CHAPTER 9 A Missing Code

Dan was at the Cave before seven o’clock the next morning. Early as was the hour, Mr. Hatfield had arrived ahead of him and already had moved out most of the camping equipment which was to be taken to Skeleton Island.

“Why, hello, Dan,” the Cub leader greeted him in pleased surprise. “I hardly expected to see you before eight o’clock.”

“I scarcely expected to see myself,” Dan grinned. “Fact is, I came to look for a paper I lost last night. Mr. Hatfield, I nearly broke the code only to have the message disappear!”

Quickly the boy related everything that had occurred.

“Ross and I agreed not to tell any of the Cubs,” he added. “I figured it would only worry them.”

“You’re right in keeping quiet about it,” Mr. Hatfield said at once. “I hadn’t intended to mention it, but for several days I’ve had a feeling this place is being spied upon. Frankly, I don’t like it.”

“Any idea who may be doing it, Mr. Hatfield?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with that message we found, or Jacques?”

“I’ve wondered, Dan. My mind is not at rest with regard to that boy. Obviously he was a Cub, yet I’ve been unable to find any Den or Pack in which he ever was registered. Of course, he could have given us a fictitious first name.”

“It was miserable luck losing the coded message last night,” Dan complained. “I’d just figured out the first word—‘Coming’—when whiff went the light.”

“The paper may be here. Let’s make a thorough search.”

Mr. Hatfield swept the cave floor while Dan searched every possible cranny. The missing paper was not found.

“Well, at least nothing else appears to be missing,” the Cub leader said after he had checked all the camping equipment. “It seems that whoever came here last night must have been after that coded message. Dan, if I’d known this earlier—”

“You’d have called off the camping trip,” Dan completed, guessing at his thought.

“Yes, Jacques must have had a connection with Skeleton Island or the name wouldn’t have appeared on the paper. I have an uneasy feeling about going there.”

“The camp will be well guarded with so many of the fathers going along.”

“I realize that, Dan, but even so—”

“The Cubs would be terribly disappointed if you called off the trip now,” Dan interposed. “Oh, heck, Mr. Hatfield, I shouldn’t have told you about losing that paper!”

“On the contrary, you did exactly right. Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to call off the trip on such short notice. We’ll go on just as we planned.”

“Oh, thanks, Mr. Hatfield!”

“Don’t thank me,” the Cub leader rejoined. “Just keep your lips buttoned and your eyes open after we reach Skeleton Island. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, report to me. But don’t say or do anything to worry or stir up the Cubs.”

“I’ll remember,” Dan promised.

“Now lend a hand with this camping equipment,” Mr. Hatfield said briskly. “I want to have everything at the dock before eight o’clock.”

Two hours later found the Cubs in their temporary camp on Skeleton Island. Tents already were up, balsam beds in preparation of making, and a trench fire started for the noon-day meal.

A beach near the camp sloped gently out into the river more than fifteen yards. This the Den Dads marked off with ropes and floats. Beyond was a somewhat deeper area, suitable for the more experienced swimmers.

“I wish we had a diving raft,” Brad remarked, surveying the possibilities.

“Why not build one?” proposed Mr. Hatfield. “I saw some old boards and a log or two lying back in the brush. We easily can build a small raft.”

For an hour the Cubs busied themselves carrying boards and logs to the riverside. Mr. Hatfield supervised the work, showing the boys how to fit the logs together to make a firm framework for the platform.

When it was ready for use, Dan, Brad and Sam Hatfield anchored the raft in deep water.

“I’m all tuckered out,” Dan announced, pulling himself up on the platform to rest. “You know, camping is mighty hard work!”

“It is until your camp is set up right,” Sam Hatfield agreed. “After that, it’s easy. If the Scouts decide to buy this property, we’ll have cabins and an improved beach. The brush will need to be cleared away. But it will make a first class camp.”

“I hope the Scouts decide to buy,” Dan said, rolling over so that the sun would warm his back.

“The site seems ideal to me. It’s close to Webster City. The beach area is unusually good, and the island has a natural spring. Plenty of woodland for nature trails too.”

“You think the Scouts will buy it?” Brad asked. Seated on the edge of the raft, his dangling feet beat a steady tattoo in the water.

“That remains to be seen,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “There are several factors to be considered.”

He did not amplify the statement, for just then Midge’s father called from shore to warn that lunch would be ready in twenty minutes.

With a shout of pleasure, the Cubs scrambled for the beach. Dan and Brad dived from the raft, racing each other in.

