CHAPTER 2 The Cubs on Trial

No sooner were the Cubs well beyond the hearing of Saul Dobbs than they broke into excited argument over whether or not they should have submitted to his threats.

“Why didn’t we just tell him to go jump in the river?” Chips demanded furiously. “Just who does he think he is, anyhow?”

“He happens to be Mr. Silverton’s foreman,” Dan pointed out quietly. “Also, he was armed.”

“He was only bluffing,” Red volunteered his opinion. “I say, why don’t we go back there and tell him off?”

Mr. Hatfield paused on the trail. “Aren’t you fellows losing sight of an important fact?” he inquired.

“That we were trespassers?” Dan supplied.

“Exactly. If Mr. Silverton had given us permission to have visited the farm, then we’d have been within our rights.”

“It was my fault,” Mr. Holloway took the blame. “I should have telephoned Silverton. Instead, I took it for granted we’d see him at the farm and that he’d give his okay.”

“Considering that he’s the foreman, I suppose Dobbs had a right to order us off the property,” Brad said. “But it was the way he did it that got under my skin.”

“The point is, do we have to take it like meek little lambs?” Red demanded. “I’m for having it out with him.”

“Here too,” chimed in Mack. “Where can we find Mr. Silverton?”

“That’s what I don’t know,” admitted the Cub leader. “We might be able to get some information in the village.”

“Let’s go there now,” Midge proposed. “Can’t we buy something at one of the stores as an excuse for asking a few questions?”

The proposal appealed to the other Cubs and to Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father as well. Accordingly, they hiked the half mile to the village of Camden across the river from Webster City where nearly all of the boys lived.

Having purchased supplies several times before in the town, the Cubs created little interest as they tramped into Barker’s General Store.

“What’ll it be this time?” the genial storekeeper inquired after he had waited on his other customers.

Noticing that the fruit looked appetizing, Mr. Hatfield said he would take two dozen of the fresh pears.

“Flour? Beef? Bacon?”

“Not today. We’re well supplied. Matter of fact, we crossed the river more for the excursion than anything else. This rain has kept us rather closely confined.”

“Sure, the weather has been against you,” the storekeeper agreed as he weighed the fruit. “We’re due for a turn though.”

Skillfully, Mr. Hatfield directed the conversation along the line he wished it to take.

“The Cubs were saying this morning they’d like to visit Silverton’s pheasant farm. By the way, who is in charge there?”

“A fellow by the name of Dobbs—Saul Dobbs. He looks after the place for Mr. Silverton. A rather disagreeable customer, I’m told.”

“I take it he doesn’t like visitors at the farm?”

“He drives ’em off,” the storekeeper said, handing Mr. Hatfield his change.

“On orders from Mr. Silverton?”

“That I wouldn’t know. But Silverton seems like a fairly decent sort of chap. Friendly and approachable.”

“He doesn’t live at the pheasant farm?”

“No, in Webster City. Has an office in the Gardner Building there. On nice weekends, he drives out to the pheasant farm to look it over, but mostly he lets Dobbs run the place.”

“I see,” said the Cub leader, pocketing his change. “Well, good morning, sir.”

Outside the general store, the Cubs gathered in a group to discuss their next move.

“You heard how it stacks up,” said Mr. Hatfield. “If we want to visit the farm, we’ll have to see Mr. Silverton. That means a trip into Webster City. Is it worth the effort?”

“I wasn’t so crazy to see the place at first,” said Dan. “But now I am, if only to prove to Saul Dobbs that he can’t order us around.”

“Same here,” agreed Midge promptly.

Red proposed that the Cubs descend upon Mr. Silverton in a delegation.

“That hardly seems wise,” replied Mr. Hatfield. “I think someone should stay in camp.”

“Why not appoint the ones who are to go?” suggested his son Fred.

“Me for one!” urged Chips instantly. “I can give Mr. Silverton an earful about that workman of his!”

The Cub leader smiled. “That’s what I’m afraid you might do, Chips. This mission requires diplomacy and tact—you know, smooth talk and control. I’ll delegate Brad and Dan.”

“How’ll we get there?” Dan asked, pleased to have been selected.

“I’ll take you in my car,” offered Midge’s father.

The Cubs hiked back to the river and rowed to their camp. Although the rain had ceased, the river, they noted, still was slowly rising.

Mr. Holloway immediately backed his car from the garage, ready for the trip to Webster City.

“Good luck with Mr. Silverton,” Sam Hatfield said as Brad and Dan climbed in beside Mr. Holloway. “Just give him the facts.”

“And don’t be afraid to talk up!” Chips added.

As the car pulled away, Dan stole a quick glance at Brad. Always he had admired the dark-haired older boy who seemed so sure of himself, yet never was conceited. An outstanding athlete for his age, Brad would enter Webster City High School in the fall.

Dan, nearly ten, and fast growing into a bean pole, was considered old beyond his years. Popular with nearly everyone, the sandy-haired, blue-eyed sixth grader entered enthusiastically into all the Den and Pack meetings.

At the Gardner Building twenty minutes later, Mr. Holloway parked the car by a curb meter, and accompanied the boys to Mr. Silverton’s fourth floor suite of offices. A receptionist inquired as to their wishes.

“We’d like to see Mr. Silverton, please,” Mr. Holloway requested.

The girl’s reply was discouraging. “Mr. Silverton is in an important conference,” she explained. “He may be detained an hour. Isn’t there something I can do?”

Mr. Holloway explained that his business was with Mr. Silverton personally and turned to Brad and Dan. “How about it fellows?” he inquired. “I’d like to wait, but I have an important business matter to look after.”

