I went up another step. He started to come down, but not fast. I could see he wasn’t real good and mad yet, so I didn’t run. Then I had an idea myself. It isn’t very often I get one, so I want credit for this. I remembered that I had a few bits of gravel in my pocket—round pebbles I’d figured on using some day in my sling-shot. I reached for one and shot it at Collins just like you shoot a marble. It went whizz past his ear.
Now that would make anybody mad, wouldn’t it—to have a kid shooting pebbles at him? He said something sharp. I shot another pebble, and it hit his hat. At that he let out a yell—a mad yell—and jumped for me.
Maybe you think I didn’t get down those stairs quick. I don’t remember touching my feet at all. Seems like I made it in one leap and lit running. Collins was right at my heels, and I could almost feel his hand on my collar. I was scairt, all right, but I didn’t forget to turn the way Mark told me to. In a second I scudded past him where he stood by the telephone-pole holding his lasso. As I passed I saw him begin to twirl the noose.
Then I heard Collins say something that sounded like, “Wo-oo-of!” only louder and more surprised; and there was a scrape and a scuffle. I grabbed a hitching-post and stopped sudden. There was Collins in a heap on the sidewalk, with the lasso around his body and one arm, and Mark giving the rope a turn around his post and pulling like all-git-out.
“Q-quick!” he stuttered. “Up-stairs.”
I understood then and dived for the stairway. Mark gave another jerk on the lasso, sprawling Collins over, and came after me. Up we went, making a clatter like a runaway team crossing a wooden bridge. We were pretty nearly at the top before Collins got loose and reached the bottom.
The way was clear before us to the door of the lawyer’s office where Uncle Hieronymous was, but Collins was coming fast. He came up so fast his feet on the stairs sounded like he was playing a snare-drum. But he couldn’t catch us. There was only thirty feet to go, and it was plain running. We ran!
And then! When we were not more than six feet from that door it opened and out stepped Jiggins!
Maybe he’d heard the racket, maybe he wanted a breath of air—I don’t know what brought him, but there he was. He was no slow thinker, either. One glance showed him what was up, showed him Collins’s head just coming into sight. His mouth set, and he plunged for Mark, who was at my side, made a grab at him with one hand and at me with the other.
He got Mark, but missed me. I stopped up and then dove at his legs just like I was playing football. He and Mark went down with a bang, and Collins, who was coming a mile a minute, went sprawling over them. In the scrimmage I got hold of one leg of Jiggins’s and one of Collins’s and held on. I couldn’t see, because somebody rolled on top of me.