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. “All the clues are plain to see if you know how to read ’em.”

“What you’re saying doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Nor me,” added Red.

“Well, it’s like this, kiddies,” grinned Brad. “You and Chips found a lot of pheasant feathers here, didn’t you?”

“Check.”

“And not far from the same spot, Mr. Silverton or Dobbs come upon two dead birds. Check?”

“Sure,” admitted Red, “but I still don’t see—”

“We know someone has been using the old logging road. Well, maybe that log jam was put in the creek for a purpose.”

“To make a bridge across,” supplied Dan. “Whoever did it, wanted the dam to look natural.”

“You think someone planned to flood the pheasant runs?” Chips asked.

“No,” Brad explained patiently, “that part probably was an accident. The bridge was just a convenient means of getting into this section of the woodland.”

“Then you believe someone has been stealing pheasants from Mr. Silverton?” Red said slowly.

“Ah, the bright boy is catching on!” declared Brad.

“Your theory may sound good to you, but I’d say it’s full of holes like a sieve,” Red retorted.

“For instance?”

“Well, Saul Dobbs must have known about that log jam. And living on the place, how could he help but know if a strange car used the old road?”

“That’s what I’m wondering myself.”

Hardly knowing what to do, Brad stood staring thoughtfully up the dark, mysterious looking path. It had not been used many times, he knew, for the grass was worn thin in only a few places. Elsewhere, it merely was heavily trampled.

Though tempted to see where the trail led, he hesitated to take time to explore it. Soon it would be quite dark, and none of the Cubs had brought a flashlight.

Furthermore, with night coming on, the air was becoming chilly. In their damp clothing, the boys already were thoroughly uncomfortable.

“What do you say, Brad?” Dan asked eagerly. “Shall we find out where this path leads?”

The question stirred the Den Chief to decision.

“We might follow it a little ways,” he said. “But someone ought to stay here, just in case Mack or Fred should come looking for us.”

“I don’t want to stay—not alone,” announced Chips, as the Den Chief’s gaze singled him out.

“Then you and Red wait here together,” Brad directed. “Dan and I won’t be gone long.”

“If you hear us whistle twice, come a-running,” Chips advised as the pair started off together. “Mr. Hatfield may get back any minute and want us all in a hurry.”

With Dan leading the way, the two boys walked swiftly along the path. The ground sloped upward away from the general direction of the creek. All along the tunnel of bushes, Brad noticed broken branches, indicating to his observing eye that an object wider than the path itself had been carried along the trail.

“I hardly can see ahead,” Dan complained. “It’s sure getting dark fast.”

“Since we’ve come this far, let’s keep on a little longer,” Brad urged. “I think I see a clearing ahead.”

A few yards more and the pair came to a small lean-to constructed of second-hand lumber marred by numerous knot holes. The building, low to the ground, had been set back almost out of sight amid the bushes.

“What’s this?” Dan asked, for they had come to the end of the path.

“Looks a little like a tool shed, only I don’t think it could be,” Brad said, equally puzzled. “Let’s have a look inside.”

The ill-fitting door had a bolt and padlock. However, the latter hung loosely and had not been snapped shut.

Brad opened the door and peered into the dark interior.

“Nothing here,” he reported, and then corrected himself. “Yes, there is too! Looks like a crate of something.”

Diving into the lean-to, he pulled the crate out where they both could see it.

“Pheasants!” exclaimed Dan. “Two of them!”

“Beauties if you ask me, Dan. What kind are they?”

“This one looks like a Germain peacock type,” Dan said, identifying it from a picture he had seen in a library book. “Gray plumage eyed with metallic spots. His tail probably would spread out if he weren’t cooped up.”

“And the other one?”

“It might be an Impevan pheasant,” Dan said doubtfully. “That green crested head and red neck feathers would make me think so.”

“For all of me, it could be a grouse,” Brad chuckled. “Wonder why these birds are cooped up here without any food or water, and not too much air?”

“Brad, you don’t suppose—”

Dan did not finish what he had intended to say, for at that moment running footsteps pounded on the path.

“Someone’s coming—but fast!” Brad muttered, shoving the crate back into the lean-to. “Hide!”

He drew Dan back deep into the bushes behind the building.

Scarcely had the two taken cover, than a bedraggled figure bounded into view. In relief, the pair saw that it was Red who had followed them.

“Brad! Dan!” he hissed in a stage whisper.

Mystified by his secrecy, the pair stepped from their hiding place.

“Quick! Duck back out of sight!” Red muttered in warning. “They’re coming this way!”

“Who’s coming?” Brad demanded.

“A couple of men. I don’t know who they are.”

“Where did you see them?” Dan asked, for as yet he heard no sound on the trail.

“Listen!” Red said, his words fairly tumbling over each other. “Fred and Mack saw ’em coming up the log road in a station wagon. When they came to the water, they parked and crossed the bridge afoot.”

“They?” Brad caught him up.

“I tell you I don’t know who they were. Fred and Mack were on this side of the log bridge. When they saw those birds coming, they hid in the woods to watch.”

“Were they seen by the men, Red?”

“I don’t think so. Mack sneaked on ahead to warn you. He’s with Chips now at the entrance to this path.”

“And the men are coming this way?”

“I didn’t wait to see, but I think so.”

“Jeepers!” Brad muttered. “If they see that the bushes were pulled away from the path, they’ll be suspicious.”

“Mack and Chips took care of that. They put the brush back in place. The only thing that might give us away unless we’re seen, are footprints. And it’s too dark to make them out now.”

“Listen!” Dan warned, grasping Brad’s hand. “I can hear someone coming up the path now.”

“Duck!” Red advised, taking shelter in the thicket.

Brad started to follow his example, then thought of something.

“That crate of pheasants!” he whispered to Dan. “Help me with it.”

Dan could not guess what the Den Chief intended to do, but there was no time to ask questions. As Brad carefully swung open the door, he lifted out the crate.

“Easy, so those birds don’t start squawking,” Brad cautioned. “Shift it into the bushes.”

With Red’s help, Dan lifted the crate back out of sight. Meanwhile, Brad had closed the door of the lean-to.

The approaching footfalls and murmur of voices now were very close.

Flattening himself on the ground, Brad crawled into the bushes, disappearing into their shelter just as two men entered the clearing.