“Sure there is,” two or three of them said.
Will Dawson said, “I saw him plain; he was standing in back of a box. He was a colored man, all right.”
“I was the first to discover him,” Pee-wee whispered.
I said, “All right, findings is keepings; you can have him, he’s yours. Now are you satisfied?”
By that time we were about ten yards past the shack, standing all in a group. The person inside couldn’t see us through the opening in front of the shack but for all we knew he might be peeking at us through some little crack or hole. It made me feel funny to think that he was in there staring at us and we not able to see him.
I said, “Come on, let’s walk along just as if we didn’t suspect anything; we can talk while we’re walking.”
So we started along and Dorry said, “The best thing is for one of us to run ahead to Little Valley and tell the police there.”
“You’ll find the police department standing in front of the post office,” I said. “That’s where he usually hangs out.”
I guess the only one of us that hadn’t spoken at all was Warde Hollister. All of a sudden he said, “What’s the good of notifying the police? Scouts aren’t afraid, are they? Harris is the one who discovered him. So he ought to be the one to go back and capture him.”