the Cub leader asked, quickly surveying the situation.
“I think the barn is the best place,” Mr. Silverton decided. “Turn them loose there. The water shouldn’t come that high.”
“Get busy, boys,” Mr. Hatfield instructed the Cubs.
Handling the crates carefully, the boys carried them one by one to the barn. There, after making certain the doors and windows all were closed, they set the startled birds free on the ground floor.
Meanwhile, along the pheasant runs, Mr. Silverton aided by Brad and Mr. Hatfield, had been collecting the traps. As rapidly as the pheasants were caught, the Cubs carried them to the barn where they milled with the others.
“We’ve done all we can here,” Mr. Silverton decided as deepening shadows made it difficult to locate straggling pheasants. “Some will take refuge in the trees and bushes.”
“The water’s still coming higher,” Mr. Hatfield observed as he prepared to move his car. “If the gorge were cleared out, the level should drop fast.”
“Let’s see what can be done,” Mr. Silverton proposed.
Both men moved their cars to higher ground lest flood waters continue to rise. Then, followed by the Cubs, they circled around to the old logging road, approaching the dam from the upper and drier side.
“Why Dobbs would leave a mess like that in the stream, I can’t figure!” Mr. Silverton exclaimed in disgust as he caught sight of the jam. “He must have known about it, but he never spoke of it to me.”
Mr. Hatfield casually pointed out that the logs formed a natural bridge, adding: “Almost as if they had been laid deliberately.”
“They do at that!” the sportsman agreed. “Let’s have a closer look.”
While Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs waited on dry land, he waded out to examine the accumulation of debris. When he returned to the group a few minutes later, his expression was grim.
“You’re right, Mr. Hatfield,” he declared. “I’m convinced those logs were placed deliberately. Apparently, more has been going on here than I suspected!”
“Any chance to dislodge them?” the Cub leader questioned.
“Not without a crew of men. But a stick of dynamite would do the trick. I think Saul Dobbs has some locked up in the tool house.”
While the Cubs waited, the two men started back to the house to obtain the dynamite.
“What I can’t figure, is why anyone would go to the trouble of making a log bridge at this particular point,” Dan said, frowning as he watched the water spill over the makeshift dam. “Farther up stream, there’s a perfectly good foot bridge.”
“This section is near the restricted part of the woods,” Brad commented. “Mr. Silverton keeps his best Germain pheasants there. And say! I wonder if they’re safe?”
“The water’s backing up fast in that direction,” Red observed.
“Maybe we ought to investigate,” Dan proposed. “Think it’s safe to cross the dam?”
“The water isn’t more than ankle deep,” Brad decided. “We can get across if we’re careful.”
Joining hands, the Cubs cautiously waded through the shallow sheet of water which coursed over the top of the dam.
“Mack, you and Fred stay here to wait for Mr. Hatfield and Silverton,” Brad instructed. “Otherwise, they’ll wonder what became of us.”
Though disappointed to be left behind, the two Cubs made no protest. Brad, Dan, Chips and Red, then went on alone.
“Chips, I wish you’d show us again where you and Red picked up those pheasant feathers,” Brad said suddenly.
“Sure, providing the place isn’t under water,” the other agreed. “I guess it won’t be, because we’re moving into higher ground.”
The four Cubs continued for a short distance, and then Red and Chips fell into an argument as to the exact place where they had found the feathers.
“It was right here,” Red insisted, indicating a small clearing.
“No, it wasn’t,” denied Chips. “It was farther on.”
Dan paid no heed to the two Cubs, for he had made an interesting discovery of his own.
“Fellows, come here!” he called excitedly. “See what I’ve found!”
CHAPTER 11
Dan’s Discovery
Dan stood at the entrance to a path which had been masked with a pile of dead brush.
“Just what have you found?” Chips demanded as he and the other Cubs hurried over. “I don’t see anything to make a howl about.”
“Then look at this!”
Dan lifted away the pile of brush. Beyond they saw a freshly made path which wound through a dense tunnel of overhanging bushes.
“It’s just another trail,” said Red in disappointment. “The way you yipped, I thought you’d made an important discovery, Dan.”
“Don’t be so cock-sure this isn’t important,” Brad caught him up. Stooping, he peered up the path, trying to see in which direction it led.
“What’s important about it?” Red demanded. “Mr. Silverton’s farm has dozens of trails. We saw ’em marked on the map, didn’t we?”
“That’s the point,” drawled Dan. “I don’t think this trail ever was on the map.”
“Got it with you?” Brad asked.
“The map?” Dan dug in one pocket after another. “I don’t think I have—yes, here it is!”
Emerging from the path so as to obtain a better light, Brad studied the map. In the deepening shadows, he barely could make out the markings, and was unable to locate the trail.
“You’re right, Dan,” he said finally. “This trail doesn’t appear on Silverton’s map.”
“Anything so remarkable about that?” Chips demanded. “Maybe the path was made after he drew up the map.”
“Smart deduction,” Brad grinned, returning the map to Dan. “But made by whom? That’s the fifty dollar question.”
“Maybe by those fellows in the station wagon who’ve been using the old logging road,” Dan offered his theory.
“Might be,” Brad admitted. “It all fits in. The natural bridge—this path.”
“What fits in where?” Chips demanded in an aggrieved tone. “You guys think you’re funny, talking in code?”
“We’re not hiding anything,” Brad denied.
