“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.