turned desperately to Red. "You
and Perry Alford sneak up behind that thick lot of weeds when we start
yelling and dancing like everything. Then we'll charge and drive 'em
around to your end. But don't let 'em hit you."

In the meantime, the youngest member of the Mosher family had discovered
that his position as "Red-Crosser" carried only a decoration on his
sleeve, which admitted of no honor or excitement whatever. He crept up,
unobserved by the excited Fletcherites, raided the cucumber basket of as
many of the missiles as his little pockets would hold, and halted within
easy distance to watch the attack on the fortress.

Red and Perry sneaked stealthily to the weed-clump ambush while their
comrades showered cucumbers on the sheltered foe recklessly.
Occasionally the defenders replied with a shot whenever a good mark was
presented, but for the most part, they seemed content to keep the box
heap between them and their enemies and bide their time. Farther and
farther away they edged in response to the flanking movement of the main
division of John's army, until Red, deeming the moment opportune, fired.
Perry Alford followed. Silvey, surprised by the sudden attack from the
rear, turned and received a cucumber full upon his half-open lips.

"Who did that?" he sputtered, as he dislodged the acrid fragments from
his mouth.

Red threw caution to the winds and danced exultantly out in the open.

"You're a deader. You're a deader. I killed the general. I killed the
general."

Silvey advanced on him furiously. "I'll punch your face in, hitting me
in the mouth that way."

Brown was ever in ecstasy at the prospect of a fight. "Come on and do
it," he retorted. "Didn't last football practice, did you?"

Silvey doubled his fists. His opponent held his ground. The rank and
file of the two armies dropped their cucumbers and gathered in a little
semi-circle to watch the fight. The youngest Mosher boy crept up and
balanced himself unsteadily on one foot. In his right hand he held a
cucumber, and on his face shone set determination.

"Wanta fight," he cried, as the combatants began the inevitable
preliminary sparring. "_Goin'ta_ fight!"

The next moment, a cucumber caught Silvey squarely in the eye. The
latter turned, dug viciously in his pocket for ammunition, and fired a
handful of cucumbers at his assailant without perceiving, in his blind
rage, who it was. Yell after yell filled the air.

"Now look what you've done," ex