SUSPENSE

I said, “All right, but it’s pretty serious. There’s that black man in there. If we start toward Little Valley or back toward Bridgeboro he’ll be suspicious and escape. We know where he is and maybe he doesn’t know we know. How are we going to notify Mr. Pinchem or anybody else, that’s the question?”

Westy said, “Maybe one of us could sneak away and hurry to Little Valley.”

“Yes, and maybe he’ll sneak away too,” I said.

“Maybe we could start a fire and send up a smudge signal,” said Dorry.

“Sure, and make it good and black because he’s a negro,” Warde said.

I said, “It’s all very well to joke, but we have that man as good as caught. What are we going to do about it?”

“Some one hustle to Little Valley,” Westy said.

“A smudge signal,” said Dorry and Will.

Warde Hollister said, “Well, of course I don’t know so much about scouts because I’m not really a member yet.”

“They’re supposed to be observant,” the kid said.

“And brave,” Warde said.

“Sure, but they have to be cautious,” the kid said.

“They’re supposed to use sense,” I put in.

Warde said, “Well, I’m not afraid of what’s in there. Maybe I’m not so observant, but that fellow in there can’t scare me. If Pee-wee doesn’t want to go and nab him, I’ll go and nab him myself.”

Just then he got up and started for the shack.

“Come back!” I said. “You’re crazy!”

Pee-wee grabbed him by his jacket and said, all excited, “Do you want to get killed? Do you want to get killed? Sit down! Do you want to get killed? Don’t you know that man fired two shots?”

Westy said, “Come back, you fool!”

Hunt jumped up and grabbed him and he and Pee-wee both tried to hold him back. “Sit down, sit down!” they said. “Do you want to get shot?”

Warde just shook them off, and he said, “This kid came up to my house yesterday and gave me a lot of stuff about scouts being courageous and brave and intrepid——”

“Let me tell you what intrepid means,” the kid said, half crazy. “It—it—it—has—it has two meanings—kind of.”

“A scout is supposed to risk his life and get the Gold Cross,” Warde said. “That’s just what you told me.”

Gee whiz, before we realized it he was half way over to the shack.

“We’d better run,” the kid said.

“Stay where you are,” Westy told him.

I said, “That fellow has been reading crazy adventure stories, about kids capturing highwaymen and all that.”

“That’s what he gets from lying in the hammock and reading Deadeye Dick,” Will said.

“What—what shall we do?” the kid asked.

By that time Warde Hollister was right close up to the shack. Gee whiz, I had to admit he was reckless. He just walked right up and caught hold of that loose board and gave it a yank. We just waited, cold. Every second we were expecting to hear a shot and then see that big ugly black man come dashing out.

“No wonder,” Westy said; “his brain is full of boy scouts who murder and all that—that isn’t—listen!”

It was just the sound of Warde pulling down that old rotten board and crawling through. We were all in such suspense that we could hardly speak. The kid was nearly dead with fright.

“Listen—shh!” Westy said.

“It’s a scuffle,” I said.

Then, all of a sudden, oh, boy, I can hear it now, there was a loud, sudden report like a pistol shot.

We just stood there trembling. None of us moved or spoke.

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