “Kneel.”
I grinned sort of foolish, I expect, and got down. He tapped me
on the shoulder with the stick he had been using and says:
“Rise, Sir Tallow Martin. I dub thee knight.” With that he put a
smear of the messy stuff on my cheek and chuckled. “I daub the
knight, too,” says he. “That’ll make it all the stronger.”
“It was plenty powerful enough without,” says I.
All of a sudden the stairs dropped with a bang. Plunk had missed
the knife with his lance and the Japanese had cut the rope.
“Ready to repel attack,” Mark shouted, and grabbed his lance.
Plunk had his and so did I. Mark and I stood plumb at the head of
the stairs, while Plunk stood over to the side to take the enemy on
the flank. No sooner did the stairs drop than three Japanese made a
wild jump on to them. One man was ahead and made a bound up
three steps. The others were right on his heels. Well, sir, what
followed was too good to be true. The top man no sooner landed on
the step than both his feet went slap out from under him and he
sprawled on his face. His heels flew back and swatted the two
behind, and they went down, and all of them rolled over and over to
the floor in a tangle. I caught a glimpse of their faces and you never
saw anybody look so surprised and startled and mad all at once.
“Wumph!” the first fellow says when he landed, and “Wough!”
says the other two fellows when his heels hit them in the stummicks.
I guess it knocked the wind clean out of them, for they all sat on the
floor gasping and hanging on to their waist-lines like they thought
somebody was going to try to steal them. They didn’t get right up.
You could see they weren’t ready to stand up, not any of them. They
were perfectly willing to rest a bit.
In a minute The Man came in sight and began jabbering at them.
At first they didn’t do anything but goggle at him and groan and
pant, but he tongue-lashed them till they got on to their feet pretty
slow and painful.
The Man pointed at the stairs and says something in a
commanding voice. The three started at us again, but there wasn’t
any rush about it. They had their plateful of rushing on those stairs.
No, sir, they didn’t hurry a bit. You’d have thought maybe they were
climbing up to have a tooth pulled, hanging on to the rail and
stepping soft and easy. Even at that the stairs were so slippery they
could hardly hold their feet.
We stood at the top and laughed at them. That was about all we
could do. We laughed, but that didn’t mean we were easy in our
minds—I should say not. Those fellows looked mad. I felt as if
somebody was waving his hand up and down inside my stummick,
and my legs were trembly, and I wished I was back in Michigan with
lots of room to run.
“How d’you feel?” says I to Mark.
“Lonesome,” says he, and grinned sickly-like.
That was the very word for it. There was company enough, too
much of it if you come to that, but I was never so lonesome before,
and I don’t expect ever to be so lonesome again.
The first man, hanging on to the rail with one hand, was near
enough now so Plunk could swipe at him with his lance. The lance,
you remember, was a long stick with a wad on the end bigger than a
boxing-glove. It wouldn’t hurt anybody much to get a wallop with it,
but it would bother them considerable. It bothered the Japanese, for
Plunk drew back and gave him a good one right alongside the ear.
The man grunted and threw up his arm. Plunk banged him again,
and he sort of wabbled.
 “Poke him quick while he’s off his b-b-b-balance!” yelled Mark;
and Plunk did.
The Jap did a funny little dance on his toes, grabbed for the rail
and missed it, whirled around with his arms waggling, and sat down
ker-sloosh! Then he coasted right against the legs of the other two
and pushed their feet off the steps so they plumped down right on
top of him like he was a sled, and coasted all the way down on him.
I’ll bet he enjoyed it!
“T-t-toboggan slide,” Mark says. “Guess they don’t have ’em in
Japan. They act like they didn’t understand slidin’ very well.”
“I thought,” says I, “that they made a pretty good slide for
beginners.”
“’Twan’t graceful,” says Plunk. “I like to see folks slide pretty and
neat. These fellers is clumsy as all-git-out.”
