upon the hidden path, and of seeing the two strangers who had complained of being double-crossed when they failed to find the crated pheasants.
“Dobbs, what do you know of this matter?” his employer demanded severely.
“Why, not a thing.” The foreman laughed nervously. “Not a thing. We built a little lean-to about a year ago where I sometimes keep a few tools. Haven’t used it in months or been near there.”
“You told me nothing of having built the shack, Dobbs. In fact, I find there are many things you neglected to report. Who are the men who have been trespassing on my property?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dobbs whined. “I’ve never seen anyone use the old logging road.”
“No mention was made of anyone using it,” Brad tripped him up. “However, that’s how they have been coming here—down the road at night, crossing the log bridge afoot and then apparently to the lean-to.”
“That ain’t so!” Dobbs denied, suddenly losing control of his temper. “You’re just saying it to make trouble for me. You want me to lose my job! You’re sore because I told Mr. Silverton about the Cubs trespassing on the restricted area.”
“We’re reporting exactly what we saw,” Brad replied.
“Can you describe the two men?” Mr. Silverton asked, paying no attention to Dobbs’ accusation.
“One was heavy set and about middle age,” Brad recalled. “The other was taller. We couldn’t see their faces plainly because it was so dark.”
“They called each other Jake and Bernie,” Dan contributed.
The names struck sparks in Mr. Silverton’s mind.
“Not Bernie Bauer and Jake Freeze?” he demanded.
“We didn’t hear the last names, sir,” Dan returned regretfully.
“Nevertheless, your general description fits the pair,” Mr. Silverton said, turning again to the crestfallen foreman. “Friends of yours, aren’t they, Dobbs?”
“I know Bernard Bauer and Jake Freeze slightly,” Dobbs replied, considering his words carefully. “But believe me, Mr. Silverton, they’ve never come here. At least not to my knowledge.”
“I’ve suspected for a long while that someone was stealing some of my best pheasants, Dobbs. In fact, we discussed it several times. But it remained for the Cubs to bring the proof I needed!”
“Proof! What proof have they dug up? How do we know they didn’t make up the whole story about finding those cocks in the lean-to?”
“I’ll vouch for the honesty of Brad and Dan,” said Mr. Hatfield, who had listened silently to the discussion. “For that matter, their findings do not surprise me. I’ve suspected for some time that trespassers were using the old logging road.”
While the Cub leader spoke, Dan by the light of the lantern had been inspecting the pheasant crate. Now he was ready to spring his most important discovery.
“If you want proof that someone has been stealing pheasants, look at this!” he exclaimed.
Attached to the shipping crate with a bit of wire was the torn half of an old tag, showing that it had been expressed to Malborne.
In the wavering light of the lantern, Mr. Hatfield and the owner of the pheasant farm inspected the writing.
“We found the other half of this shipping tag on the old logging road several days ago,” Dan told Mr. Silverton. “Apparently, the crate has been used repeatedly.”
Mr. Hatfield, who had kept the missing half of the tag, removed it from his billfold and gave it to Mr. Silverton.
“Obviously, pheasants have been shipped out for resale,” the sportsman said. “This convinces me. And I rather think Freeze and Bauer are our boys!”
“The Cubs have given you a twisted story,” Dobbs whined. “I tell you I never saw this pheasant crate before.”
“Dobbs, you’re lying!” Mr. Silverton accused him. “I’ve seen that crate myself. Isn’t it one we kept as an extra? I remember one of the slats was broken. You mended it—”
“And here is the repaired place,” Dan pointed it out.
Thus tripped in his story, Dobbs began to stammer and make the excuse that he had failed to recognize the crate.
“I’ve had enough of your alibis,” Mr. Silverton said angrily. “You’ll do the rest of your explaining to the police!”
“Don’t turn me over to the authorities, Mr. Silverton,” the man pleaded. “I’ve worked for you two years—doing the best I could. I did make mistakes—I admit it, and the worst one was ever getting acquainted with those two yellow dogs, Jake Freeze and Bernie Bauer.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere, Dobbs. So you admit you worked with them in stealing my pheasants?”
“If I tell you the whole story, will you let me off?” Dobbs tried to bargain.
“We’ll see,” his employer returned coldly. “Unless you do tell me, I’ll call the police. I promise you that!”
Dobbs drew a deep breath and said sullenly: “Well, it was like this: I knew Freeze and Bauer several years ago before I came to work for you. During the war I was employed by a man named Willis who had an estate north of here.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Silverton nodded.
“He had deer in his forest. Meat was scarce then, and it seemed a shame for folks to go without, just for want of a few ration stamps.”
“So you made a deal to supply deer to Freeze and Bauer?” Mr. Silverton demanded, guessing at the story.
“That’s about the size of it,” Dobbs admitted. “Only they came to me with the proposition. I never liked the business, so I pulled out and came to Webster City.”
“Then you got mixed up in pheasant stealing?”
“Not intentionally. Believe me, Mr. Silverton, I’ve worked hard trying to keep things running smoothly here.”
“You receive a generous salary for your work, I believe?”
“Oh, I ain’t complaining,” Dobbs said uncomfortably. “You’ve been decent to me—mighty decent.”
“How did you get mixed up with Freeze and Bauer again?”
“They learned I was working for you and followed me here. At first I wouldn’t listen to ’em, but they kept threatening if I didn’t play along, they’d tip off to you about my previous black market activities. Then I knew I’d lose my job.”
“So you made a deal with them?”
“They forced me into it. I never got much out of it myself.”
“How long has this