“No fooling, you get faster every day,” Brad praised his companion. “If you don’t take Ross for a cleaning in our next swimming meet, I’ll miss my guess.”

“I only hope if I win I do it in a straightaway race, not on a technical point,” the younger boy rejoined. “Ross still figures he lost on a fluke.”

By the time the Cubs were dressed, lunch was ready. Squatting around the glowing coals, they filled their plates with steak, potatoes and generous helpings of carrots.

As his crowning achievement, Mr. Holloway produced a pan of delicately browned biscuits baked in a home-made reflector oven which he had fashioned.

“How does the meal taste, boys?” he asked.

“Swell!” approved Red, reaching for another biscuit. “As a cook, we’ll give you the tin medal!”

When the last scrap of food had disappeared, the Cubs doused sand on the fires, dispatched the dishes and then stretched out to enjoy a rest.

Chips, however, soon became restless.

“I think I’ll amble down the beach and explore,” he announced. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find the entrance to that old tunnel Mr. Hatfield told us about!”

“If you do, write me a letter about it,” Brad joked, stretching lazily. “I’m treating myself to a snooze. That swim made me drowsy.”

“Don’t go out of sight of camp, Chips,” Mr. Hatfield advised the boy as he started away.

“Aw, Mr. Hatfield—”

“I’m asking the Cubs to stay pretty much in this section of the island,” the Cub leader explained. “Later on, we’ll do our exploring in a group.”

“Oh, all right,” Chips consented reluctantly.

“Want me to go along?” Fred asked.

Chips, acting as if he had not heard, ambled off. Fred, who preferred to remain in camp, let him go alone.

Fresh water was needed, so Dan and Mack went to the nearby spring for a bucket of water. The other Cubs finished making their balsam beds. This work completed, they joined Brad under the shade trees.

“Wonder what’s become of Chips?” Mr. Hatfield presently remarked, scanning the beach area. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“You know Chips,” said Brad significantly.

“I do indeed. His intentions are good, but he’s apt to wander off.”

“Odd that he went by himself,” Brad mused. “He really gave Fred the brush-off. Want me to see what’s become of him, Mr. Hatfield?”

“I may look him up myself,” the Cub leader replied, getting to his feet.

However, it was unnecessary for him to go in search. Scarcely five minutes later, Chips came running up the beach, obviously excited.

“Hey, fellows!” he shouted. “Come quick!”

The Cubs uncurled themselves from comfortable nooks, and hastened to see what was wrong.

“What’s up, Chips?” Brad demanded.

“I want to show you something,” the boy said impressively. “Gosh, it scared me half out of my wits!”

“What did you find?” Dan demanded.

“Just follow me.”

At a dog-trot, Chips led the Cubs down the beach to a clump of willows. There he pointed dramatically to an object lying in a slight depression.

“A skeleton!” Midge exclaimed, recoiling at the gruesome sight.

“Chips, how did you happen to find it here?” asked Mack with a shudder.

“Oh, I was just walking along the beach,” the boy answered vaguely. “There it was in the sand.”

Brad bent down to examine the bones and the grinning skull.

“Don’t touch the thing,” Fred said, pulling back. “I’ll call my father.”

“Wait a minute,” Brad stopped him. “Chips, you say you just happened along here and found this skeleton?”

“It was exactly where you see it now.”

“Sure it was! After you put it there!”

“Why, such an accusation,” Chips protested, but his grin gave him away. “Okay, Wise Guy!”

“I’m wise enough to know varnish when I see it! These bones all have been treated. So ’fess up, Chips. Where did you get the skeleton?”

“From the school laboratory,” the boy admitted with a laugh. “Professor Johnson let me borrow it to play a joke on the Cubs. It would have worked too, if you hadn’t been so smart.”

“The joke doesn’t seem funny to me,” Brad replied severely. “It would have given us all a bad feeling to think anyone had died on the island. We want this camping trip to be a pleasant experience.”

“Guess I made a mistake,” Chips muttered, gathering up the skeleton. “It seemed like a good idea when I first thought of it.”

Disheartened by the failure of his joke, he carefully replaced the bones in a carrying box which he had hidden in the willows.

“Don’t take it so hard,” Brad said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know you went to a lot of bother to pull off that joke.”

“The Cubs would have fallen for it too.”

“Sure, they would have, Chips. But it would have stirred them up. You know as well as I do that if things go wrong while we’re here, the Scouts may decide not to buy the island site for their camp.”

