CHAPTER 7 A Night Excursion

Brad and Dan were too stunned by Mr. Silverton’s final accusation to make any attempt to follow him toward the house.

As they stood gazing after the sportsman, the gardener in an attempt to soften his employer’s dismissal, said kindly:

“Mr. Silverton’s out of sorts today, lads. It was a blow to him losing those pheasants. He sets great store by ’em.”

“We told him the truth,” Brad said, stooping to pick up the Wolf badge from the grass. “The Cubs never intended to break any rules. As for killing the pheasants—well, I can’t believe it!”

The gardener leaned comfortably on his hoe. “It’s like the boss said,” he observed. “You may be honest and square yourselves, but how can you vouch for your friends? You didn’t see what they did while they were alone?”

“No, but—”

“And showing those Indian feathers at the village the way they did,” the gardener went on. “Why, it was circumstantial evidence! When Dobbs told around that the Cubs had trespassed, it was only natural folks would put two and two together.”

“So that was what Mr. Silverton meant when he spoke of the Indian headdress,” Brad muttered. “And it explains why the villagers gave us such icy looks today! The Cubs are in Dutch everywhere.”

“It makes me sick,” Dan said in disgust. “Come on, Brad.”

Sunk in gloom, the two boys left the residential property, and with no destination in mind, went on down the street. The gardener’s words, together with Mr. Silverton’s accusations, now made everything plain.

The entire Cub organization had been incriminated on the basis of two pieces of evidence—the finding of the Wolf Cub badge near the dead pheasants, and the thoughtless display of the Indian headdress by Chips and Red.

“I knew those feathers would get us into trouble,” Brad remarked glumly. “And believe me, we’re really in the soup!”

“Brad, you don’t think—”

“That Chips or Red killed those birds for the feathers? No, I don’t, Dan. But Silverton’s accusation is serious. We’ve got to see Mr. Hatfield about this right away!”

The two boys, anxious to unburden themselves, sought Mr. Hatfield at Scout Headquarters. He listened attentively to the entire report, and then surprised them by saying:

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been a little afraid something like this would develop.”

“Then you knew about the dead pheasants?” Brad asked in amazement.

“No, but I noticed a few things at the pheasant farm which bothered me. By the way, you told Mr. Silverton about the log jam in the creek?”

Brad and Dan gazed at each other in disgust.

“I guess we’re just plain dumb,” Dan apologized. “We forgot about it.”

“Well, that’s not surprising, considering how upset you were about Mr. Silverton’s accusations,” the Cub leader said, reaching for his telephone.

“You’re calling Mr. Silverton now?” asked Brad.

“No, first I want to talk to Chips and Red again. I’ll ask them to come down here for a few minutes if they can.”

In response to the call from the Cub leader, the other two boys made a speedy trip downtown again. Mr. Hatfield, in the presence of the four, then asked Dan to repeat the accusations made against the Cubs by the pheasant farm owner.

“First, is this your badge?” he asked Red, showing him the one Brad had brought to the office.

“It sure is!” Red cried. “Where’d you find it?”

“Mr. Silverton picked it up on his farm near a couple of dead pheasants,” the Cub leader answered. “Red, serious accusations have been made against all the Cubs. I called you here to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Shoot!” invited Red, shifting his weight uneasily.

“You and Chips showed that Indian feather headdress around at the village and elsewhere?”

“Why, yes,” Red admitted. “I guess maybe we shouldn’t have picked up the feathers, but we didn’t see any harm in it at the time. We were kinda proud of the thing after we made it.”

“Now for the second question. You boys found the feathers lying on the ground?”

“We sure did, Mr. Hatfield. I hope you don’t think that either Chips or I would have taken them from live birds?”

“I’ll show you the very place we picked them up,” Chips added. “You can bet your life we didn’t go around plucking ’em out of live birds!”

“Considering that Mr. Silverton has told the Cubs to keep off his property, I’m afraid I won’t be able to see the place,” Mr. Hatfield said, smiling. “But I do accept your word.”

“How are we going to prove to other folks that we didn’t steal the feathers?” Red demanded. “First off, I’ll pitch that Indian headgear.”

