“What have you been doin’ over in the citadel?” says I. The citadel was
what we called the building across the bridge.
“Fixin’ engines of d-d-defense,” says Mark.
“Hope we don’t have to use ’em.”
“We will,” says he, short-like.
“You don’t think we fooled The Man Who Will Come?”
“We f-fooled him about a quart, or maybe a pint, but it’ll wear off. He
ain’t the kind to stay f-fooled.”
“No,” says Motu, from the door behind us, “he will not stay fooled, but
he will fool others so they stay fooled.”
“I’ve got a lot of respect for him since I’ve seen him in action,” says
I.
“If he discovers me I shall run,” says Motu. “It will be decided by
legs. Who has the best legs wins.”
“The only way you could r-r-run and get away would be straight up,” says
Mark, “and we’re just out of flyin’-machines. No, you won’t run, Motu.
You’ll stay and we’ll s-s-stand a siege.”
“But, Mark Tidd, this large hotel cannot be defended by five. It would
take fifty fighting-men.”
“It isn’t the hotel we’re goin’ to d-defend; it’s the citadel. We’re
keepin’ it for a s-s’prise. Wait till these fellows discover you.
They’ll think all they have to do is to come and get you out of here—but
we won’t be here. Five of us can put up a pretty good fight in the
citadel.”
“I’m goin’ for a walk,” says I. “I need exercise.”
“Guess I’ll stay and t-t-talk to Motu,” says Mark.
I went off alone, though I was a little nervous about it. I headed
toward the road and went along about a quarter of a mile when all of a
sudden a Japanese stepped out of the bushes into the road and stood in
front of me. He just stood and looked at me and scowled.
I didn’t walk past him. I expect I could have if I’d wanted to, but I
didn’t want to. I stopped and looked at him and scowled, but his scowl
was working better than mine; at any rate, I didn’t notice his knees
shaking any. He lifted his arm and pointed back toward the hotel. Not a
word did he say, but I gathered what he meant, all right. He was
explaining to me politely that he didn’t want me to go any farther. I
was obliging about it and turned right around and made for home.
“Mark,” says I when I got there, “we’re prisoners.”
“How?” says he.
“I tried to go for a walk, but a Japanese stopped me.”
“Huh! Don’t want any m-m-messages sent,” says he. “I calc’late we fooled
’em a lot, a whole, whoppin’ lot.... How’d you like to see how far
they’ll let you walk the other way?”
“Well,” says I, “this one didn’t bite me, so I guess the next one
won’t.” And at that I started out and went in the opposite direction.
This time I hadn’t gone a hundred yards before a Japanese got up out of
the bushes and herded me back the same as the first one did. We were
besieged, all right.
I told Mark about it and he shook his head like he’d known it all the
time.
“It don’t prove anythin’,” says he, “except that they _think_ Motu’s
here, and dassen’t take chances. They don’t _know_ yet.”
“When we get a chance,” says I, “we’d better carry the rest of the grub
across the bridge.”
“No,” says he; “they’d see us and suspect somethin’. We’ll have to
s-s-sneak over what we can; but there’s enough for a couple of weeks
there now.”
“How about cookin’-things?” says I.
“They’re not there. But we can take ’em in a second. Always have them
piled together ready to grab. That’ll be your job, Tallow. Remember. At
the first alarm drop everything and forget everything else. Just
g-g-grab those dishes and scoot.”
“All right,” says I. “Here goes to get ’em ready now.”
And now came the discovery of Motu by The Man Who Will Come. It was by
nobody’s fault unless it was Motu’s own, but if what he did was a fault,
then I should like to be committing faults like it all my life. We had
all gotten to like Motu, for he was so pleasant and gentlemanly and
patient, but that was all. We didn’t feel toward him like we felt toward
one another, and it wasn’t to be expected. But from that time on he
belonged. It was the first time a boy had ever been let into our crowd
of four, and the last time—but this boy deserved it. The thing Motu did
was not only brave, for it isn’t such a big thing to be brave, but it
was self-sacrificing, which is a big thing. He not only did a brave
thing in an emergency when quick thinking and quick acting had to be
done, but, with his eyes open, he risked capture by the Japanese, with
all the important results that would have come from it. Without a
moment’s hesitation he risked everything for one of us, and I hope that
all the rest of our lives we will be just as quick to risk everything
for him. This was the way of it:
Plunk and Binney came in from fishing. They had been out in the canoe,
and luck had been right in the boat with them, for they had a dandy
string of bass and pickerel. Plunk got out with the fish and carried
them over to the live-box. For some reason or another Binney pushed off
again all alone and paddled out about twenty feet from shore. I guess at
the start he had it in mind to go somewhere, but changed his plan. He
stopped where the water was about four feet deep, and then, like a
little idiot, leaned over the side of the canoe to wash his face.
He washed it, all right, and the rest of him with it. Just as if it had
been alive and wanted to get rid of Binney, that canoe tipped over.
