Motu and I soon disposed of the two Japanese and their ladder. As soon as they had picked themselves up we heard The Man Who Will Come calling to them. Motu said he was telling them to quit monkeying around there and come to help him.

“I will watch here,” says Motu. “You go to help Mark Tidd.”

I was willing enough because I wanted to see what was going on, so I ran around the corner just in time to see Mark leaning as far over as the size of him would allow and smearing something on the stairs where they were hauled up.

“What you doin’?” I asked. “Feedin’ them?”

“Sure,” says he, without so much as the shadow of a smile. “They was askin’ for f-f-food, so I’m rubbin’ it into ’em. It was in this barrel.” He pointed to the big barrel I’d seen him rolling out.

I went over and looked. In the bottom of the barrel was about a pailful of some messy-looking stuff—soft soap or something like that.

“What’s the idee?” I asked him.

“M-makin’ the stairs easy to walk up,” says he.

I didn’t quite understand, but it wasn’t very many hours before I understood good and plenty—and it was one of the slickest sights Mark Tidd ever arranged.

Mark went right on daubing the messy stuff on the stairs as thick as he could get it, while Plunk kept poking away at the knife a Japanese was trying to cut the rope with.

“I wish that rope was wire,” says I. “It wouldn’t be so easy to cut.”

Mark straightened up and looked at me. “Tallow,” says he, “that idee was worth your board for the rest of the summer. There’s a coil of w-w-wire clothes-line hangin’ up in there. Get it.”

I found it hanging on a nail and brought it along. By that time Mark was done daubing, and he took the wire and rigged it alongside the rope to the stairs that led up to the third floor.

“We’ll use the r-rope to haul up the stairs,” says he, “if it gets so we have to h-haul ’em up. Then we’ll f-f-fasten ’em with the wire. Tallow, I’m proud of you. You’re promoted. For this wire idee I dub thee knight. Git down on your knees.”

“Don’t b’lieve cliff-dwellers had knights,” says I.

“We’re the kind that does,” says he. “Kneel.”

I grinned sort of foolish, I expect, and got down. He tapped me on the shoulder with the stick he had been using and says:

“Rise, Sir Tallow Martin. I dub thee knight.” With that he put a smear of the messy stuff on my cheek and chuckled. “I daub the knight, too,” says he. “That’ll make it all the stronger.”

“It was plenty powerful enough without,” says I.

All of a sudden the stairs dropped with a bang. Plunk had missed the knife with his lance and the Japanese had cut the rope.

“Ready to repel attack,” Mark shouted, and grabbed his lance.

Plunk had his and so did I. Mark and I stood plumb at the head of the stairs, while Plunk stood over to the side to take the enemy on the flank. No sooner did the stairs drop than three Japanese made a wild jump on to them. One man was ahead and made a bound up three steps. The others were right on his heels. Well, sir, what followed was too good to be true. The top man no sooner landed on the step than both his feet went slap out from under him and he sprawled on his face. His heels flew back and swatted the two behind, and they went down, and all of them rolled over and over to the floor in a tangle. I caught a glimpse of their faces and you never saw anybody look so surprised and startled and mad all at once.

“Wumph!” the first fellow says when he landed, and “Wough!” says the other two fellows when his heels hit them in the stummicks. I guess it knocked the wind clean out of them, for they all sat on the floor gasping and hanging on to their waist-lines like they thought somebody was going to try to steal them. They didn’t get right up. You could see they weren’t ready to stand up, not any of them. They were perfectly willing to rest a bit.

In a minute The Man came in sight and began jabbering at them. At first they didn’t do anything but goggle at him and groan and pant, but he tongue-lashed them till they got on to their feet pretty slow and painful.

The Man pointed at the stairs and says something in a commanding voice. The three started at us again, but there wasn’t any rush about it. They had their plateful of rushing on those stairs. No, sir, they didn’t hurry a bit. You’d have thought maybe they were climbing up to have a tooth pulled, hanging on to the rail and stepping soft and easy. Even at that the stairs were so slippery they could hardly hold their feet.