“No, Red. The damage has been done. Hiding the headdress now would only tend to confirm suspicions.”

“You mean Chips and I can enter it in the Pack handicraft show? I’m not sure I’d want to after what’s happened.”

“There’s plenty of time to decide that later on,” Mr. Hatfield returned. He arose from his desk, a signal that the interview was at an end. “Meanwhile, I’ll see you all at the Indian Pow Wow tomorrow night.”

With the help of Mr. and Mrs. Holloway, the Den had planned its weekly meeting on an Indian theme. Midge and Fred had spent the better part of four days setting up a tepee in the Holloway back yard. The taut gunny sacking had been painted with gaudy colors in Indian designs.

“Hope it doesn’t rain again and ruin the job,” Midge remarked, as he surveyed his work.

Nearly all of the Cubs had finished their bows and arrows, and a few now were working on other items they hoped to enter in the Pack handicraft show.

Admittedly, the elaborate feather headdress made by Chips and Red, was by far the best article so far turned out by Den 2.

But while the two boys followed the Cub leader’s instructions and brought the headgear to the Pow Wow on the appointed night, they no longer were proud of their handiwork.

Though the other Cubs were careful to avoid the subject, everyone knew that the feathers had become a symbol of the uncleared charge hanging over their heads.

Entirely unknown to the Den members, Mr. Holloway and the Cub leader had tried without success to see Paul Silverton the previous day.

Through his secretary, the sportsman had sent word that he was “in conference” and could not be disturbed.

Determined that the unfortunate affair should not mar the Indian Pow Wow, Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway made no mention of their failure to iron out differences.

By the time the parents of the Cubs began to arrive at the Holloways, a roaring Council fire was burning in the beach area near where the Indian tepee had been set up.

At a smaller fire, some distance away, Mrs. Holloway stirred a huge kettle of fragrant stew which would be served after the ceremony.

The tomtoms presently burst into life, and Sam Hatfield, garbed in an Indian blanket, took the center of the circle.

Relating the story of Akela, chief of the Webelos Tribe, he told of the strength and wisdom of the great leader’s father, “Arrow of Light,” and of his mother, “Kind Eyes.”

“From the Wolf of the forest, Akela learned the language of the earth,” he told the listening Cubs. “And from the Bears, he acquired the secret names of the trees and the calls of the birds. Courage he learned from the Lion.”

Mr. Hatfield then explained that the Webelos tribal name had an inner meaning which in the organization signified progress from Wolf rank, through Bear and Lion classification to the ultimate goal of full fledged Scout.

“We-be-lo-s,” he repeated, spelling it slowly. “Loyal we’ll be.”

“And what does ‘Arrow of Light’ signify?” inquired Mack.

“Progress toward good citizenship. Cubs, like the Indians of old, must be self-controlled, loyal, game and quiet—willing to talk little and listen much.”

“If our Cubs live up to the rules—if they are square and game—our Den will be respected and make its influence felt in the community,” added Mr. Suell, one of the Den fathers.

The first part of the program completed, he then told the Cubs of an exciting trip he recently had taken to Mesa Verde National Park, site of the cliff dwellers.

The Cubs asked a great many questions and examined pottery and blankets which Mr. Suell had brought back from the Indian country. After that, Fred, Mack and Dan put on an Indian ceremonial dance, characterized by more energy than grace.

Presently the Pow Wow concluded with all the Den members forming a “living circle.” In close formation, facing inward, each Cub grasped the thumb of the boy on his left, raising right hand high in the two-finger Cub sign.

Up and down like a pump handle went their hands as the boys shouted: “Akela, we’ll do our Best!”

At the word “Best,” all the Cubs snapped smartly into salutes.

“Now for grub!” shouted Red, breaking away. “That stuff in the kettle sure smells good!”

“Lead me to it,” yelled Chips.

Dan and Brad circulated among the parents, waiting until everyone had been served before they took their helpings of stew.

In the chill night air, the hot food exactly hit the spot. Time after time, the Cubs went back for more until the big kettle was nearly empty.

