“I don’t see,” says I, “why we couldn’t just as well pile into a boat and row to the far end of the lake. From there we could make tracks for town and save all this bother.”

Mark Tidd just looked at me disgusted.

“How far is it to t-t-town?” says he.

“Ten miles,” says I.

“How m-much lead d’you think you’d get on the Japs by rowin’ to the end of the lake?”

“Mile or so,” says I.

“Huh! Those men could run there ’most as fast as we could row. We’d gain some, but in the t-t-ten miles to town they’d catch us, and a f-fine chance we’d have.”

I guess he was right about it. We were safer where we were, though I’d have liked more water between us than there was.

“Mr. Ames ought to be here in three days,” says Binney. “Then Motu’ll be safe.”

“Yes,” says Mark, sarcastic-like. “I s’pose five Japs’ll be close to scared to death of one lame old man. Why, Mr. Ames hasn’t as much f-f-fight in him as any one of us.”

“But he might fetch somebody with him,” says Plunk.

“That’s what we’ve got to hope for,” says Mark. “The main thing right now is to keep off the Japanese till Mr. Ames does come. Three days is a l-long time.”

“Yes,” says I, “but it would be a heap longer if we didn’t have plenty of grub.”

“’Tis supper-time,” says Binney. “Come on.”

Well, sir, five minutes after that you could have bought the whole crowd for a cent with a hole in it. We got everything ready to cook and fixed wood and kindling for the fire—and nobody had a match. We searched our pockets and turned them inside out. Then we rummaged through everything we had brought over to the citadel from the hotel; and as a last resort we scoured the whole citadel to see if somebody hadn’t left one laying around by accident. But there wasn’t a match.

“No coffee,” says Binney.

“Coffee!” grunted Mark. “What’s worryin’ me is no f-fires to-night. We might peg along somehow with the grub we’ve got, but we can’t get along without fire to-night.”

“Might make fire like the savages do,” says I. “Take a stick with a point to it and whirl it around in a hole in another stick.”

“If I was wrecked on a d-d-desert island,” says Mark, “and there wasn’t any other way, I might try that. Probably it’d take a day’s fussin’ to get the things fixed just right so’s they’d work. No, there’s a b-better way than that.”

“What is it?” says I.

“Go get the box of m-matches on the kitchen shelf in the hotel.”

“Sure,” says I. “Just call and ask The Man Who Will Come to toss ’em over.”

“Get all the fun you can out of it now,” says Mark, “because you’re elected, Tallow.”

“Me?” says I. “Why?”

“Because you’re the best s-s-swimmer.”

“Next time,” says I, “I won’t learn to swim.”

“I don’t think there’ll be much danger,” says Mark. “We’ll fix up a decoy. How f-far can you swim under water, Tallow?”

“Fifty or sixty feet,” says I.

“Good. I’ve seen you do b-b-better’n that. First we’ll send out Plunk in the canoe. He’ll start out from the wharf and p-paddle along the shore about two hundred f-feet out. He’ll take a cloth and m-make b’lieve wave it to somebody on the far shore. I calc’late that’ll interest the Japs some. Eh? Sort of give ’em the idea reinforcements are comin’.”

“Fine!” says I. “But where do I come in?”

“I’ll show you that as soon as Plunk’s gone.”

“When does he go?”

“Now,” says Mark.

“And all I’ve got to do is just slide across and fetch a supply of matches?” says I. “Swim under water with ’em? How’ll I keep ’em dry? And while I’m there hadn’t I better fetch along the kitchen stove? Could just as well’s not.”

“You’re goin’ to be k-kept busy,” says Mark, “without tirin’ yourself out tryin’ to be funny. Do your jokin’ when you get back with the m-matches.”
I COULD GET INTO THE WATER WITHOUT THE LEAST BIT OF DANGER OF ANYBODY’S SEEING ME

We pushed off the canoe and Plunk started out with a pillow-case lying handy for him to wave. He paddled until he got opposite the porch of the hotel, and then, all of a sudden, he acted as if he was looking for something on the far shore of the lake. After he’d watched a minute he rose up as high as he dared without tipping over, and began to wave like he had gone crazy. He flapped that pillow-case around his head in circles and back and forth and up and down, at the same time letting out a holler as if he was tickled to death about something.

As soon as Plunk’s side-show was performing I got ready for the main act. Mark took me into the citadel, where we pried up a loose plank in the floor. That part of the building was built on spiles right over the water. So all I had to do was let myself through. That way I could get into the water without the least bit of danger of anybody’s seeing me. The water was up to my neck under the floor and got deeper toward the edge. I found that out all by myself. It didn’t take any help at all. All I did was to take one step careless-like, and into a hole I went ker-splash!

It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been talking to Mark at that minute. But I was. I guess I must have been saying a big word, because my mouth was as far open as I could get it. When you duck suddenly under water with your mouth wide open the pleasure you get out of it is very small. If Lake Ravona hadn’t been a pretty good-sized body of water I’d have swallowed all of it and left the fish flopping on dry land. As it was I did my best and lowered the level considerable.

When I came up, choking and splashing and close to drowned to death, Mark Tidd was laughing fit to split.

“See if you can t-t-think of anythin’ humorous to say now, Tallow. You’ve been unusual funny these few days past.”

“I’d like to have you down here,” says I. “I’ll bet I’d make you think of somethin’ pretty laughable.”

“Duck your head,” says he, still shaking all over like a plate of jelly, “and swim under water to the back of the hotel. You can crawl in through the kitchen window and get out again without anybody knowin’ you’ve b-b-been there.”

I was mad, but there wasn’t anything to do but swallow it and wait for a chance to get even. So I took a sight for the place where I wanted to land and dived.

Swimming under water is all right when you do it for fun and when you do it in water you know all about. But here I wasn’t doing it for fun—far from it—and I didn’t know much about the water. I was pretty confident there weren’t any spiles or boulders between me and shore to split my head against, but I didn’t know. There’s a heap of difference between being pretty sure and knowing. An ounce of know is better than a ton of pretty sure.

I took it as easy and cautious as I could, and after I’d been swimming ahead till I thought my lungs would burst if I didn’t get a breath of air my knees scraped the bottom. I’d got as far as I could go under water. So I crouched down with nothing but my nose and eyes above water, and spied around a bit.

I didn’t see a soul any place, so I crept in nearer, and got out on shore at the back of the hotel. The kitchen window wasn’t far, now, so I made a break for it. When I got to it I stopped again and looked all around as well as inside. It looked safe. If only things were always as safe ............