The three picked themselves up after they’d felt of their shins and
rubbed their ribs and grunted considerable. The Man, dapper as
ever, with his glass in his eye, stood scowling at them. He never
looked up at us once. For a while he didn’t say anything; then he
spoke in Japanese and they all went away.
“Whee!” says I. “Attack’s repulsed.”
“Huh!” Mark grunted. “It hasn’t b-b-begun yet. The Man’s got a
scheme. Just wait.”
We didn’t have to wait long, for in three minutes they were back,
each one of them carrying a pail—of sand.
“What’re they goin’ to do with that?” says Plunk. “Throw it in our
eyes?”
“How do you stop an engine on a slippery track?” Mark asked.
“Put sand in front of the drivers,” says Plunk.
“Well,” says he, “pertend these Japanese was engines and the
stairs was a t-t-track. What then?”
It was plain enough now. The Man had found a way to get ahead
of Mark’s greasy scheme. They began putting sand on the stairs
thick. First they covered the bottom step and then worked up a step
at a time, fixing each one so they had a firm footing. Of course they
couldn’t get to the four or five top steps, because we were there to
see they didn’t, but they did the best they could.
Then they stood out of reach and tossed up sand so it fell on the
steps that were still greasy. They kept it up till every step was
covered, and then they made another attack.
It was lucky the stairs were narrow so only one man could come
at us at a time, but that didn’t stop them. They came like they
meant business. The first man crouched and jumped. Mark poked
him while he was in the air and he stumbled and went down on his
knees. But there he stuck. There wasn’t any more coasting, on
account of the sand. He got up again and stood with his hands like a
boxer, ready to grab the first lance that was shoved at him. On he
came.
Mark feinted for his face, and when he threw up his hands,
changed his aim of a sudden and lammed him in the stummick. At
the same time Plunk let him have one in the ear and I reached
through and gave his ankle a shove. It upset him again.
The others caught him and shoved him ahead. I guess they
figured on using him as a shield, but he didn’t appear to like that
idea much, for he wiggled and squirmed and yelled. We were sorry
for him—of course we were—but business was business and we
gave it to him good. Thud! thud! thud! thud! went the padded ends
of our lances against his ribs and his head and wherever we could
reach.
It wasn’t any use. The stairs were narrow and steep, and they
couldn’t get a firm footing in spite of their sand, and we forced them
back, a step at a time, until Mark and I were standing half-way down
the stairs. We didn’t go any farther, but there we stood and beat
them back as fast as they came on.
 THERE WE STOOD AND BEAT THEM BACK AS FAST AS THEY CAME ON

Then what did The Man do but get an eighteen-foot two-by-four

and put his men on it. They came at us like a battering-ram, and
you’d better believe we had to scatter. Up the stairs they charged,
but when their ram was past the head of the flight we were ready
for them again. The farther they came the farther past us their ram
went—and we could get in range with our lances.
It was hot work and hard work, but we forced them back once
more and managed to grab their two-by-four when they dropped it.
It was our second trophy of the war. First The Man’s little cane, and
now the battering-ram. We treated ourselves to a cheer, though we
didn’t have a great supply of wind to cheer with.
Now came a lull in the attack. I guess the enemy had run out of
ambition, or maybe The Man was fussing around to get some new
idea. He had done pretty well so far with his ideas, and, taking the
whole campaign into consideration, we had a little the worst of it, for
we had lost the bridge and the island, and were besieged in the
citadel. But that didn’t mean we were licked. The hardest fights in a
siege come when the citadel itself has to be taken, and the Japanese
were finding that out.
We hadn’t used all our resources, either, for Binney and Motu
were keeping guard, and the dog was tied up to be sure he would
be out of the way. Mark sort of figured the dog might come in handy
sometime, but he didn’t want to use him if he didn’t have to,
because the Japanese wouldn’t care whether they hurt the dog or
not, and they would be a little mite careful what they did to us.
We weren’t afraid of what would happen to us, anyhow. The
worst would be a little rough handling. What we were worried about
was their capturing Motu.
