“How?” says I.
“Watch me and h-help,” says he.
He brought a small log or a big pole, I don’t know which to call it.
“Git over by the door,” he says, pointing to the heavy door of the boat-house that stood wide open. “Stand right there, where they c-c-can’t see you. When I whistle you p-p-push the door shut. Not slow. Fast. B-b-bang it!”
I saw it in a second. He was planning to shut up Jiggins and Collins in the boat-house while we got away. I did like he said, and braced myself to slam.
He whistled, I slammed. The door started sort of hard, but it moved, and I made it move fast. Bang! it went shut, and slam went Mark’s leg against it. That locked Mr. Door, I can tell you. One end of the log was wedged in the sand and the other forced against the door. It would have taken an elephant to move it. But Mark wasn’t satisfied. He propped it shut with two more logs and then dragged a shorter and thicker piece right in front. The door was pretty nearly covered up before we were through.
Mark straightened up and grinned then. “Hello, inside,” says he.
“What’s this? Let us out! Quick!” says Jiggins.
“C-c-couldn’t do it p-possibly,” says Mark. “Have to dig out, I guess. ’Twon’t take l-long. G-g-good-by.”
They began to holler like anything, but we didn’t stop. At the boats Mark told me to push off the canoe while he tended to the flatboat. He tended to it, all right—with a big stone.