CHAPTER 8 Rain

The bright beam of Mr. Hatfield’s flashlight revealed the torn half of a shipping tag from a freight shipment. Of recent date, it bore the destination of Malborne.

“Malborne is a city of about 500,000 population to the east of here,” the Cub leader remarked.

Disappointed, Dan dropped the tag to the ground. “I guess this isn’t anything after all,” he said.

“No, wait, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield retrieved the torn ticket. “This may have been dropped by one of the men in the station wagon. As a clue, it doesn’t mean much now, but later on, it might.”

Carefully, the Cub leader placed the soiled scrap of cardboard in his jacket pocket.

“How do you figure all this?” Brad asked earnestly. “Do you think those men, whoever they are, may be stealing pheasants and maybe shipping them out of here?”

“Could be, Brad. At any rate. I’m convinced Mr. Silverton doesn’t know this road is being used at night.”

“I wish we could keep watch and find out who comes here,” Dan proposed. “Maybe the Cubs could divide up into pairs and take turns staying here.”

“All night? Afraid your parents wouldn’t approve, Dan.”

“Whoever comes, seems to arrive fairly early in the evening,” Brad pointed out. “These summer nights it doesn’t get dark until about nine o’clock.”

“So you’re siding with Dan?” Mr. Hatfield said, chuckling.

“The Cubs would get a big kick out of keeping watch of this place, sir. Even if they only kept a daytime patrol.”

“We might learn something at that,” Mr. Hatfield conceded. “Well, I’ll talk to the fathers of the Cubs to see what they say. Meanwhile, let’s forget about that station wagon.”

As the three rowed downstream to the Holloway cabin a little later, they noticed that the moon again was veiled by dark clouds. Even as they reached the dock, a few splatters of rain stirred the water.

“Here it comes again,” Mr. Hatfield sighed. “This has been one of the wettest seasons in my recollection.”

By the time the three reached the dock, everyone except Mr. and Mrs. Holloway and their son had left the cabin. By then, rain was coming down steadily.

Brad and Dan, already wet through, made a dash for Mr. Hatfield’s car.

“I’ll talk to Mr. Holloway and the other fathers tomorrow,” the Cub leader promised, starting the motor. “If this rain keeps on, we won’t be able to do anything for a day or two in any event.”

The rains continued. Although not heavy enough to occasion alarm as to the level of the river, the Cubs were kept indoors.

For want of an occupation, Dan spent much time swimming at the “Y”. He worked on the official buckskin record of Den meetings, bringing it up to date. And he completed a stamp album which he intended to show in the hobby and handicraft exhibit planned by the Pack.

After that, confinement began to fret him. On the third day when he came downstairs for breakfast, his first act was to glare at the weather report in the morning paper.

“For crying out loud!” he complained bitterly. “More rain, the man says. Can you feature that?”

“Perhaps it’s a long range forecast,” his mother said encouragingly. “The sun seems to be straggling through the clouds.”

“It does look brighter,” Dan admitted, willing to hope. “Maybe it will clear up in a couple of weeks.”

By the time he had finished breakfast, the sun actually was shining. Greatly encouraged, Dan went outside to inspect the garden. He was intently studying a worm wriggling across the sidewalk, when a car stopped at the curb.

“Hi, there, Dan!” called Mr. Hatfield cheerily. “Wet enough for you?”

Dan grinned with pleasure and went over to the car to talk to the Cub leader.

“I’m about ready to blow my top!” he told Mr. Hatfield. “Three days now with nothing to do!”

“It’s been tough, Dan. The other Cubs feel the same way. Itching for something to do. But rain or shine, we’ll have our regular Den meeting Friday night at the cabin?”

“Meanwhile?”

“Well, if it weren’t so wet, we might start that patrol at the old logging road.”

“You mean we can do it?” Dan cried, his face cracking into a smile.

“I talked to most of the fathers. They’re in favor of doing anything we can to prove that the Cubs had nothing to do with killing those pheasants.”

“When can we start, Mr. Hatfield?”

“That’s for the Cubs to decide. Not much use in keeping watch too early in the day. Midge’s father thought we might go on duty about four in the afternoon and stay until after dark. One of the fathers will keep the boys company on the last shift.”

“May we start this afternoon?” Dan demanded eagerly.

“The woods are rather wet, don’t you think?”

“We could put on slickers and boots. Anyway, the sun’s out again. The ground will dry some before afternoon.”

“All right,” Mr. Hatfield consented. “If it doesn’t rain any more, find another Cub and go out there at four o’clock. I’ll send someone to relieve you by six.”