_Ker-flop!_ it went. Binney just had time to let out a yell. I came to
the kitchen door, where I had been putting the cooking-dishes in shape,
and saw him take the dive. Other folks heard the yell, for out of the
tail of my eye I saw The Man Who Will Come step into sight about two
hundred yards down the road and stand looking.
I expected Binney to come right up and wade ashore, but he didn’t. I
couldn’t understand it, and my mind didn’t work fast enough to figure
what had happened. Mark was across the bridge in the citadel, so he
wasn’t there to help any, and if it hadn’t been for Motu I guess our
crowd of four would have been cut down to three and a pretty sorrowful
three. But Motu was there, and the day will never come when I stop being
thankful for it.
While I stood there like a big booby Motu came rushing out of the hotel
and plunged into the water. He couldn’t swim, either, but fortunately
the water wasn’t over his head between him and Binney. He surged and
jumped and plowed his way to where the canoe floated, bottom up—floated
and bobbed and wiggled as Binney struggled under it where he had got
caught somehow.
When Motu got there he just ducked under. It pulled a yell right out of
me, I was so frightened. It seemed like he was underwater half an hour,
but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. When he came up he
was dragging something with him, and that something was Binney
Jenks—limp and unconscious. Then Motu began plowing his way back again.
Of a sudden I remembered The Man Who Will Come and looked that way. He
was coming on the run with two Japanese at his heels. They had covered
half the distance.
“Quick, Motu, quick!” I bawled, and dashed into the kitchen for my
dishes. By the time I was out Motu was almost to shore and the Japs were
not fifty yards away.
“Mark!” I yelled. “Mark Tidd!” and scooted across the bridge.
I might have known Mark wouldn’t be far away from his job. Before I was
half-way across Mark leaned over the balcony above and threw down the
end of a rope with a hook on it.
“H-h-hitch it to the other end of the b-bridge,” he stuttered, as
excited as a chicken when there’s a hen-hawk around.
I got the idea, grabbed the rope, and hooked it to the staple on the far
end of the lift-bridge. Then I jumped back for the citadel side.
Now Motu was coming, staggering and running, with Binney over his
shoulder. Behind him, not twenty-five yards away, were the three Japs.
Motu’s lips were drawn back so you could see his beautiful white teeth,
and the expression on his face was the sort a man wears when he is
making the greatest effort of his life.
“Hurry, Motu, hurry!” I yelled, and danced up and down with eagerness
and fear and excitement.
Motu hadn’t far to go, but Binney was bigger than he was, and it was too
much for him to carry. My, but he was strong! He staggered on, tripping,
almost falling on his face sometimes, and the Japs got closer and
closer.
I grabbed up a couple of potatoes that had somehow spilled when we
carried them over, and heaved one at the first Jap. I hit him, too, so
that he grunted and stopped a little. Maybe it was enough to help. Then
I threw the other at The Man Who Will Come, but he just moved his head,
and I could see him grin, for all he was running so hard.
Now Motu was at the very edge of the bridge, with the Japs not a dozen
feet behind.
From the balcony I heard Mark yell, “T-throw Binney on the b-bridge and
jump.”
Quick as a wink Motu did as he was told, and then Mark Tidd’s drawbridge
showed what it was made for. The instant the two boys were on the bridge
Mark pushed over the iron weight that was to help lift it. But this was
no time for slow lifting, so what did Mark do but grab that rope just
above the weight and jump right off the balcony. Down he came,
_ker-slam!_ and up went the bridge with Motu and Binney on it. Up it
went, with the first Japanese so close it almost caught him under the
nose. He couldn’t stop, and went right under the lift into the water.
Motu and Binney came rolling and bumping down the bridge to our side.
The Japs stopped sudden, and one of them hauled out the man who had
fallen in.
“They—can’t—swim,” panted Motu.
So, for a while at least, we were safe. There wasn’t a boat on that
side, they couldn’t come anywhere near jumping across, and they couldn’t
do anything till they had figured out some scheme to cross the water.
By this time Mark Tidd was down-stairs, working over Binney. He knew all
about first aid, and, by pumping and working Binney’s arms and one thing
and another, it wasn’t long before Binney showed signs that he was
alive. In half an hour he was able to sit up and move around sort of
feeble. It was the first second we had had time to breathe.
Mark Tidd stood up and walked over to Motu with his hand out.
“Motu,” says he, “there ain’t any t-thanks that will do for a thing like
you did. It’s somethin’ that can’t ever be paid for by words, or even by
doin’ things. But I want to t-t-tell you, Motu, that—that none of those
Samurai in your country have got you beat. You’re as good as the best of
’em, and some b-better. And one thing you can depend on, and that is
that this crowd’ll stick to you, and work for you, and f-f-fight for you
till they p-p-petrify.”
Motu smiled a proud, grateful sort of smile and took Mark’s hand. “What
you say is good. It makes me fill with pride. I am joyful your Binney is
safe, and I am joyful it was Motu who helped.”
“Now,” says Mark, “we’d better be gettin’ ready for business.”
I thought so, too. The Japs had disappeared behind the hotel. We
couldn’t see what they were up to, but we knew mighty well it was
something that wouldn’t be good for us.
The siege had begun.