CHAPTER 15 The Grand Howl

Alarmed for the safety of Chips, Mr. Hatfield and the dwellers of Rabb Island, Mr. Holloway immediately telephoned the Coast Guard station for assistance. He was assured that a rescue boat would be sent immediately.

“It will take them at least a half hour to reach the island,” the Den Dad reported to the Cubs. “Meanwhile, a lot may be happening there.”

Decidedly worried, Mr. Holloway and the Cubs established a vigil on the river front. The flashlight signals from Rabb Island were not repeated. This however, was no consolation.

“Mr. Hatfield’s flashlight battery probably is so weak it won’t operate,” Brad said.

“Say, can’t we borrow a boat from somewhere and row over there?” Dan demanded, made anxious by the long wait. “Dorman Clark keeps a motor boat.”

“But his place is two miles down stream,” Mr. Holloway reminded the Cubs.

“It would take us longer than thirty minutes to get there, launch the boat, and beat our way upstream to Rabb Island,” Brad objected.

Mr. Holloway nodded in agreement. “Our best bet is to wait here for the Coast Guard launch,” he decided, “even though it’s hard to remain idle.”

Little more was said by the Cubs although their anxiety was far from relieved. Wandering up and down the shore, they repeatedly checked the level of the water. Slowly but steadily, the river was creeping higher.

“Two years ago when the floods came, Rabb Island was almost entirely submerged,” Brad remarked, gazing anxiously at Mr. Holloway. “Do you think there is danger it might be covered again?”

“The river was at least two feet higher then, Brad. There’s no immediate danger of the entire island being flooded.”

“We’re not positive Mr. Hatfield and Chips reached the island, though the signals appeared to come from there,” Mack remarked. “If we interpreted the message right, something happened to the boat.”

“That’s what I can’t figure,” said Dan. “Do you suppose it sprung a leak?”

“Possible, but hardly likely,” the Den Dad replied. “That boat was tight as a drum. I caulked the seams myself.”

“Hey!” Brad suddenly shouted. “I see a light on the river!”

The other Cubs turned to gaze where he pointed. Far across the water they could see a bright, moving light.

“It’s the Coast Guard launch,” Mr. Holloway said in relief.

Plowing slowly upstream against the turbulent waters, the launch kept to midstream, churning on through the darkness toward Rabb Island.

Their minds now partially relieved, the Cubs nevertheless waited in suspense along the shore, wondering what might be amiss.

Finally, after at least another twenty minutes, the rescue craft was seen to put off from the island.

“She’s heading this way!” Brad observed.

A few minutes later, churning up spume, the launch halted well beyond the shallows opposite the submerged Holloway dock. In short order a small boat was lowered. Aboard were Sam Hatfield, Chips, Mrs. Dustin, her two small children, and a very bedraggled dog.

“What happened?” Mr. Holloway demanded as he and the Cubs waded out to pull the boat up onto land.

“Well, it’s quite a story,” the Cub leader replied, carefully assisting Mrs. Dustin from the boat. “Before I go into it, suppose we get this lady and her children into the house. They’ve had a harrowing time of it on the island.”

Mrs. Dustin brushed aside a wisp of damp hair which had blown across her drawn, care-lined face. She wore a man’s coat over her housedress, but the latter was soaked from the knees down and clung to her as she walked.

“My husband went to Webster City late this afternoon and couldn’t get back,” she explained. “Then the river came up frightfully fast. It flooded our little place, ruining everything. The children and I had to take refuge on the highest point of the island. I don’t know what we’d have done, if help hadn’t come when it did.”

Mrs. Holloway slipped an arm about the woman’s shaking shoulders as she led her and the two small children toward the house.

“Don’t worry about anything now,” she comforted. “You’ll spend the night here and we’ll get word to your husband. We have plenty of room.”

Having delivered the passengers safely, the Coast Guard launch now prepared to pull away, but not before Sam Hatfield and Mr. Holloway both had thanked the crew for the timely rescue.

“It’s just part of our job,” the boatswain replied carelessly. “Glad to have been of service.”

After the launch had disappeared in the darkness, Brad and the other Cubs gathered about Mr. Hatfield, urging him to relate what had occurred on Rabb Island.