Brad and Dan sat slightly apart from the others, their faces splashed with firelight. They were silently staring out across the dark river, when Mr. Hatfield, coming up behind them, touched their shoulders.

“Don’t say anything to the other Cubs,” he warned in a low tone. “Just follow me to the beach.”

“What’s up?” Brad asked in surprise.

“I’ll tell you at the beach.”

Wondering why the Cub leader was acting so mysteriously, the pair quickly put aside their plates, and joined him at the dock. To their further surprise, Mr. Hatfield began to untie the dinghy.

“What’s doing?” Brad asked again.

“That’s exactly what I propose to find out,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “A few minutes ago, I heard a car turn down into the old logging road.”

“Near Silverton’s place?” Dan interposed.

“Yes, at least I think the car was on the logging road. And I’m quite certain I saw a flashing light on Mr. Silverton’s property.”

“Then I was right the other night about that flashing light!” Dan cried. “Are you going to investigate?”

“Figured I might row up the river and look around. Want to ride along?”

“We sure do,” Brad declared, stepping into the boat.

“I’ve already told your parents not to expect you home for an hour,” the Cub leader said as he shoved off. “I have my car here and will drop you off at your homes after we get back.”

Few lights showed along the dark shore as Mr. Hatfield silently plied the oars. The boat spurted along, propelled by powerful strokes. Nearby, a sizeable fish leaped from the swift moving water, and fell back with a splash.

Hunched into their jackets, Dan and Brad speculated upon what the Cub leader might expect to see or find once they reached the old logging road.

“Maybe we have no business going there,” Mr. Hatfield said presently, swerving the boat toward shore, “but I figure it this way. The Cubs are under suspicion, and it’s up to us to clear our name if we can.”

“You think someone may be sneaking into Silverton’s place at night and taking pheasants?” Dan guessed. “Then we get the blame!”

“It’s an angle I intend to investigate,” Mr. Hatfield admitted. “In looking around though, we’ll have to respect Mr. Silverton’s order not to trespass.”

“In that case, it may not be easy to learn anything,” Brad said, a little disappointed.

Without replying, the Cub leader eased the boat in until it grated on the beach. Brad and Dan leaped out into the wet sand, and with Mr. Hatfield’s aid, pulled the craft well beyond reach of the greedy waves.

The three hid the oars in a clump of bushes and set off at a fast walk toward the exit of the old logging road.

As they approached the log fence barrier, Dan suddenly halted.

“Say, isn’t that a car coming out of the road now?” he demanded.

In the obscure light shed by a half moon, they saw a shadowy figure replacing the removable rails of the fence opening. Another man sat behind the wheel of a station wagon which had passed through to the main highway.

“Come on!” Mr. Hatfield urged the Cubs, hastening his step. “Let’s see who they are before they drive away!”

However, as he spoke, the man at the fence suddenly abandoned his effort to replace the rail. Allowing it to drop to the ground, he moved swiftly to the waiting station wagon and scrambled in.

With a roar of the engine, the station wagon pulled away.

“Quick! See if you can read the license number!” Mr. Hatfield exclaimed, turning the beam of his flashlight on the rear plate.

“Can’t make it out,” Brad muttered. “The plate is covered with mud. Maybe on purpose.”

“I thought the first two letters were WA,” Dan said. “Couldn’t be sure though.”

Mr. Hatfield went over to the rail fence.

“That car may have had a right to be on Silverton’s property,” he commented as he stooped to lift the loose rail into place. “All the same, I didn’t like the way those fellows rushed off when they saw us coming.”

“They were up to something, all right,” declared Dan. “They acted as if they were afraid we’d see them.”

An automobile whizzed past on the main highway, its bright headbeam momentarily illuminating the logging road exit.

Dan bent to tie a dangling shoelace. In stooping, he noticed a small piece of cardboard lying by the railing almost at his feet.

Absently he picked it up, thinking that it looked a little like a railroad ticket check. Then his interest quickened.

“Say, turn on your flashlight a minute, Mr. Hatfield!” he exclaimed. “I think I’ve found something!”