“If our Cubs live up to the rules—if they are square and game—our Den will be respected and make its influence felt in the community,” added Mr. Suell, one of the Den fathers.
The first part of the program completed, he then told the Cubs of an exciting trip he recently had taken to Mesa Verde National Park, site of the cliff dwellers.
The Cubs asked a great many questions and examined pottery and blankets which Mr. Suell had brought back from the Indian country. After that, Fred, Mack and Dan put on an Indian ceremonial dance, characterized by more energy than grace.
Presently the Pow Wow concluded with all the Den members forming a “living circle.” In close formation, facing inward, each Cub grasped the thumb of the boy on his left, raising right hand high in the two-finger Cub sign.
Up and down like a pump handle went their hands as the boys shouted: “Akela, we’ll do our Best!”
At the word “Best,” all the Cubs snapped smartly into salutes.
“Now for grub!” shouted Red, breaking away. “That stuff in the kettle sure smells good!”
“Lead me to it,” yelled Chips.
Dan and Brad circulated among the parents, waiting until everyone had been served before they took their helpings of stew.
In the chill night air, the hot food exactly hit the spot. Time after time, the Cubs went back for more until the big kettle was nearly empty.
Brad and Dan sat slightly apart from the others, their faces splashed with firelight. They were silently staring out across the dark river, when Mr. Hatfield, coming up behind them, touched their shoulders.
“Don’t say anything to the other Cubs,” he warned in a low tone. “Just follow me to the beach.”
“What’s up?” Brad asked in surprise.
“I’ll tell you at the beach.”
Wondering why the Cub leader was acting so mysteriously, the pair quickly put aside their plates, and joined him at the dock. To their further surprise, Mr. Hatfield began to untie the dinghy.
“What’s doing?” Brad asked again.
“That’s exactly what I propose to find out,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “A few minutes ago, I heard a car turn down into the old logging road.”
“Near Silverton’s place?” Dan interposed.
“Yes, at least I think the car was on the logging road. And I’m quite certain I saw a flashing light on Mr. Silverton’s property.”
“Then I was right the other night about that flashing light!” Dan cried. “Are you going to investigate?”
“Figured I might row up the river and look around. Want to ride along?”
“We sure do,” Brad declared, stepping into the boat.
“I’ve already told your parents not to expect you home for an hour,” the Cub leader said as he shoved off. “I have my car here and will drop you off at your homes after we get back.”
Few lights showed along the dark shore as Mr. Hatfield silently plied the oars. The boat spurted along, propelled by powerful strokes. Nearby, a sizeable fish leaped from the swift moving water, and fell back with a splash.
Hunched into their jackets, Dan and Brad speculated upon what the Cub leader might expect to see or find once they reached the old logging road.
“Maybe we have no business going there,” Mr. Hatfield said presently, swerving the boat toward shore, “but I figure it this way. The Cubs are under suspicion, and it’s up to us to clear our name if we can.”
“You think someone may be sneaking into Silverton’s place at night and taking pheasants?” Dan guessed. “Then we get the blame!”
“It’s an angle I intend to investigate,” Mr. Hatfield admitted. “In looking around though, we’ll have to respect Mr. Silverton’s order not to trespass.”
“In that case, it may not be easy to learn anything,” Brad said, a little disappointed.
Without replying, the Cub leader eased the boat in until it grated on the beach. Brad and Dan leaped out into the wet sand, and with Mr. Hatfield’s aid, pulled the craft well beyond reach of the greedy waves.
The three hid the oars in a clump of bushes and set off at a fast walk toward the exit of the old logging road.
As they approached the log fence barrier, Dan suddenly halted.
“Say, isn’t that a car coming out of the road now?” he demanded.
In the obscure light shed by a half moon, they saw a shadowy figure replacing the removable rails of the fence opening. Another man sat behind the wheel of a station wagon which had passed through to the main highway.
“Come on!” Mr. Hatfield urged the Cubs, hastening his step. “Let’s see who they are before they drive away!”
However, as he spoke, the man at the fence suddenly abandoned his effort to replace the rail. Allowing it to drop to the ground, he moved swiftly to the waiting station wagon and scrambled in.
With a roar of the engine, the station wagon pulled away.
“Quick! See if you can read the license number!” Mr. Hatfield exclaimed, turning the beam of his flashlight on the rear plate.
“Can’t make it out,” Brad muttered. “The plate is covered with mud. Maybe on purpose.”
“I thought the first two letters were WA,” Dan said. “Couldn’t be sure though.”
Mr. Hatfield went over to the rail fence.
“That car may have had a right to be on Silverton’s property,” he commented as he stooped to lift the loose rail into place. “All the same, I didn’t like the way those fellows rushed off when they saw us coming.”
“They were up to something, all right,” declared Dan. “They acted as if they were afraid we’d see them.”
An automobile whizzed past on the main highway, its bright headbeam momentarily illuminating the logging road exit.
Dan bent to tie a dangling shoelace. In stooping, he noticed a small piece of cardboard lying by the railing almost at his feet.
Absently he picked it up, thinking that it looked a little like a railroad ticket check. Then his interest quickened.
“Say, turn on your flashlight a minute, Mr. Hatfield!” he exclaimed. “I think I’ve found something!”
CHAPTER 8
Rain
The bright beam of Mr. Hatfield’s flashlight revealed the torn half of a shipping tag from a freight shipment. Of recent date, it bore the destination of Malborne.
“Malborne
