Part 1 (1/2)

Dan Carter Cub Scout.

by Mildred A. Wirt.

CHAPTER 1

Trespa.s.sers

”Are you awake, Dan?”

In the darkness of the cabin, Dan Carter stirred drowsily, scarcely aware of the whispering voice from the adjoining bunk.

Relaxed and comfortable, he lay a moment, listening to the quiet, steady breathing of the five Cub Scouts who shared the quarters.

Overhead, a splatter of rain pinged on the tin roof of the cabin. Faster and faster came the droplets, beating a tattoo on his sleep-drugged brain.

Rain! Rain! Always rain!

Since Midge Holloway's father had invited Den 2 of the Webster City Cub Scouts to camp overnight in the riverside cabin at the rear of his residential property, the weather hadn't given them a break.

”Dan!”

This time, hearing his name whispered, the boy sat up, pulling the blankets with him. In the darkness, Sam Hatfield reached out to touch his hand. An a.s.sistant Cubmaster of the citywide Pack, Sam served as leader of Den 2 in which his son Fred was an active Cub.

”Hear that rain, Dan? It's coming down hard again.”

”Look's as if we're in for another ugly day,” Dan admitted. He kept his voice low so as not to awaken the other Cubs.

”The river's likely rising. Think I'll take a look at the boat.”

Swinging his long legs out of the bunk, the Cub leader began to pull on his clothes. Dan enjoyed the warm luxury of the blanket a moment longer, and then with a s.h.i.+ver threw it off.

”I'll go with you,” he volunteered.

The two dressed quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping Cubs.

In the bunk above Dan's, Brad Wilber, the Den Chief, rolled restlessly.

By contrast, Chips Davis, half his lean body protruding from a blanket, slept peaceful as a babe. The other Cubs, Midge Holloway, Red Suell, Fred Hatfield and Mack Tibbets, were equally dead to the world.

Sam stooped to tuck the blanket around Chips' exposed torso. Then, with slickers b.u.t.toned, he and Dan went out into the night.

A gust of wind dashed rain into their faces, blotting out a view of the Holloway house on the hill. The area near the cabin had dissolved into a sea of mud.

Sam's flashlight picked out the graveled path which led to the dock.

During the night, the river steadily had risen. Fed by rampant streams to the north, the swollen waters gradually had nibbled away the sandy beach.

The boat, tied securely the night before, now pounded against the dock on a slack rope.

While Dan retied it, Sam Hatfield pushed away a floating log which had lodged against the dock post.

”River's up another four inches,” he observed gloomily. ”And now, more rain.”