Part 15 (1/2)

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 s.h.i.+pping tag from a freight s.h.i.+pment. 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 s.h.i.+pping 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.”