“Oh, you can’t escape us.”
“Not much, he can’t,” put in another, and now Jerry felt sure that the speaker was Wash Crosby.
“We’ll talk about that later, Crosby.”
The masked boy started back and denied his identity. But it was plain to see he was much put out.
“I know you, Peters, Crosby, Banner and Graves,” went on Jerry. “And I’ll discover who you other two fellows are before I leave here, too.”
“Fiddlesticks!” shouted one of the boys by the fire who was stirring the tar.
“Is it getting soft?” asked Crosby.
“Yes.”
“Where is the brush?”
“I’ve got it,” spoke up another, and he held up the stump of an old whitewash brush.