"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 d.i.c.k_," 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.

CHAPTER XVII

THE HERO

When Will Dawson spoke his voice was hoa.r.s.e. "Let's go--we've got to go and look in," he said.

Westy just gulped. He said, "Wait a second--listen."

"It's awful," Ralph Warner said. "We--we can't just stand here. What shall we do?"

Pee-wee was as white as snow. He just stood there gulping.

"We'll--we'll have--to--tell his--his mother," one of the fellows said.

Just then, _good night_, you'll hardly believe it when I tell you. Out came one of those old boards just as if some one was kicking it, and there was Warde Hollister dragging out the poor limp black man by the neck. The man's arms were flopping about this way and that and Warde threw him down flat on the ground. Then he made his hands into two cups and slapped them together.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JUST THEN, OUT CAME ONE OF THOSE OLD BOARDS AND THERE STOOD THE BLACK MAN. (Page 91)]

"Just one more shot to finish him," he said. It sounded just exactly like a pistol.

"There he is," Warde said; "and he'll never frighten good little boy scouts again. n.o.body will ever get another prize for hitting him in the eye with a baseball. His glorious career as a target is over. Step up, lads, and take a look at him."

Oh, boy, I guess we never felt so silly in our lives. Poor bandit, he was just one of those figures that sit in a chair and are pelted with baseb.a.l.l.s, three shots for a dime. "_Every time you hit the n.i.g.g.e.r!_"

That's what the man used to call. When some one hit him a good hard crack he'd topple off the seat and then the man would give you a kewpie doll or maybe an ash-tray. The poor old wooden "n.i.g.g.e.r" had been packed away and all we had seen was his black face sticking up above some old boxes.

I said to Warde, laughing good and hard, "You knew it all the time, didn't you?"

He just said, "A scout is observant. Do I get the Gold Cross?"

Westy said, "I don't think you get the Gold Cross, but we ought to get leather medals, I know that. We're a fine outfit of scouts not to know an old 'hit-the-n.i.g.g.e.r' target from a bandit."

Warde just kicked the poor old black man. I guess the black man didn't care, because he was used to being pelted in the face. I wouldn't want that job.

Then Warde said, "Scout Harris is to blame for this horrible murder. Did you ever hear of mental suggestion?" Gee, that fellow's smart.

"Is that what you killed him with?" I said.

He said, "If you're hunting for a thing, everything looks like that thing. Harris had bandits on his brain, so one look at this thing was enough for you fellows."