“What became of Mr. Holloway’s boat?” Dan asked. “And why was it necessary to send the distress message?”

“Well—” the Cub leader hesitated, glancing briefly at Chips. “Oh, we had a little bad luck. The boat broke away after we left it on shore.”

“It wasn’t bad luck exactly,” Chips corrected quietly. “I was careless. Mr. Hatfield told me to fasten the boat, and I did tie it to a dock post—only not securely enough.”

“It wasn’t really your fault, Chips,” the Cub leader said generously.

“Yes, it was, sir. I should have been more careful.”

“Accidents can happen to anyone, Chips.”

“What became of the boat?” Dan asked although he knew the question was a rather useless one.

“Well, it drifted off somewhere downstream,” the Cub leader replied. “If we’re lucky, it may lodge some place fairly close. Then again, this swift current is likely to carry it miles. If any damage is done I’ll either buy a new boat or see that it is properly repaired.”

“Now don’t give that a thought,” the Den Dad cut in. “We’ll find the boat tomorrow.” He turned to Chips, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t look so glum, lad. No one blames you for the accident.”

“It’s not just the boat I’m thinking about,” the boy answered. “The Indian headdress was lying on the seat when it floated away.”

“Then there goes the Den’s chance to win first prize at the Pack exhibition!” exclaimed Red. “Gosh! After all the work we did on that headdress!”

“How did you happen to lose it?” Fred asked in a discouraged voice.

Chips explained that he had left the feather piece lying on the boat seat when he and Mr. Hatfield had gone to the rescue of Mrs. Dustin and her two children. Upon their return, both the boat and the headdress had floated away.

“We’ll never enter it in the competition now,” he ended in disgust. “The boat may be found, but the headdress is sure to be a mess after lying out all night in the weather.”

Loss of the handicraft article upon which the Den had pinned hope of victory in the Pack exhibition, thoroughly discouraged the Cubs. However, because Chips already blamed himself for the loss, they said little about it.

“There’s an outside chance the boat may have lodged at the Fulton bridge, a quarter of a mile down river,” Mr. Hatfield remarked thoughtfully. “The current would carry it in that direction. I think I’ll drive that way on my way home.”

Brad and Dan immediately sought permission to accompany the Cub leader.

“I’ll be glad to have you,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Better telephone your parents and tell them not to bother to pick you up. I’ll drive you home after we’ve looked for the boat.”

Eager to be off, Mr. Hatfield borrowed a lantern from Midge’s father. With Brad and Dan, he then selected the main highway which would take the car across the Fulton bridge.

“It’s too late for us to make an extensive search for the boat tonight,” he remarked as they drove along. “The chances are it will drift miles from Rabb Island. All the same, we’ll keep our eyes peeled.”

Under the pale light of the moon, the boys caught occasional glimpses of the racing river. At the bridge where rolling waves dashed against the stone supports, Mr. Hatfield halted the car for a better view.

Gazing down over the cement railing, Dan and Brad saw boxes, boards, logs and miscellaneous debris swept past. Other refuse of the river had lodged in quieter waters. Foam rose in a soapy sea around the bridge pillars where the waves slapped high.

But there was no sign of the missing boat.

“Guess it was too much to expect,” Mr. Hatfield said, turning away from the railing. “Well, nothing to do but organize a search tomorrow. I’m afraid though, that the boat will be badly battered by the time we recover it.”

Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs returned to the parked automobile and drove on. For a short distance the highway curled close to the rivers edge. At one point, shallow water flooded the pavement.

The car churned through it without the engine damping out. But a short distance ahead they came to another area of flooded pavement, more extensive and apparently much deeper.

“Wonder if we can make it?” Mr. Hatfield remarked.

Doubtful that the car could negotiate the water, he parked and walked down the road to investigate. Brad and Dan also alighted, following the Cub leader.

“We probably can get through all right,” Mr. Hatfield said after making an inspection. “But there’s likely to be more water ahead. Perhaps we’d better go back and take another road.”

While Brad and the Cub leader discussed what to do, Dan, who had been gazing out across the dark ribbon of river, suddenly noticed a shadowy object lodged some ten yards from shore.

