“It looks,” says I, “as if we was in for a hard fall, then.”
Batten said something to Bill, and both of them started up the bank.
“Git back there,” Mark yells.
Batten laughed out loud, which wasn’t a very good thing to do. Never laugh at folks when you’ve got them cornered, because it’s likely to get their dander up, and no telling what’ll happen. It made me so mad to hear Batten laugh that way that, unconscious-like, I just hauled off with my sling-shot and sailed a pebble down at him. It struck right under his feet, and he jumped like he’d been bitten.
“Hey,” he yelled, “quit that, you young grampus!”
“Fine,” says Mark, “that’s the ticket,” and he put a stone in his sling and pelted it so it went whizzing past Batten’s ear. Batten stood right still, and so did Bill.
“You keep away from here,” yelled Mark, “or I’ll shoot straighter. G-g-git!”
“If you hit me with that thing!” calls Batten, threatening-like.
“Come on,” says Bill; “they can’t hit us. Come on.”
They started up again, but they didn’t go far, for Mark whanged another pebble at them—and didn’t miss. It hit Batten just above the knee, and I bet it stung like sixty. He let a holler out of him and ducked behind a tree. Bill started edging around, but I stopped him with another pebble that whizzed past his head.