“Well, you can fight, too. Go ahead. I’ll help you until they start for us.”
“They’ll wait until the other three fellows come,” said Cupples. “We’ll have to shoot straight, fellows. Don’t waste your shots now.”
“We won’t,” muttered Lanny. “Don’t you worry.”
“There are the rest of them,” said Crandall, patting a fine, soggy snowball into shape. “Get ready, fellows.”
“Hooray!” shrieked Kid, “paste them, paste them!”
The enemy, nine strong, started across the snow toward the foot of the incline. On the platform the defenders lined up and waited. Fortunately for them the attackers were forced to come up in single file, since the steps were only about eighteen inches wide. Ben led the way, Perkins at his heels and the others behind, yelling fearsomely.
“Wait till they’re on the steps,” counseled Cupples, “and then give it to ’em! Now!”
Six snowballs sped down at the enemy, three of the number taking effect on Ben. Ben shook his head angrily and came on. Then a lucky shot by Lanny struck him square on the chin, he faltered, slipped against the railing, and Perkins took his place. By that time the shots were falling thick and fast and there was a steady stream of snowballs. To advance in the face of such a fire was out of the question, and Perkins, ducking his head, turned and crowded back, putting the line into confusion. One of the day boys slipped and went to the bottom on his back. Ben, too, was in flight, and in a moment the enemy had withdrawn again to a safe distance.
“Hurrah!” shrieked Kid, jumping about on the platform. “We gave it to ’em!”
“Hurry up, fellows!” called Cupples. “More snowballs. They’ll be back in a minute.”