"What's going on here?" demanded a familiar voice.

Dobbs whirled around to see Mr. Silverton and Sam Hatfield standing directly behind him.

"I caught 'em this time, Mr. Silverton," the workman said in keen satisfaction. "When I found 'em here, they were stealing the pheasants."

"Idiot!" Mr. Silverton reprimanded him. "If it hadn't been for the Cubs, two thirds of my pheasants would have drowned. Where, may I ask, have you been?"

Dobbs lost some of his a.s.surance. "Why, I drove into town for a few minutes," he stammered. "The storm came up suddenly. As soon as I could get back here-"

"It's taken you long enough," Mr. Silverton retorted. "Your job was to stay here. Where were you?"

"Why, I-that is-I had an appointment with a friend. It-it was just personal business."

"And while you were attending to your personal business, the pheasant runs were flooding. You knew that the creek was choked with logs and debris?"

"Why-no."

"Then why didn't you?" Silverton pinned him down. "The Cubs discovered it on their first visit here. Unless the dam is dynamited, the water will keep rising for hours."

"I'll see what can be done right away," Dobbs said, reaching for the lantern.

As he stooped, his gaze fell upon the shipping crate which Dan and Brad had deposited on the floor only a few minutes before. His attention fastened upon it only momentarily, and then deliberately he looked away.

However, both Brad and Dan had seen the glance, and it dawned upon them that the foreman had knowledge of the crate having been left in the lean-to.

Despite the urgency of getting back to the creek to dynamite the log jam, Brad determined to bring up the matter then and there.

"Dan and I very easily can explain why we're here-" he began, only to have Mr. Silverton interrupt.

"There's no need for you to explain to Dobbs, boys."

"But we feel you should know, sir," Dan broke in. "We brought two c.o.c.ks which we found across the creek in a shipping crate."

"In a shipping crate?" the owner of the pheasant farm repeated in a puzzled voice.

Dan explained how he and Brad had come upon the hidden path, and of seeing the two strangers who had complained of being double-crossed when they failed to find the crated pheasants.

"Dobbs, what do you know of this matter?" his employer demanded severely.

"Why, not a thing." The foreman laughed nervously. "Not a thing. We built a little lean-to about a year ago where I sometimes keep a few tools.

Haven't used it in months or been near there."

"You told me nothing of having built the shack, Dobbs. In fact, I find there are many things you neglected to report. Who are the men who have been trespa.s.sing on my property?"

"I wouldn't know," Dobbs whined. "I've never seen anyone use the old logging road."

"No mention was made of anyone using it," Brad tripped him up. "However, that's how they have been coming here-down the road at night, crossing the log bridge afoot and then apparently to the lean-to."

"That ain't so!" Dobbs denied, suddenly losing control of his temper.

"You're just saying it to make trouble for me. You want me to lose my job! You're sore because I told Mr. Silverton about the Cubs trespa.s.sing on the restricted area."

"We're reporting exactly what we saw," Brad replied.

"Can you describe the two men?" Mr. Silverton asked, paying no attention to Dobbs' accusation.

"One was heavy set and about middle age," Brad recalled. "The other was taller. We couldn't see their faces plainly because it was so dark."

"They called each other Jake and Bernie," Dan contributed.

The names struck sparks in Mr. Silverton's mind.

"Not Bernie Bauer and Jake Freeze?" he demanded.

"We didn't hear the last names, sir," Dan returned regretfully.

"Nevertheless, your general description fits the pair," Mr. Silverton said, turning again to the crestfallen foreman. "Friends of yours, aren't they, Dobbs?"

"I know Bernard Bauer and Jake Freeze slightly," Dobbs replied, considering his words carefully. "But believe me, Mr. Silverton, they've never come here. At least not to my knowledge."

"I've suspected for a long while that someone was stealing some of my best pheasants, Dobbs. In fact, we discussed it several times. But it remained for the Cubs to bring the proof I needed!"

"Proof! What proof have they dug up? How do we know they didn't make up the whole story about finding those c.o.c.ks in the lean-to?"

"I'll vouch for the honesty of Brad and Dan," said Mr. Hatfield, who had listened silently to the discussion. "For that matter, their findings do not surprise me. I've suspected for some time that trespa.s.sers were using the old logging road."

While the Cub leader spoke, Dan by the light of the lantern had been inspecting the pheasant crate. Now he was ready to spring his most important discovery.

"If you want proof that someone has been stealing pheasants, look at this!" he exclaimed.

Attached to the shipping crate with a bit of wire was the torn half of an old tag, showing that it had been expressed to Malborne.

In the wavering light of the lantern, Mr. Hatfield and the owner of the pheasant farm inspected the writing.

"We found the other half of this shipping tag on the old logging road several days ago," Dan told Mr. Silverton. "Apparently, the crate has been used repeatedly."

Mr. Hatfield, who had kept the missing half of the tag, removed it from his billfold and gave it to Mr. Silverton.

"Obviously, pheasants have been shipped out for resale," the sportsman said. "This convinces me. And I rather think Freeze and Bauer are our boys!"

"The Cubs have given you a twisted story," Dobbs whined. "I tell you I never saw this pheasant crate before."

"Dobbs, you're lying!" Mr. Silverton accused him. "I've seen that crate myself. Isn't it one we kept as an extra? I remember one of the slats was broken. You mended it-"

"And here is the repaired place," Dan pointed it out.

Thus tripped in his story, Dobbs began to stammer and make the excuse that he had failed to recognize the crate.

"I've had enough of your alibis," Mr. Silverton said angrily. "You'll do the rest of your explaining to the police!"