“Mr. Hatfield!” he exclaimed. “Look over there! Could that be our missing boat?”

The Cub leader flashed his light on the area in the river which Dan indicated. A rowboat, plainly the one which had floated away from Rabb Island, had snagged against a bush in the backwash of the flooded river.

“Sure enough, it’s Mr. Holloway’s boat!” the Cub leader exclaimed. “You have keen eyesight, Dan!”

“The boat doesn’t look as if it will hold there very long,” Brad observed anxiously. “See! The current is teetering it back and forth now!”

“If only we had another boat, we could go after it,” Mr. Hatfield said. “By morning, it may not be here.”

As the three watched, the swift current caught the craft and swung it slightly to the left.

“It’s holding by a breath and a prayer,” Dan said. “Any minute it will float away and that may be the last we’ll ever see of it.”

“Couldn’t we wade out and bring the boat in?” proposed Brad. “The current is swift, but the water shouldn’t be too deep here close to shore.”

“It’s over your head and mine part of the way, Brad. And neither of us classifies as an expert swimmer.”

“But I do,” spoke up Dan. Then he corrected himself: “I don’t mean to hold myself out as an expert, but I’m considered pretty good at the Y. Mr. Hatfield, I could take off my shoes and wade out there. I wouldn’t have to swim except the last few yards.”

“It’s too dangerous, Dan. The current is treacherously swift. It might sweep you past the boat and on down river.”

“But if I don’t try, we’ll lose the boat,” Dan argued. “And the Indian feather headdress! The Cubs were counting on it to win the Pack handicraft exhibition.”

“Mr. Holloway’s boat is worth considerable money,” Brad added, swinging toward support of Dan’s plea. “If only we could get it now before it’s damaged—”

“I know I could swim out there,” Dan argued. “At the Y I’ve done three times that distance without even tiring.”

“But not in a swift current, Dan,” the Cub leader said.

“I’ll be swimming downstream, not against the current, Mr. Hatfield. Please let me try.”

“Dan, it’s too risky. If I could swim worth a cent myself—”

“You can’t,” said Dan. “That’s why you’re afraid to let me try. I know my own strength in the water. I can do it easily.”

Mr. Hatfield smiled and stood a moment studying the current which eddied about the half-submerged bush and the boat.

“I believe there’s a rope in the back of the car,” he said finally. “If it’s long enough we may be able to do something.”

Fetching the rope, he coiled it carefully and tested its length by tossing it far out into the river. It fell only a few feet short of the boat.

“My throw was weak,” the Cub leader said. “The rope actually is long enough to reach. Dan, you’re dead sure you want to try this?”

“Rarin’ to go!”

“Then strip to your shorts. You’ll need freedom of movement.”

Dan eagerly pulled off his shoes and divested himself of his outer garments. Carefully the Cub leader then tied the rope about his waist and tested the knot to make certain it would hold.

“Wade out as far as you can into the river,” he instructed the boy. “When you have to, swim. If you can’t make it, Brad and I will pull you in fast.”

“I’ll make it,” Dan said grimly.

Brad and the Cub leader removed their own shoes and socks, rolled up their trousers, and waded out a short distance into the flood.

“Now be careful,” Mr. Hatfield warned as Dan prepared to start on alone. “If you find yourself in trouble, signal with a quick tug of the rope.”

“I’ll be all right,” the boy replied confidently.

While Mr. Hatfield and Brad held one end of the rope, he waded on alone, picking his way cautiously. The muddy water washed to his knees, then to his waist, and finally came to shoulder depth.

The next moment the swift current swept him from his feet. Dan began to stroke smoothly only to discover that the river was carrying him downstream much too fast. Unless he exerted every ounce of his strength, he would be carried beyond his goal.

Dan dug in. His arms dipped and swept downward to his sides in powerful drives. His legs, churning in the steady six-beat crawl, gave him added propulsion.

The bush and the lodge boat loomed directly ahead. But the current, bent on carrying him with it, seemed to take on perverse strength. Despite his best efforts, he saw that he would be carried past his goal.

“Swim, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield shouted. “Swim hard!”