“The Cubs will be disappointed if we go back without even seeing Mr. Silverton,” said Brad. “Can’t Dan and I wait for him?”

“I’m sure you two can present the matter without me,” Mr. Holloway said, greatly relieved. “I’ll try to get back here in about an hour to pick you up. If Mr. Silverton is able to see you before I return, give him the facts.”

“Yes, sir,” grinned Brad. “We’ll do our best.”

After the Den Dad had gone, Brad and Dan sat down on a bench to wait. They studied a wall calendar and listened to the chatter of a ticker tape stock machine in an adjoining office. Time dragged slowly.

“Mr. Holloway will be coming for us soon,” Dan said, ill at ease. “I hope Mr. Silverton doesn’t forget we’re here.”

Just then, the receptionist came out of the inner office. “Mr. Silverton will see you now,” she announced.

Dan and Brad followed the young woman through a door with frosted glass into a large comfortable room with thick carpet.

A stout, slightly bald man of nervous manner sat behind a massive mahogany desk.

“Yes?” he inquired, his tone implying that he expected the pair to state the purpose of their call as briefly as possible. And then, noticing their uniforms, he inquired: “Boy Scouts?”

“Brad is,” Dan corrected politely. “I’m a Cub, Wolf rank.”

“A Cub, eh?” Mr. Silverton repeated. “Is that something new in Scouting?”

“It’s a program somewhat similar to scouting only for younger boys and the whole family—Mothers and Dads,” explained Brad.

“You have an organization motto? All that sort of thing?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” informed Dan eagerly. “Our motto is: ‘Do your best.’ Every Bobcat who joins the organization also promises to be Square and to obey the Law of the Cub Pack.”

“Interesting. Most interesting,” said the stock broker. He doodled figures on a scratch pad. “But what brings you here, may I inquire?”

“The Cubs would like to ask permission to visit your pheasant farm,” Brad explained.

Mr. Silverton frowned at the request. “My foreman, Saul Dobbs, informs me that recently some of the pheasants have been stolen,” he said discouragingly. “Furthermore, boys have been sneaking in and scaring the birds.”

“Not the Cubs, sir,” said Dan earnestly.

“Perhaps not, but my pheasants represent a considerable investment. I can’t risk losing choice birds. I’m sorry, but if Dobbs told you to stay out, I’m afraid I’ll have to back him up.”

Dan and Brad exchanged a startled glance. Instantly it dawned upon them that the foreman already had prejudiced his employer against the Cubs.

“Dobbs told you about our visit this morning?” Dan asked.

“Yes, he telephoned to report you were there. He said you were quite insistent upon seeing the farm.”

“But, sir, that wasn’t exactly true,” Brad denied. “We were all walking along the trail, when up pops Mr. Dobbs with his revolver. He told us to leave, so we did, without any argument. Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father were along and they’ll back me up in the statement.”

“You say Dobbs threatened you with a revolver?” Mr. Silverton asked, displeased.

“He didn’t exactly threaten us,” Dan answered truthfully. “He just put his hand on the holster to let us know he meant business.”

“We wouldn’t have turned-tail only we’re law abiding and we knew we had no right on the property without your consent,” added Brad.

The straightforward presentation seemed to impress the stock broker, for after a moment’s thought, he asked: “How many boys in your troop?”

“Six in the den, not counting myself,” Brad said. “All the boys are strictly reliable. It’s one of the rules of the Cubs that we strive to give good will.”

“Cubs believe in being honorable,” Dan added, observing that Mr. Silverton was wavering. “You can depend on us not to damage anything on your farm.”

“And why are you so set upon visiting the place?”

“Your preserve has some of the best woodland in the county,” said Brad.

“Pheasants are incidental? You wouldn’t by chance be wanting to set Saul Dobbs in his place?”

Dan and Brad looked at each other and grinned. “I guess that does enter into it, sir,” Brad said truthfully. “He was rather unpleasant and it burned us up.”

“Can’t say I blame you for your feelings. At times, Dobbs is inclined to become somewhat officious. When I gave him permission to carry a revolver, I didn’t expect him to use it to frighten boys.”

“We weren’t exactly alarmed,” Brad said. “It was more annoying than anything else.”

“You boys impress me favorably,” Mr. Silverton continued. “Dobbs, I think, gave me a wrong slant on the situation. Now, suppose I should agree to allow the Cubs to visit the farm. Will you promise to follow the rules?”

“We will, sir,” declared Dan eagerly. “I’ll guarantee it.”

“Then take a look at this map,” said the sportsman, whipping a small one from the top desk drawer. “All the trails on my property are marked. Now, you may visit the barns, the pheasant runs and the central area near the foreman’s house. But this breeding ground, where we keep the Germain peacock pheasant, is restricted.”

Mr. Silverton etched in a small section along the river and highway. “You agree to stay out of this area?” he asked again.

“We’ve already given our promise,” said Brad.

“Good. Then take this map along,” Mr. Silverton said, thrusting it into Dan’s hand. “Good afternoon, boys.”

Fingering the map, Dan remained facing the sportsman. “Please, sir—”

“Yes, what is it now?”

“May we have a paper, or some authorization? Saul Dobbs may not be willing to take our word—”

“Yes, to be sure,” Mr. Silverton said hurriedly. He scribbled a brief note on a memorandum sheet which bore his printed name.

“This will take care of it,” he said. “You should have no trouble from now on with Dobbs.”

“I’m sure we won’t,” said Dan, pocketing the order.

“But remember,” Mr. Silverton warned as the boys turned to leave, “you’re on trial. If any of the Cubs disobey instructions, your privileges will end. Now get along with you. I have work to do.”