“Oh, thanks, Mr. Hatfield!”

“You may not thank me by the time your stint is finished,” the Cub leader laughed as he shifted gears. “It will be a tedious grind, and probably a fruitless one. Oh, yes, one thing! Keep out of sight, and be careful about leaving a lot of tracks.”

“We’ll defeat our purpose if anyone learns we’re watching the road.”

“Right. Well, good luck, Dan. I don’t look for anything to develop today, but starting the patrol will keep the Cubs out of mischief at least.”

Elated at the prospect of action, Dan immediately busied himself on the telephone. First he called Brad, but the Den Chief was helping his father with work about the house and could not make the trip to the woodland.

“I’ll take my stint tomorrow,” Brad promised.

Red, next on Dan’s list, begged off because he had the start of a cold. In the end it was Chips who agreed to go with him.

From the start, however, the vigil bored Chips. He disliked staying out of sight in the bushes near the old logging road exit, and he fretted at inactivity.

“You stay here and keep watch,” he directed Dan. “I think I’ll wander around and look for different types of leaves to press and mount in a scrapbook.”

“Nothing doing,” Dan promptly vetoed the idea. “We stick together.”

“But I’m tired of hunching under these hot, bug-eaten bushes! No one’s come here in broad daylight and you know it!”

“We don’t know when that station wagon may return, Chips. We’ve got to develop patience.”

“You and your preachy talk! It won’t do any harm to move around a little. My legs are getting cramped.”

“Mr. Hatfield said we’d defeat our purpose if we walk around and leave a lot of footprints. Especially when the ground is soft.”

“I’ll start sprouting roots if I sit here any longer,” Chips complained. He slapped angrily at a mosquito which buzzed around his head. “How long are we supposed to stay here?”

“I’m sticking until relieved. If you’re soft and want to pull out, go ahead.”

Dan waited, but Chips made no move to depart.

“Well, Chips?”

“Oh, you know I’ll suffer it out,” the boy muttered. “Quit rubbing it in!”

After that Chips made no further complaint, though at intervals he twisted and squirmed and emitted loud groans which startled a gray squirrel in the tree overhead.

Throughout the long watch, not a person was seen nor a sound heard on the old logging road. In the bush shelter near the barrier, the two cubs passed the time by counting cars which traveled on the main highway. Even Dan became a bit careless, making less effort to keep out of sight.

Then suddenly he was startled to hear approaching footsteps. Quickly he drew back into the leaves, pulling Chips with him.

As the two Cubs waited, Saul Dobbs came into view. He walked to the barrier gate and stood there for a few minutes, one foot on the lower rail, gazing up and down the road.

“He’s looking for someone,” Dan whispered.

“Mr. Silverton maybe.”

“Silverton wouldn’t use this old logging road, Chips. Not with that fine car of his.”

Dobbs stood a moment longer at the gate, and then taking an old envelope and a pencil stub from his pocket, scribbled a message.

The Cubs saw him spear the paper on the barrier fence. However, the breeze fluttered it to the ground.

Picking up the message, Dobbs reread it and appeared to hesitate. To the bitter disappointment of Chips and Dan, he then tore it to pieces and thrust the scraps into his pocket.

“Wonder why he did that?” Chips whispered.

Dan motioned for his companion to be quiet. Dobbs had turned and now was coming directly toward their hiding place.

Unexpectedly, the man halted, staring at something on the road. Dan and Chips felt their blood turn to ice cubes. For there on the moist ground were several footprints made from Chips’ shoe.

Dobbs stared long and hard at the imprints and gazed up and down the road. Apparently satisfied that no one had been in the vicinity recently, he finally turned and went off in the direction from which he had come.

“Whew! That was a close call!” Chips muttered when it again was safe to speak aloud. “I see what you mean now about leaving tracks, Dan. We doggone near gave ourselves away.”

“In the future we’ll have to be even more careful. And we’d better warn the other Cubs too. Wonder why Dobbs tore up that note after he wrote it?”

“He acted as if he were expecting someone and wanted to leave ’em a message. Just our bad luck he changed his mind.”

“Anyway, our day hasn’t been wasted after all,” Dan declared.

Time wore on uneventfully. Finally at six o’clock, the two Cubs spied Fred and Mack coming up the pavement at a leisurely pace.

Slipping from their hiding place, they greeted them with intense relief.

“Anything doing here?” Fred inquired.

Dan related how they had seen Saul Dobbs at the gate.

“Nothing so strange in that,” Mack commented. “After all, this road runs through Mr. Silverton’s property.”