Dan heard and made a supreme effort. Though his breath was coming hard, his muscles offering painful complaint, he deliberately forced himself into a faster rhythm. The current swung him, but as he passed the bush, the boy lunged for it.

Achieving a handhold, he clung fast. The river swung his feet from beneath him, tugging and jerking. But still Dan held on as he struggled to regain his breath.

“The boat, Dan!” he heard Brad shout. “Get it quick! It’s drifting away!”

The boy’s weight on the bush had dislodged the craft, which now was moving slowly off down river.

With an indignant snort, Dan plunged downstream in pursuit. Two strokes enabled him to grasp the craft by its trailing painter.

But the next instant, both he and the boat were brought up with a hard jerk. A sharp pain shot through his waist where the rope had been tied.

“Hold fast to the boat!” Mr. Hatfield instructed. “We’ll pull you in.”

Against the current, the Cub leader and Brad slowly pulled hand over hand until Dan was in shallow, quiet water. There he was able to get to his feet and drag the boat to shore.

“Good work, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield praised, reaching out to help him. “For a minute I thought you were going to be swept past the bush.”

“So did I,” grinned Dan. “Lucky you insisted I tie that rope around my waist. Otherwise, I’d have had a hard time of it.”

“How about the Indian headdress?” Brad demanded. “Is it safe in the boat?”

Mr. Hatfield turned the beam of his flashlight on the craft’s seat. The feather piece lay exactly where Chips had dropped it, undamaged by water.

“The Cubs will be glad to hear this,” Brad said in relief, retrieving the handicraft article. “We’re mighty lucky tonight.”

Dan untied the rope from his waist and began to put on his clothes. Brad and Mr. Hatfield debated what to do with the boat now that it had been recovered.

“It’s too large to be taken into the car,” the Cub leader decided. “I guess the best we can do tonight is to hide it in the weeds well back from the river’s edge.”

While Dan finished dressing, he and Brad carried the craft far back from the rising water, overturning it in a patch of high grass.

“I’ll come for it in a trailer the first thing tomorrow,” Mr. Hatfield said. “During the next few hours, the river shouldn’t rise much higher.”

Feeling well repaid for their exertion, the three wiped the mud from their shoes and presently drove on through the area of shallow water to a clear stretch of pavement.

However, they had gone less than a quarter of a mile, when directly ahead they sighted still another flooded section of roadway.

“Oh! Oh!” said Mr. Hatfield, pulling up just before he reached the sheet of water. “This time, I’m afraid we’re stuck.”

The flooded area extended perhaps seventy-five yards. At the deepest point of the water a station wagon had stalled. Two men were endeavoring without much success to push the vehicle.

“We might lend them a hand,” Mr. Hatfield suggested. “No chance of getting through here ourselves. We’ll have to turn back.”

Dan had been staring fixedly at the station wagon. “Mr. Hatfield!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Isn’t that the same car that’s been going in and out of Mr. Silverton’s place?”

“It sure looks like Freeze and Bauer!” added Brad before the Cub leader could speak. “They’re stuck like a couple of whales in a puddle!”

“Mr. Silverton intends to swear out a warrant for their arrest,” Dan said. “I’ll bet an Indian head cent they’re driving out of town and intend to skip!”

“Unless we can stop them,” said Brad, looking hopefully at the Cub leader.

“We can’t start a fight without good cause,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “If Mr. Silverton were here, or the police—”

Brad had noticed a lighted dwelling only a short distance from the roadway.

“Say, why can’t I sneak over there and telephone Mr. Silverton!” he proposed. “If I get in touch with him, maybe he’ll decide to have those men arrested right now.”

“Go ahead, Brad,” Mr. Hatfield urged, swinging open the car door for him. “Dan and I will stay here and keep watch.”

Without attracting the attention of the two men, Brad darted up the hill and was lost to view. Dan and the Cub leader remained in the car, watching.

The pair in the station wagon had pushed the vehicle for a short distance. There encountering deeper water, they gave up in disgust.

“I think they’ve about decided to start off afoot now,” Mr. Hatfield observed. “In that case, they may elude us.”

“Can’t we try to stop them?”

“We can try, Dan. But without an arrest warrant or proof that the men are guilty of any crime, there’s very little we can do.”

