style="font-size:15px;"> Following Dan’s example, the Den members folded blankets which could not be aired outside, and straightened the cabin. By the time Midge and Mack brought water from the house, a well-cooked breakfast was ready.
As they squatted around the fire eating their fill of bacon and eggs, Mr. Hatfield outlined the morning plans.
“It won’t take long to clean up the dishes,” he remarked. “Then what say to a boat jaunt across the river?”
“Not to the village again?” protested Chips. “We have more supplies now than we’ll need until we leave here.”
“I thought we might hike to Paul Silverton’s pheasant farm.”
“Not the wealthy sportsman?” demanded Mack Tibbets, all interest.
“That’s right. He raises unusual imported birds as a hobby. Of course, it will be pretty wet underfoot, and if any of you would rather stay here or go home—”
“Who wants to stay?” Red demanded. “We’ve been cooped up long enough. Let’s get those dishes washed pronto!”
“Hey, look fellows!” broke in Mack suddenly. “Is that the real thing or a mirage?”
By this time the sun had straggled through the clouds and was casting a few feeble beams over the drenched camp.
“The sun! Whoopee!” shouted Red, capering about like an Indian. “Aw, who turned it off?”
As if to tantalize the Cubs, the sun after its brief debut again slipped under a cloud. But a moment later, out it popped again, this time for several minutes. The Cubs, greatly cheered, went at their morning duties with a will.
By ten o’clock, knapsacks were packed with sandwiches, chocolate bars and extra wool socks.
“All set?” Mr. Hatfield asked. “We’ll have to make two boat trips across the river. I’ll take the first load with Midge, Fred, Dan and Red. Then I’ll return for the others.”
“Let’s go,” Dan urged, leading the way to the dock.
The mahogany dinghy which Mr. Holloway assigned to the Cubs’ use was durable and easily rowed. At a sign from the Cub leader, Dan picked up the oars, while Midge and Red shoved off.
Swollen by recent rains, the river current was swift and filled with tiny whirlpools. However, all the Cubs could swim, and Dan took care to steer clear of floating logs and debris.
At Eagle Point, Dan and his passengers alighted and waited on the beach while Mr. Hatfield returned for the second boatload of Cubs.
When finally all the boys had gathered, Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father led the group along the shore over a stretch of rising ground to the edge of a dense woods.
Then, in single file, the Cubs plunged through a tangle of damp brush interwoven with grapevines.
“I failed to reach Mr. Silverton by telephone this morning,” Mr. Holloway remarked regretfully. “Therefore, our visit will come as a surprise to him.”
“Think he’ll object to our seeing the pheasants?” The Cub leader had paused to consider the path which branched off into several indistinct ones farther on.
“Why should he? We’ll ask permission before wandering around.”
The Cubs trudged on, finding the way heavy going. Mud clung to their hiking shoes, making walking increasingly difficult.
An overhanging branch showered Chips with raindrops as he brushed against it. “I sure hope that pheasant farm isn’t much farther,” he grumbled.
“Softie!” jeered Midge. “Maybe you could sit down somewhere on a nice comfortable log and we could bring the pheasants to you.”
“Aw, cut it,” Chips growled. “Can’t a guy crack a remark without being accused of turning soft?”
Mr. Hatfield and Dan, who were leading the Cubs, now halted unexpectedly, bringing the entire line up short.
Quite without warning, a heavy-set, round-faced man in checkered flannel shirt and corduroy breeches, emerged from behind a tree. Clearly he meant to block the trail.
“What are you boys doing here?” he flung at them.
Mr. Holloway moved past the Cubs to stand beside Dan and the Cub master.
Sam answered politely: “We’re on our way to Mr. Silverton’s pheasant farm. This trail leads there, I believe?”
“You’re on Silverton’s land now. He told you to come here, did he?”
“Why, no. We’re a Den of Cub scouts, and we thought we’d ask permission—”
“You’re trespassers,” the stranger cut in.
“I assure you we do not mean to be. We very much would like to visit the farm.”
“Well, you can’t. Mr. Silverton doesn’t want no-account boys running wild over the place. They scare the pheasants and make no end of trouble.”
“The Cubs are reliable,” said Mr. Hatfield quietly. “I assure you, you’ll have no difficulty on that score.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to leave.”
“If we might see Mr. Silverton—” the Cub leader began, but again the other interrupted.
“Well, you can’t,” he snapped. “I’m Saul Dobbs, and I’m in charge here. Now get out before I lose patience.”
Glaring at the Cubs, the workman carelessly allowed his hand to drop to his belt where he carried a revolver in a holster. The gesture was not lost upon either Mr. Hatfield or the Cubs.
“We’ll go,” said the Cub leader, still without raising his voice. “But don’t think you’re scaring us.”
“Git going and don’t come back!” Saul Dobbs ordered in a blustering voice.
“You may hear from us again after we have talked to Mr. Silverton,” said Mr. Hatfield. “Meanwhile, good-bye.”
With dignity, he turned and led the crestfallen Cubs back along the twisting trail.
CHAPTER 2
The Cubs on Trial
No sooner were the Cubs well beyond the hearing of Saul Dobbs than they broke into excited argument over whether or not they should have submitted to his threats.
“Why didn’t we just tell him to go jump in the river?” Chips demanded furiously. “Just who does he think he is, anyhow?”
“He happens to be Mr. Silverton’s foreman,” Dan pointed out quietly. “Also, he was armed.”
“He was only bluffing,” Red volunteered his opinion. “I say, why don’t we go back there and tell him off?”
Mr.
