CHAPTER 12 A Crate of Pheasants

In the indistinct light, the Cubs scarcely could distinguish the features of the two strangers.

Both were dressed in rough clothing and high rubber boots. The taller of the pair wore a large-brimmed felt hat which completely hid his face.

The other, whom the Cubs never before had seen, was stockily built, muscular, and walked with a heavy tread.

Neither of the men spoke as they moved directly to the lean-to. The taller of the pair opened the creaking door and peered inside.

“Nothing here!” he exclaimed. “Not a single crate!”

“Are you sure?” the other demanded, looking for himself. “Then we’ve been double crossed!”

“Looks like it, Jake,” the other muttered, angrily slamming shut the door. “He told us he’d leave the birds here, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. He telephoned me at my home early this morning and said everything was set. Figure he pulled a fast one?”

“Unless the storm coming up kept him from leaving the birds here.”

“Maybe, but I got my doubts,” the other rejoined. “For a long time now, he’s been trying to crawl out of this business. The yellow livered dog is afraid of being caught.”

“We’ve got to put the screws on him harder then. Lately, he ain’t been delivering enough to hardly make it worth while.”

Still talking, the two men started to move away from the lean-to. At that instant Red, who was nearly paralyzed from having remained so long in the same position, shifted slightly.

A stick beneath his body crackled, in the stillness of the forest, snapping like a tiny firecracker.

“What was that, Jake?”

“Didn’t hear anything,” the other man replied, but he stopped to listen.

In the bushes behind the lean-to, the three Cubs sucked in their breath and waited tensely.

“Thought I heard someone back there in the brush,” the heavy-set man declared. “I think I’ll take a look.”

He started toward the bushes where the three Cubs had gone into hiding with the crate of pheasants.

“Aw, come on,” the other said impatiently. “It’s getting late and the creek’s still rising. If we don’t get back, we might be trapped on this side of the stream.”

“Oh, all right,” his companion agreed. “But I’d have sworn I heard something.”

To the relief of the three Cubs, the pair with no further conversation, walked rapidly away.

Red, Dan and Brad waited until they were certain there was no risk of the two men returning. Then they came out of their hiding place.

“What do you make of it, Brad?” Dan asked, keeping his voice low. “Ever see those two before?”

“Never! They came here expecting to find that crate of pheasants.”

“Saul Dobbs must have left them in the lean-to,” Dan speculated. “Brad, he’s cheating Mr. Silverton—and then trying to throw the blame on the Cubs!”

“He may be in on some sort of crooked deal,” Brad said slowly. “But we’re jumping to pretty fancy conclusions. After all, we don’t have any real evidence.”

“We heard what those two men said,” Brad declared excitedly.

“Sure,” said Brad evenly, “but they didn’t mention any names.”

“One called the other Jake,” Dan recalled. “Of course, that’s not much to go on.”

“Saul Dobbs’ name wasn’t spoken,” Brad went on. “We don’t like the man, so naturally we decide he’s in on something shady.”

“What do you think we should do?” Dan asked, willing to follow the older boy’s advice.

“I don’t know whether we should make any accusations or not,” Brad returned doubtfully. “One can’t go around accusing persons on flimsy evidence. I guess the best thing to do is saying nothing until we’ve had a chance to report this to Mr. Hatfield.”

“What about this crate of pheasants?” Dan asked. “Shall we put it back in the lean-to?”

“I don’t like to do that. Those birds need food and water right now.”

“Why not take ’em to the barn and turn them loose with the other pheasants?” Dan suggested. “Then we can explain to Mr. Silverton later on, if we need to.”

“That’s a good idea!” approved Brad. “Come on, let’s move along and find out what’s happened to Chips.”

Carrying the crate of pheasants, the three retraced their way along the dark path. At the masked entrance, there was no sign of Chips.

Brad whistled softly and the boys came quickly out of hiding.

“Where did those men go after they left here?” Brad questioned. “Did you see ’em?”

“Sure,” Chips answered, staring at the crate of pheasants which Red and Dan carried between them. “They were plenty mad about something too!”

“But which way did they go?”

“Back toward the log jam and the road.”

“I sure hope Mack and Fred kept out of sight,” Brad said anxiously.

As the four started for the creek, he explained to Chips what they had seen and heard near the lean-to.

“Did you recognize either of those two men?” he asked Chips.

“Hardly could see their faces, Brad. They were hopping mad because you hid the crate of pheasants.”

At the creek, Mack and Fred who had taken refuge among the oak trees, came out of hiding as the other Cubs emerged from the trail.

Excitedly they reported that the two men had crossed the log bridge only a few minutes before, wading through the deepening water to the parked station wagon on the old road.

“Did you get the license number?” Dan inquired.

“Couldn’t,” Fred explained. “Too dark to see that far. And the men never turned on their car lights.”

“They had a hard time getting the motor started,” Mack contributed. “The driver got mad and began berating the other fellow. Oh, they were heated!”

“You didn’t hear any names spoken?” Brad questioned.

“Names?” Mack repeated. “Well, one of ’em called the other Bernie.”

“That’s two names we have now!” Red exclaimed. “Jake and Bernie. Ever hear of anyone by either of them?”

None of the Cubs had. Mack thought it possible that the pair were known to Mr. Silverton, and in fact, might have been employed by him to do work on the farm.

“That’s possible, of course,” Brad conceded. “But if they were farm workers, why would they talk about being double crossed?”

Although nearly a half hour had elapsed since Mr. Hatfield and the sportsman had gone to the house in search of dynamite, neither had returned. During their absence, Mack and Fred had made an effort to dislodge some of the logs which were causing the water to back up. Their attempts however, had been unavailing.

“The creek still is rising,” Fred declared as the Cubs waded across the piled-up debris to the other side of the stream. “Wonder what’s happened to Mr. Hatfield and Silverton?” Answering his own question, he added: “They may have had to go into the city after dynamite.”

Talking over the matter, it was agreed that Mack, Fred, Red and Chips would wait at the log jam, doing what they could to release the smaller tree branches. Brad and Dan were to carry the crate of pheasants to the barn, and if they could find Mr. Silverton, report to him what they had seen and heard.

Splashing through the knee-deep water, the two boys picked their way through the darkness. Once, stumbling over a submerged tree stump, Dan nearly dropped his end of the shipping crate.

But finally, with no mishap, they reached the clearing.

The rising water now had flooded all the pheasant pens and was creating a large island of the house and barn.

“If the creek keeps coming up, water will start filtering into the barn in another hour or so,” Brad said anxiously. “Then we’ll need the Cubs to help move the pheasants into the loft.”

Mr. Hatfield’s car was nowhere to be seen, a fact which led the two boys to believe that the Cub leader and Mr. Silverton had driven away to obtain dynamite.

At the barn, Brad and Dan opened the crate and turned loose the two cocks which were absorbed in the flock.

“There’s nothing we can do here,” Brad said. “I suppose we may as well go back to the creek.”

As the pair turned to leave, they heard footsteps outside the barn door. Thinking that it was Mr. Hatfield or Mr. Silverton, Dan called:

“Here we are! In the barn!”

No one answered his shout. But a moment later, the door of the barn was flung back, and the boys found themselves gazing into the blinding light of a gasoline lantern.

A massive, squat figure, whose shadow was grotesque, stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“So, it’s you again, my young friends!” observed a harsh, mocking voice. “This time I’ve caught you red handed!”

Brad and Dan could not see the man’s face for the glare of the lantern. But there was no mistaking the voice. The one who confronted them from the doorway was Saul Dobbs.