“You’re right, Brad,” Chips admitted. “I’m sorry. I won’t pull any more stunts while we’re here.”

Back in camp once more, several of the Cubs elected to try their luck fishing. Dan, Chips and Brad, who were to help Mr. Holloway with the cooking that night, remained behind to check over supplies.

“The boys may bring in a few fish,” the Den Dad remarked. “If so, we should have a good meal tonight. But just in case—we’ll be prepared to fall back on ham and eggs.”

Dan wandered off to gather wood for the fire. Upon his return with a large armful of dry pieces, he noticed that the water pail was empty again.

“There must be a herd of thirsty camels around here,” he complained. “I filled that bucket not twenty minutes ago!”

“I’ll do it this time,” Chips offered, eager to make amends for the skeleton. “You’ve done your share of work already.”

Seizing the bucket, the boy disappeared in the direction of the spring.

Brad, Dan and Mr. Holloway busied themselves with preparations for the evening meal, setting out supplies that would be needed.

“How about another batch of biscuits?” the Den Dad proposed. “The Cubs went for them in a big way this noon.”

“Fine!” approved Dan. “And baked potatoes will be easy to fix. We can wrap them in wet clay and roast them on the coals.”

“Know where we can get any clay?” Mr. Holloway asked, searching through the supplies for a package of flour. “It’s mostly sand around here.”

“There’s some back by the spring. I noticed it when I was filling the water bucket awhile ago.”

“Suppose you see if you can dig up some, Dan. Take an old tin can.”

The spring was situated well back from the camp site in a natural shelter of willows, ferns and vines.

Dan had covered less than half the distance when Chips suddenly plunged into view. The water pail left behind, he obviously was excited as he ran toward the other boy.

“Dan!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “I—I saw someone at the spring!”

Dan scarcely knew whether to laugh or take Chips seriously.

“What’s so strange about that?” he demanded. “Was it one of the Den Dads?”

“Of course not!” Chips retorted, exasperated. “What do you think I am, anyhow? A scared cat? I saw this man peering at me as I reached down to dip water from the pool at the spring.”

“Sure you aren’t pulling another skeleton trick?”

“Heck, no! I swear it! Dan, I really saw this man—an ugly looking fellow. It gave me a bad start. I dropped the water bucket and ran.”

“It may have been Jabowski. I’ve been told he stays on the island while Mr. Manheim is away.”

“This man had dark bushy hair and hadn’t shaved in three or four days.”

“You’re sure he didn’t have horns sprouting from his forehead?”

“Wise guy! You think I’m making it up!” Chips said indignantly. “It gave me a bad feeling, I tell you. I wish you could have seen the way he looked at me. It froze my blood.”

“Where was this monster?”

“Lurking back behind the bushes. As I started to fill the pail, I glanced up. He was staring at me with hatred in his eyes. Then he ducked back out of sight. I dropped the water bucket and ran.”

Dan was only half convinced that Chips was not trying to play another joke. However, he noticed that the boy was breathing hard and actually looked a trifle pale.

“You probably saw Mr. Jabowski,” he said with a shrug.

“Like fun I did! I’ve seen Jabowski at the Webster City Yacht Club. It was someone else.”

“A fisherman maybe who came to the island by boat.”

“We haven’t seen any boats around all day,” Chips contended.

“I’ll go back there with you,” Dan offered. “Come on.”

“You wouldn’t be so brave if you’d seen that leering face,” Chips said, following unwillingly.

The two boys approached the spring warily. All was tranquil. A gentle breeze stirred the dense growth of bushes which hemmed in the spring and pool. Otherwise there was no movement.

“No one here,” Dan observed. “Sure you didn’t imagine it, Chips?”

“I certainly did not.”

“Well, no one is here now, at any rate. I’ll fill the water bucket while you look around to see if you can find any clay. We need it to wrap baked potatoes in.”

Dan moved on to the spring. He stooped to drink deeply of the cool water and then reached down to pick up the tin bucket which Chips had abandoned.

In the still water of the circular pool he could see his own reflection. And then he saw something more!

Merging with the dark of the bushes was a face, the evil countenance that Chips had described so vividly. As he watched, fascinated, a hand slowly was raised.

“Look out, Dan!” called Chips.

Dan ducked. As he flattened himself, a stone was hurled by the man who crouched in the bushes. Sailing over his head, it struck the pool with a hard splash.