The Japanese had disappeared from the foot of the stairway, and
Mark went to warn the guards to keep their eyes wide open. Then
he came back and we sat down to wait developments. Below
somewhere we heard the noise of hammering, and Mark says:
“I’ll bet here’s where we l-l-lose this stairway. If The Man’s thinkin’
of the same scheme I am he can d-drive us back.”
“What then?” says I, sort of startled.
“Then,” says he, “we make for the t-third floor. They can’t cut
down the stairs there and they can’t reach us with ladders. It’s our
strongest p-place.”
“Grub up there?”
“Every ounce of it,” says Mark.
“Why not sneak up there, then?” says I.
“Because,” says he, “we want to take up every m-minute of time
we can. Every hour we save is in our f-favor. Here they’ve been half
a d-day tryin’ to take this stairway. More’n that, I guess.” He took out
his watch and looked at it. Then he wrinkled up his face and felt of
his stomach. “Thought I felt sort of funny,” says he. “Know what t-
time it is?”
“No,” says I.
“Three o’clock,” says he.
 You can believe now that we had been having a pretty busy and
exciting time. The best proof of it that I could give you was just this
—that Mark Tidd forgot it was dinnertime. He had gone three hours
past mealtime and never noticed it.
“I’m goin’ to eat,” says he, “Japs or no Japs.”
“Fetch down enough for the crowd,” says I.
He waddled up-stairs, and in ten minutes came back with two
ham sandwiches for each of us. We had a whole boiled ham, and
enough bread to run us. They were good, generous sandwiches with
a slice of ham in them that you could taste when you bit, and
mustard. When Mark Tidd fixed something to eat he fixed it so
nobody in the world could complain, and so he couldn’t complain
himself. There was as much difference between these sandwiches of
his and the kind you buy as there is between getting hit with a
hammer and getting hit with a feather. When the five of us got
through there wasn’t a crum left that would pay for a bird’s time
picking it up. Mark didn’t forget the dog, either, but gave him a
bone.
“Wish I had a drink,” says I.
Mark looked at me and then at Plunk. “Water!” says he.
“Ain’t there none?” says Plunk.
“Not a drop,” says Mark. “It’s all downstairs.”
“Hum!” says I, sort of significant.
“Go on and hum,” says Mark. “It’s my fault, all right, but I guess it
ain’t s-s-serious. The lake’s right below us.”
“And when we get thirsty we can go to look at it, I suppose,” I
says, as sarcastic as I could get.
“If you’re thirsty,” says Mark, “s’pose you f-f-find some way to get
water. It’s near enough.”
“We can let down a bucket with a rope,” I says, for that idea just
popped into my head. I should have thought of it before.
“Go ahead,” says Mark.
 I went to get a bucket, but not a bucket could I find. I hunted
high and low and crossways and sideways, but not a sign of a
bucket was there. Not a bucket nor a pail nor anything that I could
see that would hold water. I went back and told Mark so.
“Huh!” says he. “I could have told you. And if you’d f-f-found a
bucket there wouldn’t have been any rope.”
“How long can a man live without water?” says I, getting all-fired
thirsty all at once.
“A camel can live eight d-d-days,” says he, as sober as a judge.
“I ain’t a camel,” says I, getting pretty mad at the cool way he
took it.
“We’ll have to stand it as long as we can,” says Mark. “It was a
bad blunder. Worst I ever made, I guess. But,” says he, his little eyes
sort of glinting, “I’ll be so dry the wind’ll blow me away before I s-s-
surrender.”
“They say,” says I, still good and mad, “that the human body is
three-quarters water. If that’s so there’s enough water mixed up with
you to quench the thirst of General Grant’s armies.”
For once he didn’t say anything back, but he stored that up in his
mind, you’d better believe, with the idea of getting even with me
when the chance came. But that didn’t worry me. It was enough
worry to think about being shut up for days without anything to
drink.
