Mark Tidd's Citadel

by Clarence Budington Kelland

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.