“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.