“The only queer part was that he wrote a note to someone and then tore it up,” Dan pointed out. “It was almost as if he thought it over and decided it was risky business—that someone might find it.”

“He nearly found us,” Chips cut in. “Better be careful in leaving footprints on this road.”

“How long will you stay here?” Dan asked the two newcomers as he and Chips prepared to leave.

“Mr. Hatfield said we could take over until eight o’clock,” Mack answered. “Then he and Midge’s father will watch for awhile.”

“Lucky guys,” grinned Chips. “Especially if the mosquitoes are in biting trim!”

For the next two days, the Cubs took turns watching the exit of the old logging road. Though they remained faithful to their assignment, the novelty began to wear off and the task became increasingly tedious.

True, the Cubs developed a certain technique for making time pass more quickly. Working always in pairs, they brought books, magazines, and an occasional card game with them to the hide-out in the brush.

Even so, a two-hour vigil seemed endless. Mosquitoes were a constant torment, and nothing ever seemed to happen.

After his initial appearance, Saul Dobbs did not return again to the exit of the logging road. Nor did they glimpse the mysterious station wagon which had so intrigued their interest.

“Maybe it was an accident it came down this road the other night,” Brad said late one afternoon as he and Dan were taking their trick together. “It’s a cinch it’s not coming back. We’ve wasted our time.”

“I’m beginning to think so too,” Dan replied in a discouraged voice. “Gosh, this place is like a steam bath!”

“The worst it’s been since we took over,” Brad agreed.

The afternoon had turned unusually hot and sultry. Not a leaf stirred in the trees overhead. Wiping the perspiration from his face, Dan got up to stretch his half-paralyzed legs.

Through the gap in the trees overhead, he could see only a tiny patch of sky which seemed to be darkening.

“Looks like another rain cooking up,” he observed.

“Cripes! Not again!” Brad moaned, peering up at the overcast sky. “If this keeps on, I’m going to build myself an Ark.”

“Better start the carpenter work then, Brad. It sure looks like rain. And she’s coming up fast this time.”

Moving out of their shelter the better to view the sky, the two boys were somewhat alarmed to note that a large black cloud was rolling in fast from the west.

“That means rain and a hard one,” Brad said. “Think we ought to strike out for home?”

“Well, I hate to leave our post until Mr. Hatfield gives the order,” Dan said after a moment’s consideration. “Anyway, we’ve waited too long. We never could get home ahead of the rain.”

“You’re probably right,” Brad agreed, anxiously studying the fast-moving clouds. “The storm is due to break almost any minute. Lucky we brought along our slickers.”

Buttoning themselves into their long raincoats, the two boys prepared as best they could for the expected downpour.

Soon a faint breath of air rustled the tree leaves. In the quiet of the forest, the sound was ominous.

“Here she comes!” muttered Brad.

Scarcely had he spoken when a rumble of thunder echoed through the woods. A few drops of rain filtered down between the thick canopy of leaves.

Then, wind and rain came on with a rush which sent the two boys deeper into the woods for shelter.

Though they flattened themselves against the lee side of two large oaks, they could find no protection. The rain began to fall in a torrent. It lashed their faces, streamed down their slickers and soaked their shoes.

Limbs loosened by the wind came crashing down. Now and then a vivid flash of lightning etched an electrical pattern across the dark sky.

“It’s not very safe here,” Brad said, ill at ease.

“We ought to seek shelter deeper in the woods, or get out entirely,” agreed Dan, buttoning his slicker tighter about him.

Even as he spoke, a brilliant flash of lightning etched across the sky, so bright that momentarily it blinded the two boys. And the following roar of thunder made them jump.

Simultaneously, came a ripping, tearing sound which told them that the heart of a mighty tree had been struck.

“Gosh! It’s that big oak!” Dan exclaimed, squinting through the rain.

The big tree came crashing down, smashing away smaller saplings and bushes in its path.

“It might just as well have been this one,” Dan murmured, gazing uneasily up into the mass of swaying, wind-twisted boughs above his head. “We’re in a bad spot!”

“How right you are,” murmured Brad.

A bright flash of lightning made the woods as bright as day. In that moment the boys saw the wind whirling like a vicious animal in the treetops. And two hundred yards away another tree fell, making a resounding crash as it toppled.

The sight spurred the Cubs to sudden decision.

“Dan, I know Mr. Hatfield wouldn’t want us to risk staying here in this storm,” Brad said, seizing his companion’s arm. “Come on, boy, we’re getting out of here!”