Just then Brad came hurrying down the hillside to the car.

“I reached Silverton and he’s called police!” he reported breathlessly. “A cruiser or patrol car should come along in a few minutes. Silverton and Dobbs are driving over too. They’re ready to swear out a warrant.”

“Good!” Mr. Hatfield exclaimed. “But will we be able to hold the pair until help gets here?”

Freeze and his companion, apparently abandoning all hope of pushing the station wagon to dry pavement, had begun to unload their luggage.

“They are skipping town!” Dan declared anxiously. “I guess they must have wised up after they failed to find the crate of pheasants at Mr. Silverton’s place.”

“Here they come now,” Brad muttered a minute later as the two men splashed through the water toward the car. “Oh, heck! If we don’t think of something, they’ll get away!”

Mr. Hatfield, however, did not intend to allow the pair to escape without at least an attempt to hold them. Warning the Cubs to remain in the car, he stepped out onto the road just as the two waded up carrying their heavy luggage.

“Stuck?” he inquired casually.

“Looks like it, don’t it?” growled Jake Freeze. “You can’t get through with your car. I’d advise you to turn around and go back the way you came.”

“Guess I will,” Mr. Hatfield said easily. “You’re abandoning your station wagon?”

“We’re in a hurry to catch a train,” Freeze answered. “We’ll have it towed in by a garage.”

“Maybe I can give you a lift to town,” Mr. Hatfield offered, stalling for time.

“Sure, we’ll appreciate it,” Bauer growled. “I’m tellin’ you we’ve had a rotten run o’ luck tonight.”

Mr. Hatfield turned his car around in the narrow road, taking as long as he possibly could. Then he swung open the rear door for the two men to enter.

As Freeze settled himself, he gave Brad and Dan a sharp glance, noticing their Scout uniforms.

“Cubs!” he exclaimed. “Say, haven’t I seen you kids somewhere?”

“Why, we wouldn’t know,” Brad answered. “Unless maybe it was in Webster City.”

“Cubs!” the man repeated. “Now I got it! Dobbs was telling us that they were swarming over the Silverton place and might make trouble—”

“Trouble?” Dan interposed innocently. “What sort of trouble?”

But neither Freeze nor his companion was to be trapped into further speech.

Suddenly suspicious, they started to get out of the car.

“Thanks for offering a lift,” Freeze muttered, “but we’ll telephone for a tow car.”

Mr. Hatfield had observed the headlights of two approaching vehicles.

“It won’t be necessary to telephone,” he said with quiet jubilation. “I rather think help is coming now.”

Even as the Cub leader spoke, Mr. Silverton’s car drove up, followed by a police cruiser.

Freeze and Bauer, abandoning their luggage, made a dash for the hill. Belatedly they realized that they had fallen into a trap.

Mr. Silverton and Saul Dobbs had leaped from the sportsman’s car. Deliberately, they cut off escape.

“Just a minute!” the owner of the pheasant farm said, stepping in front of Freeze and Bauer. “I have a few questions to ask you two.”

“Such as?” Freeze demanded insolently.

“For one thing, I want to know why you’ve been shipping my pheasants out of town? And trespassing on my property?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Freeze muttered, trying without success to shove past the sportsman.

“We don’t know nothin’ about any pheasants,” Bauer added.

“I think you do,” Mr. Silverton corrected. “You needn’t deny that you’ve been trespassing. Dobbs already has confessed his part.”

“Why, you dirty double-crosser!” Freeze accused, starting for the workman. “I’ll get you for this!”

Before he could lay hands on Dobbs, he was firmly grasped by a police officer who informed him and Bauer that they both were under arrest.

“This is an outrage!” Bauer protested bitterly. “You’ve no evidence against us. Dobbs has been telling lies to try to save his own skin.”

“We’ll let the judge decide about that,” the policeman retorted. “Come along without any fuss, or we’ll use the handcuffs.”

Aware that resistance would be quite useless, the two men sullenly submitted to arrest. They were loaded into the police car and taken away.

Mr. Silverton then turned to express his appreciation once more to the Cubs and their leader.

