afraid not,” replied Brad. “He slammed the receiver and now he won’t answer the ’phone.”
Leaving the drugstore, the four boys crossed the bridge and started on the long walk back to Webster City. Their spirits depressed, they had little to say.
Chips and Red were inclined to feel slightly abused. On the other hand, Brad and Dan were worried because all the Cubs had been blamed for an innocent mistake. Without question, unless the matter were cleared up, the reputation of Den 2 would severely suffer.
At Denwood Avenue, Red and Chips took leave of their companions, going to their separate homes. Brad and Dan continued toward the residential section of Brandon Heights.
“Mr. Silverton lives somewhere in this part of the city, doesn’t he?” Dan asked thoughtfully.
“256 Eagle Road,” Brad replied, recalling the number from having read it in the telephone directory.
“That’s only two streets from here. Brad, why don’t we go there and try to see him?”
“Again?” Brad kicked a pebble across the sidewalk. “What’s the use?”
“Well, I hate to give up,” Dan said doggedly. “If we’d actually done anything so bad, I’d be in favor of taking our medicine as Dobbs said. But Silverton at least ought to listen to our side of the story.”
“All right, we can try,” Brad consented, though without enthusiasm. “Maybe if we tell him about that log jam, he’ll soften up a bit.”
Two blocks farther on, the boys came to Eagle Road, an exclusive residential street in which the homes were few and far apart. High above the river valley, the large dwellings overlooked the business section of the city.
Mr. Silverton’s home near the end of the winding street, was hemmed in behind a tall privet hedge which half-hid a view of the handsome 15-room brick home. At the rear was a rose garden.
“Nice little shack Mr. Silverton has here,” Dan observed, impressed.
“A butler probably will answer the door and say his master regrets he cannot see us,” Brad declared as he unlatched the front gate.
But in walking up to the porch, Dan spied Mr. Silverton at the west side of the yard, talking to a gardener who was weeding a flower bed.
“We’re in luck, Brad!” he exclaimed. “There he is now!”
The wealthy sportsman saw the boys as they crossed the lawn. Straightening up from the flower bed, he regarded them with cold disapproval.
“Mr. Silverton, we apologize for intruding,” Brad said. “We wouldn’t have come, only we want to clear up the misunderstanding.”
“As far as I am concerned, there is no misunderstanding,” Mr. Silverton answered, starting toward the house. “I understand only too well.”
“Saul Dobbs prejudiced you against us,” Dan accused, following after the sportsman, who plainly intended to walk away from the pair.
“Prejudiced me?” Mr. Silverton paused and turned angrily toward Brad and Dan. “I saw the evidence with my own eyes!”
“Evidence?” Brad caught him up. “You mean footprints in the restricted area?”
“I mean dead pheasants. Two of my most valuable cocks imported from Burma were killed!”
“When, sir?” gasped Brad, stunned by the disclosure.
“Saul Dobbs found them yesterday not far from the creek.”
“Surely you don’t think the Cubs had anything to do with it,” said Dan in quick protest.
For reply, Mr. Silverton dug into the pocket of his sports jacket and brought forth a tarnished badge bearing the design of a wolf with two pointed ears.
“This was found close to the two dead pheasants,” he informed cuttingly. “Recognize it?”
“A wolf rank badge,” Brad admitted. “Maybe it’s the one Red lost.”
“Furthermore,” Mr. Silverton went on, “Dobbs has been making a check of the pheasants. A large number of the common variety seem to be missing. Some may have flown over the fences, but others have been taken.”
“You can’t accuse the Cubs of that!” Brad said, beginning to lose control of his temper. “After all, we were only there once, and no damage was done. Two of our Cubs by mistake entered the restricted area, but they did no harm.”
“No doubt you believe that to be true,” the sportsman said. “But this little badge proves otherwise. As I told you, it was found not far from the dead pheasants.”
“We saw no birds when we went after Chips and Red,” Brad recalled. “The pheasants must have died afterwards of a natural death.”
“Possibly so. But that’s neither here nor there. They died from having been jammed against some heavy object and bruised. Many of the tail feathers were missing.”
“Red and Chips wouldn’t have harmed any of the pheasants,” Dan insisted.
Mr. Silverton now seemed determined to bring the conversation to an end.
“How can you say what your friends did when they were out of your sight?” he demanded.
“Well, Chips and Red wouldn’t do a thing like that,” Dan said rather lamely. “After all, they’re Cubs.”
“And Cubs need feathers for Indian headgears!” Mr. Silverton retorted.
Having delivered this parting shot, he dropped the Wolf badge at Dan’s feet, and without another word, walked into the house.
CHAPTER 7
A Night Excursion
Brad and Dan were too stunned by Mr. Silverton’s final accusation to make any attempt to follow him toward the house.
As they stood gazing after the sportsman, the gardener in an attempt to soften his employer’s dismissal, said kindly:
“Mr. Silverton’s out of sorts today, lads. It was a blow to him losing those pheasants. He sets great store by ’em.”
“We told him the truth,” Brad said, stooping to pick up the Wolf badge from the grass. “The Cubs never intended to break any rules. As for killing the pheasants—well, I can’t believe it!”
The gardener leaned comfortably on his hoe. “It’s like the boss said,” he observed. “You may be honest and square yourselves, but how can you vouch for your friends? You didn’t see what they did while they were alone?”
“No, but—”
“And showing those Indian feathers at the village the way they did,” the gardener went on. “Why, it was circumstantial evidence! When Dobbs told around that the Cubs had trespassed, it was only natural folks would put two and two together.”
“So
