The bob was put up in short order by chucking it over the alley fence of Hal’s home; then back rushed the boys, to re-engage the foe.
They resolved that Ned must have his sled, at all hazard. It was awful, to think of it in the hands of that Mike. True little sled, the best sled in town.
As for Bob the dog, for all the aid he was to them, they might as well have chucked him, too, over the fence and left him. He was no good when it came to this fighting at long range, and with his tail tightly reefed, and his ears down, and an expression of intense discomfort, he clung close to Ned’s calves.
Bob was no coward, but what dog likes to have things thrown at him; and Bob was under the delusion that every ball was aimed at him alone. He couldn’t understand.
So for the rest of this fight he must be content not to understand, and to play but a minor part.
The South Beauforters, now having in mind no more worlds to conquer, decided to return to their haunts. Laughing and swearing, they started to tramp up the road; and freest of all in mouth and actions was Big Mike, twitching behind him the unwilling clipper sled.
From the alley the three boys delivered a round of snowballs as a token that the combat was on once more.
“Head ’em off! Cut through the yards!” cried Ned; over fences and through the yards scurried the boys, and came out at the front of the retreating foe.
“Give ’em ‘soakers’!” urged Hal, squeezing a snowball between his knees.
“Soakers,” as the name shows, are snowballs which have been soaked and wrung out, so to speak. They are heavy, and hard, and when they hit, hurt.