As a rule, this appertained to Monkey Stallings and Billy.  Hugh was wrapped up in observing all that went on, and it required his undivided attention, just as on the occasion of his visiting a big circus where wonderful events were taking place in three rings at the same time.

Arthur Cameron, on his part, was mentally figuring on how much surgical attention some of these doughty warriors would need after this amazing fracas; and when Arthur had his mind set upon that entrancing subject he might be considered blind to all ordinary matters.

As for Alec, his one idea was to snap off an occasional picture that would show the astonishing thing he and his lucky comrades had run across when the motion-picture players came to make use of the imitation castle on the peak.  The only trouble with Alec was a dreadful fear that his supply of film might run out, and then he stood a chance of missing what was likely to prove the best part of the whole proceedings.

Already he had reached Number Ten on his last roll, with but two more to wind up.  Oh, what would he not have given for a couple more rolls of a dozen exposures each; just then they would have been worth their weight in silver to the ambitious photographer.

Vague hopes had been playing at leap-tag in the mind of the scout picture-taker.  He wondered if there might not be some way in which they could succeed in influencing that hopping stage manager to promise to sell them a duplicate set of the pictures when they were ready for showing to the public.  Alec knew that they were rented out, and sometimes sold outright.  If Hugh now, with his persuasive tongue, could only exact such a promise from the gentleman in charge, would it not be a splendid achievement to incidentally have the picture included in the programme to be run at the town hall for some local benefit; and then hear the shouts from the boys of Oakvale when they discovered familiar uniforms and faces amidst the actors at rest?

From various remarks which the boys had heard shouted by the stage directors in giving his last directions they understood that this attack was calculated to carry the fort.  Already the men who wielded that heavy battering ram made from a convenient log, seemed to be smashing in the stout oaken front door, never built to resist such a desperate assault.  It quivered with each blow.

The director was shouting a medley of orders through that wonderful megaphone of his.  He seemed to be able to see everything that took place.  Hugh compared him to what he had once read about the eminent conductor of orchestra and musical festivals, Theodore Thomas, who when more than a hundred musicians were practicing under his direction, with a fearful outburst of sound and melody, would suddenly stop the proceedings, and scold a certain player whose instrument had “flatted,” or come in just an ace behind the regular time.

And every member of that vast company was keeping a wary eye on the director all the time seeming to be working like mad.  They were waiting to catch the signal that was to inaugurate the final scene, where those on the walls were to weaken, allowing one after another of the ascending men on the ladders to crawl over the parapet.