"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 sc.r.a.pbook."

"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 pa.s.sed 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 sc.r.a.ps 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.