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.

CHAPTER XVII

THE HERO

When Will Dawson spoke his voice was hoarse. "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.

[Illustration: JUST THEN, OUT CAME ONE OF THOSE OLD BOARDS AND THERE
STOOD THE BLACK MAN. (Page