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 pa.s.sed 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!"

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 sc.r.a.p 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 alb.u.m 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."