The Junior Trophy

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“We can keep them off all night,” said Bert, “as long as they come up one at a time. That was a dandy shot of yours, Lanny.”

“They’re coming again,” said Small nervously. “Let’s make terms with them before it’s too late, Lanny.”

“Make terms!” cried Lanny. “Never!”

Then they came toward the slide again, but more cautiously this time, halting just out of accurate range and then, at a signal, rushing for the steps and up them, Ben again in the lead. Up and up they came, slipping and faltering under the rain of missiles, but doggedly winning the ascent. Now there was a scant ten feet between Ben and the platform. Behind him, Pierce and Perkins and the others were crowding, their faces and bodies blotched with snow. They were angry clear through and met every broadside of shot stoically, stubbornly determined to gain the summit and wreak revenge on the foe. The garrison behind the toboggan fought furiously. Snowballs slammed down upon lowered heads and sped past protecting arms to spread against necks and faces. The invaders made no effort to retaliate, since it was difficult enough to make the ascent as it was; to have attempted to throw snowballs would have invited utter disaster.

“Let ’em have it!” cried Cupples, stooping for more ammunition and discovering that only a few snowballs remained behind the breastworks. The file still came on, Ben a mass of white where the snowballs had struck and clung to his head and body.

“Who’s got any snowballs?” gasped Lanny.

“All gone,” answered Bert, desperately searching the icy boards for snow. Small and Kid, at the other side of the platform, farthest from the steps, were still firing, Small wildly and ineffectually. Lanny ran across and pushed him aside. Kid shouted shrilly and got in a splendid shot against Perkins’s ear that made that youth stagger against the railing.

Then the firing diminished and consternation seized the garrison. Their ammunition was gone! Ben gave a roar of triumph and plunged up the few remaining steps, and it would have been all over with the defenders then and there had not Bert been visited by a brilliant idea. Seizing the toboggan, he swung it around to the steps and, holding the rope, sent it swiftly down. It caught Ben unawares and swept his feet from under him. He clutched wildly at the railing, saved himself from an actual fall, but kicked Pierce so savagely that the latter emitted a shriek and fell to his knees. Perkins stumbled, slipped, and spread the wildest disorder. The last of the snowballs were fired, a final volley that decided the fortunes of the battle. The enemy wavered, turned. Ben, recovering his equilibrium, strove to hold his regiment, but all in vain. Down the steps they fled, and Ben, finding himself deserted, followed.

The garrison gave a shout of triumph. Kid jumped and squealed. And then Small, venturing too near the edge of the slide, turned the retreat into a veritable rout. Losing his footing, he sat down suddenly and forcibly just over the edge, and, with a shriek of despair, shot down the ice-covered trough on his back, legs waving, hands grasping at the empty air and voice raised in wild cries. The enemy heard and supposing that the entire garrison was hot upon their heels, plunged down the rest of the incline in mad flight and scattered over the snow below just as Small, going now at a good twenty miles an hour, flew by!

At the top of the slide the rest of the garrison leaned weakly against the railing and laughed until the tears came. Kid was so overcome that he slipped to the floor and rolled over and over, emitting strange, gurgling sounds. Far down the slide, Small, an indistinct figure in the darkness, crawled over the bank of the slide, struggled to his feet, and, with one brief glance in the direction of the enemy, streaked across the snow toward school. Three figures gave chase and presently Small was in the hands of the enemy and Ben advanced toward the slide, one mittened hand held aloft.