For a moment consternation reigned within the fort. The surprise was overwhelming. Pen was the first one, as he should have been, to recover his wits. He remembered his grandfather's warning against the enemy's strategy.
"It's a trick!" he shouted. "Don't let 'em scare you! Load up and at 'em!"
Every boy seized his complement of snowballs, and, led by their captain, the Hilltops started out, on double-quick, to meet the enemy.
The next moment the air was filled with flying missiles. They were fired at close range, and few, from either side, failed to find their mark.
The battle was swift and fierce. An onslaught from the Riverbeds' left, drove the right wing of the Hilltops back into the shadow of the fort. But the center held its ground and fought furiously. Then the broken right wing, supplied with fresh ammunition from the reserve piles, rallied, forced the invaders back, turned their flank, and fell on them from the rear. The Riverbeds, with ammunition all but exhausted, were hard beset. They fought bravely and persistently but they could not stand up before the terrific rain of missiles that was poured in on them. They yielded, they retreated, but they went with their faces to the foe. There was only one avenue of escape, and that was down by the side of the school-house to the public road. It was inch by inch that they withdrew. No army ever beat a more stubborn or masterly retreat. In the face of certain defeat, at scarcely arm's length from their shouting and exultant foe, they fought like heroes.
Pen Butler was in the thickest and hottest of the fray. He urged his troops to the assault, and was not afraid to lead them. The militant blood of his ancestors burned in his veins, and, if truth must be told, it trickled in little streams down his face from a battered nose and a cut lip received at a close quarter's struggle with the enemy.
The small boys by the school-house, seeing the line of battle approaching them, beat a retreat to a less hazardous position. The girls in the road clung to each other and looked on, fascinated and awe-stricken at the furious fight, forgetting to wave a single handkerchief, or emit a single cheer. The men on the side-path clapped their hands and yelled encouragement to one or other of the contending forces, in accordance with their sympathies.
The first of the retreating troops, still contesting stubbornly the foe's advance, reached the corner of the school-house nearest the public road. By some chance the entrance door of the building was ajar. A soldier's quick eye discovered it. Here was shelter, protection, a chance to recuperate and reform. He shouted the good news to his comrades, pushed the door open and entered. By twos and threes, and then in larger groups, they followed him until the very last man of them was safe inside, and the door was slammed shut and locked in the faces of the foe. Under the impetus of the charge the victorious troops broke against the barrier, but it held firm. That it did so hold was one of the providential occurrences of the day. So, at last, the Hilltops were foiled and baffled. Their victory was not complete. Pen stood on the top step at the entrance, his face smeared with blood, and angrily declared his determination, by one means or another, to hunt the enemy out from their place of shelter, and drive them down the hill into their own riverbed, where they belonged. But, in spite of his extravagant declaration, nothing could be done without a breach of the law. Doors and windows must not be broken. Temporarily, at least, the enemy was safe.
After a consultation among the Hilltops it was decided to take up a position across the road from the school-house, and await the emergence of the foe. But the foe appeared to be in no haste to emerge. It was warm inside. They were safe from attack. They could take their ease and wait. And they did. The minutes passed. A half hour went by. A drizzling rain had set in, and the young soldiers at the roadside were getting uncomfortably wet. The small boys, who had looked on, departed by twos and threes. The girls, after cheering the heroes of the fight, also sought shelter. The men, who had been interested spectators while the battle was on, drifted away. It isn't encouraging to stand out in the rain, doing nothing but stamping wet feet, and wait for a beaten foe to come out. Enthusiasm for a cause is apt to wane when one has to stand, shivering, in rain-soaked clothes, and wait for something to occur. And enthusiasm did wane. A majority of the boys wanted to call it a victory and go home. But Pen would not listen to such a proposal.
"They've run into the school-house," he said, "like whipped dogs, and locked the door; and now, if we go home, they'll come out and boast that we were afraid to meet 'em again. They'll say that we slunk away before the fight was half over. I won't let 'em say that. I'll stay here all night but what I'll give 'em the final drubbing."