We stood at the top and laughed at them. That was about all we could do. We laughed, but that didn’t mean we were easy in our minds—I should say not. Those fellows looked mad. I felt as if somebody was waving his hand up and down inside my stummick, and my legs were trembly, and I wished I was back in Michigan with lots of room to run.

“How d’you feel?” says I to Mark.

“Lonesome,” says he, and grinned sickly-like.

That was the very word for it. There was company enough, too much of it if you come to that, but I was never so lonesome before, and I don’t expect ever to be so lonesome again.

The first man, hanging on to the rail with one hand, was near enough now so Plunk could swipe at him with his lance. The lance, you remember, was a long stick with a wad on the end bigger than a boxing-glove. It wouldn’t hurt anybody much to get a wallop with it, but it would bother them considerable. It bothered the Japanese, for Plunk drew back and gave him a good one right alongside the ear.

The man grunted and threw up his arm. Plunk banged him again, and he sort of wabbled.

“Poke him quick while he’s off his b-b-b-balance!” yelled Mark; and Plunk did.

The Jap did a funny little dance on his toes, grabbed for the rail and missed it, whirled around with his arms waggling, and sat down ker-sloosh! Then he coasted right against the legs of the other two and pushed their feet off the steps so they plumped down right on top of him like he was a sled, and coasted all the way down on him. I’ll bet he enjoyed it!

“T-t-toboggan slide,” Mark says. “Guess they don’t have ’em in Japan. They act like they didn’t understand slidin’ very well.”

“I thought,” says I, “that they made a pretty good slide for beginners.”

“’Twan’t graceful,” says Plunk. “I like to see folks slide pretty and neat. These fellers is clumsy as all-git-out.”

The three picked themselves up after they’d felt of their shins and rubbed their ribs and grunted considerable. The Man, dapper as ever, with his glass in his eye, stood scowling at them. He never looked up at us once. For a while he didn’t say anything; then he spoke in Japanese and they all went away.

“Whee!” says I. “Attack’s repulsed.”

“Huh!” Mark grunted. “It hasn’t b-b-begun yet. The Man’s got a scheme. Just wait.”

We didn’t have to wait long, for in three minutes they were back, each one of them carrying a pail—of sand.

“What’re they goin’ to do with that?” says Plunk. “Throw it in our eyes?”

“How do you stop an engine on a slippery track?” Mark asked.

“Put sand in front of the drivers,” says Plunk.

“Well,” says he, “pertend these Japanese was engines and the stairs was a t-t-track. What then?”

It was plain enough now. The Man had found a way to get ahead of Mark’s greasy scheme. They began putting sand on the stairs thick. First they covered the bottom step and then worked up a step at a time, fixing each one so they had a firm footing. Of course they couldn’t get to the four or five top steps, because we were there to see they didn’t, but they did the best they could.

Then they stood out of reach and tossed up sand so it fell on the steps that were still greasy. They kept it up till every step was covered, and then they made another attack.

It was lucky the stairs were narrow so only one man could come at us at a time, but that didn’t stop them. They came like they meant business. The first man crouched and jumped. Mark poked him while he was in the air and he stumbled and went down on his knees. But there he stuck. There wasn’t any more coasting, on account of the sand. He got up again and stood with his hands like a boxer, ready to grab the first lance that was shoved at him. On he came.

Mark feinted for his face, and when he threw up his hands, changed his aim of a sudden and lammed him in the stummick. At the same time Plunk let him have one in the ear and I reached through and gave his ankle a shove. It upset him again.

The others caught him and shoved him ahead. I guess they figured on using him as a shield, but he didn’t appear to like that idea much, for he wiggled and squirmed and yelled. We were sorry for him—of course we were—but business was business and we gave it to him good. Thud! thud! thud! thud! went the padded ends of our lances against his ribs and his head and wherever we could reach.

It wasn’t any use. The stairs were narrow and steep, and they couldn’t get a firm footing in spite of their sand, and we forced them back, a step at a time, until Mark and I were standing half-way down the stairs. We didn............