“From now on, I want it understood that the Cubs are free and welcome to come and go whenever and wherever they please on my property,” he declared. “And I want to help the Cub movement here in Webster City. Tomorrow I’ll send the organization a check for one hundred dollars.”

“That’s entirely too generous,” Mr. Hatfield protested. “After all, the Cubs only tried to do what was right.”

“And it’s right that I should make the contribution,” insisted Mr. Silverton. “I’d gladly pay double the amount for the service the Cubs have rendered tonight.”

Mr. Hatfield, Brad and Dan, rather worn from their adventures, followed the police cruiser and Mr. Silverton’s car into Webster City.

In backtracking along the highway, they encountered two extensive patches of flood water. However, it rose only to hub-cap depth, and they reached the city without further delay.

During the next two days, events moved with supersonic speed for the Cubs. True to his word, Mr. Silverton sent the organization a check for one hundred dollars. With it came an urgent invitation for the Cubs to visit the farm whenever they wished, with exclusive right of obtaining pheasant feathers or wood.

“Say, we all can make fancy Indian headgears now!” declared Fred enthusiastically.

From Mr. Silverton, the Cubs learned that both Freeze and Bauer had pleaded guilty to stealing pheasants and were to be sentenced on a larceny charge within a few days. Dobbs, relieved of his job, had left Webster City to seek employment where he was unknown.

Now that their names had been cleared in the community, the Cubs centered all their thoughts upon the coming Pack meeting and exhibition of handicraft articles.

All the Den members were plugging for Chips and Red to win a prize with their entry. However, on the night of the exhibition, when they saw the many fine items entered by other contestants, they were filled with misgiving.

The collection of Indian articles was one of the best ever shown in Webster City. In addition to many elegant feather bonnets, there were buckskin shirts, shields, Indian leggings, baskets, beaded belts and carvings of bone.

“Chips and Red have one of the best entries,” Brad told Dan after he had inspected all the items on display. “But they may not win a prize. That buckskin shirt shows a lot of work.”

“And the judges have gone back to look at it at least three times,” Dan agreed gloomily.

At last came the all important moment for the awaited announcement of the contest winners.

Raising his hand in signal for silence, the Cub master read off the names of minor prize winners.

“And now, the grand prize—the silver trophy which will be awarded to the Den which entered the over-all handicraft article deemed by the judges to be the best.” The Cub Master paused for effect as all the Cubs waited tensely. Then he gazed directly at Red and Chips and added: “Den No. 2 wins the trophy with its entry of a pheasant feather war bonnet!”

The Cubs let out a whoop which could be heard half way across the river. Everyone clapped Red and Chips on the shoulder, congratulating them on their victory.

“We’re sure proud of you,” Brad declared. “And of the trophy!”

“Maybe you and Dan will win something yourselves,” Chips hinted broadly.

“But we had no entries. Only a couple of Indian bows which weren’t any good. They didn’t take any prize.”

“Wait and see,” Chips chuckled.

The Pack meeting resumed, with Mr. Hatfield telling the boys of his pride in their accomplishments.

“Honor is a Cub’s most precious possession,” he ended his little talk. “And that brings me to an important moment. The Cubs sincerely feel that had it not been for the untiring efforts of two of our members, the honor of the organization might have been tarnished.”

As if drawn by a magnet, all eyes now focused upon Brad and Dan. The two boys shifted uneasily, already beginning to feel uncomfortable. Their faces were flushed with embarrassment.

“Let’s give ’em the Grand Howl!” proposed Mr. Hatfield.

Now as Brad and Dan knew well, the Grand Howl was reserved only for distinguished guests or individuals the Pack wished to honor.

Before they could protest, all the Cubs formed a circle about the pair. Squatting down, each boy made the familiar two-finger Cub sign. Then, like young wolves, they gave a long and lusty howl:

“A-h-h—kay Laa! W-e-e-l d-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-r Best!”

The final word was yelled sharply and in unison. Then the Cubs leaped to their feet in a double hand salute, ending at attention.

“Brad and Dan!” Chips shouted boisterously, “They’re tops in the gang!”

“And here’s to the Cubs!” responded Dan, uttering a wild yip of his own. “Long may they howl!”