I sat down on the railing and looked out over the lake, just
thinking of things, general like. I must have got interested in what I
was thinking about, for the next thing I knew I heard a voice over
past the hotel yelling:
“Can’t you tell when I got the brake on, eh? Say! What kind of a
automobeel be you, anyhow? I’ve throwed out the clutch and
slammed on the brake, but you don’t pay no more ’tention than as if
I hadn’t done nothin’ at all. Whoa, there!”
It was my friend that I’d met on the road and got to deliver the
message. What he was doing here I couldn’t for the life of me
guess, but I figured he’d come out of curiosity to find out what was
going on. I called Mark and the boys.
The old fellow managed to stop his “engine” and sat staring over
at us. I waved my hand and yelled at him—and then The Man and
his followers just boiled across the bridge and went for the old
fellow. He saw them coming and began to jerk and slap his lines.
“Hey, you!” he yelled. “Hain’t I pressed the self-starter button, eh?
Then why don’t you start? Hain’t the lever in low? Git a stir on to
you!”
But the animal never stirred. The old fellow stood up and larruped
him with the lines, but he just sort of humped his back and laid
down his ears and took root. Then The Man and his folks got there.
One of them set out to grab the mule. The mule turned and looked
him right in the face, and then something happened. You never saw
an engine explode, I’ll bet you. Neither did I, but that’s the nearest I
can imagine to what that mule did. He just naturally up and
exploded. First he opened his mouth and let out a holler that was
enough to raise the dead, and then he lashed out with all four feet
and his tail, and tried to bite with his teeth. You can bet those
Japanese backed off a little. The old fellow didn’t seem to mind a bit.
He just spread his legs so the mule could kick free and waited. All at
once the mule quit kicking and started off straight ahead.
“The lever’s in high,” yelled the old fellow.
This time I guess the mule knew right where the lever was, for
the way he got out of there was a caution. If he wasn’t doing forty
miles an hour then I don’t want a cent. The Japanese tried to stop
him, but he nipped one on the arm and came pretty close to running
right over the top of another. Whee! but they scattered.
The old fellow turned around and sort of waved his hand at us.
Then he put his thumb to his nose and wiggled his fingers at the
Japanese. That was the last we saw of him, for the mule yanked him
around a clump of trees and out of sight.
I looked at Mark and grinned, and Mark looked at me.
“Well?” says he.
 “Same here,” says I.
“It’ll mean quick trouble f-f-for us,” says he. “The Japs’ll be afraid
he’ll go after h-help.”
“Not him,” says I. “Bet he don’t know enough. Seems like he was
sort of crazy or somethin’.”
Mark shook his head. “You n-never can tell,” says he.
 CHAPTER XX
The hammering down below kept on steadily for an hour or so.
Then there was silence for quite a while, I expect while The Man’s
army was getting rested and recovering its grit. It was beginning to
grow dusk before we saw a single Japanese.
Mark held a council of war. It wasn’t much of a council, if that
word means people talking together and offering one another
advice. Mark did most of the talking and all of the advising. It wasn’t
because he wouldn’t accept advice. No, sir. He wasn’t that sort of
fellow at all. He was always glad to listen and to change his own
plan if somebody offered a better one, but right now he was the
only one that had any plan. Mostly he was. The rest of us fellows
were pretty good at doing things we were told, and maybe we were
up to the average on brains, but Mark was a little out of the ordinary
there. Anyhow, he had a different kind of brain. It was the kind that
can’t help scheming and figuring. So the council of war consisted
mainly in his telling us what to do.
“We can’t hold this l-l-line of defenses,” says he. “It won’t be long
before we have to make a strategic retirement to the next floor.
That’s our last stronghold, and it’s the s-s-strongest. We can hold
out there till—”
“Till it rains, I hope,” says I. “Then we’ll get a drink.”
“Is that still on your mind, Tallow? Well, the first minute I have to
spare I’ll get you a drink.”
“Is that a promise?” says I.
“Yes,” says he.
That settled it. If Mark Tidd said he’d get water, then water would
be got. I was satisfied.
“How you goin’ to get it?” Plunk says.