When finally all the boys had gathered, Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father led the group along the shore over a stretch of rising ground to the edge of a dense woods.
Then, in single file, the Cubs plunged through a tangle of damp brush interwoven with grapevines.
“I failed to reach Mr. Silverton by telephone this morning,” Mr. Holloway remarked regretfully. “Therefore, our visit will come as a surprise to him.”
“Think he’ll object to our seeing the pheasants?” The Cub leader had paused to consider the path which branched off into several indistinct ones farther on.
“Why should he? We’ll ask permission before wandering around.”
The Cubs trudged on, finding the way heavy going. Mud clung to their hiking shoes, making walking increasingly difficult.
An overhanging branch showered Chips with raindrops as he brushed against it. “I sure hope that pheasant farm isn’t much farther,” he grumbled.
“Softie!” jeered Midge. “Maybe you could sit down somewhere on a nice comfortable log and we could bring the pheasants to you.”
“Aw, cut it,” Chips growled. “Can’t a guy crack a remark without being accused of turning soft?”
Mr. Hatfield and Dan, who were leading the Cubs, now halted unexpectedly, bringing the entire line up short.
Quite without warning, a heavy-set, round-faced man in checkered flannel shirt and corduroy breeches, emerged from behind a tree. Clearly he meant to block the trail.
“What are you boys doing here?” he flung at them.
Mr. Holloway moved past the Cubs to stand beside Dan and the Cub master.
Sam answered politely: “We’re on our way to Mr. Silverton’s pheasant farm. This trail leads there, I believe?”
“You’re on Silverton’s land now. He told you to come here, did he?”
“Why, no. We’re a Den of Cub scouts, and we thought we’d ask permission—”
“You’re trespassers,” the stranger cut in.
“I assure you we do not mean to be. We very much would like to visit the farm.”
“Well, you can’t. Mr. Silverton doesn’t want no-account boys running wild over the place. They scare the pheasants and make no end of trouble.”
“The Cubs are reliable,” said Mr. Hatfield quietly. “I assure you, you’ll have no difficulty on that score.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to leave.”
“If we might see Mr. Silverton—” the Cub leader began, but again the other interrupted.
“Well, you can’t,” he snapped. “I’m Saul Dobbs, and I’m in charge here. Now get out before I lose patience.”
Glaring at the Cubs, the workman carelessly allowed his hand to drop to his belt where he carried a revolver in a holster. The gesture was not lost upon either Mr. Hatfield or the Cubs.
“We’ll go,” said the Cub leader, still without raising his voice. “But don’t think you’re scaring us.”
“Git going and don’t come back!” Saul Dobbs ordered in a blustering voice.
“You may hear from us again after we have talked to Mr. Silverton,” said Mr. Hatfield. “Meanwhile, good-bye.”
With dignity, he turned and led the crestfallen Cubs back along the twisting trail.
CHAPTER 2
The Cubs on Trial
No sooner were the Cubs well beyond the hearing of Saul Dobbs than they broke into excited argument over whether or not they should have submitted to his threats.
“Why didn’t we just tell him to go jump in the river?” Chips demanded furiously. “Just who does he think he is, anyhow?”
“He happens to be Mr. Silverton’s foreman,” Dan pointed out quietly. “Also, he was armed.”
“He was only bluffing,” Red volunteered his opinion. “I say, why don’t we go back there and tell him off?”
Mr. Hatfield paused on the trail. “Aren’t you fellows losing sight of an important fact?” he inquired.
“That we were trespassers?” Dan supplied.
“Exactly. If Mr. Silverton had given us permission to have visited the farm, then we’d have been within our rights.”
“It was my fault,” Mr. Holloway took the blame. “I should have telephoned Silverton. Instead, I took it for granted we’d see him at the farm and that he’d give his okay.”
“Considering that he’s the foreman, I suppose Dobbs had a right to order us off the property,” Brad said. “But it was the way he did it that got under my skin.”
“The point is, do we have to take it like meek little lambs?” Red demanded. “I’m for having it out with him.”
“Here too,” chimed in Mack. “Where can we find Mr. Silverton?”
“That’s what I don’t know,” admitted the Cub leader. “We might be able to get some information in the village.”
“Let’s go there now,” Midge proposed. “Can’t we buy something at one of the stores as an excuse for asking a few questions?”
The proposal appealed to the other Cubs and to Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father as well. Accordingly, they hiked the half mile to the village of Camden across the river from Webster City where nearly all of the boys lived.
Having purchased supplies several times before in the town, the Cubs created little interest as they tramped into Barker’s General Store.
“What’ll it be this time?” the genial storekeeper inquired after he had waited on his other customers.
Noticing that the fruit looked appetizing, Mr. Hatfield said he would take two dozen of the fresh pears.
“Flour? Beef? Bacon?”
“Not today. We’re well supplied. Matter of fact, we crossed the river more for the excursion than anything else. This rain has kept us rather closely confined.”
“Sure, the weather has been against you,” the storekeeper agreed as he weighed the fruit. “We’re due for a turn though.”
Skillfully, Mr. Hatfield directed the conversation along the line he wished it to take.
“The Cubs were saying this morning they’d like to visit Silverton’s pheasant farm. By the way, who is in charge there?”
“A fellow by the name of Dobbs—Saul Dobbs. He looks after the place for Mr. Silverton. A rather disagreeable customer, I’m told.”
“I take it he doesn’t like visitors at the farm?”
“He drives ’em off,” the storekeeper said, handing Mr. Hatfield his change.
“On orders from Mr. Silverton?”
“That I wouldn’t know. But Silverton seems like a fairly decent sort of chap. Friendly and approachable.”
“He doesn’t live at the pheasant farm?”
“No, in Webster City. Has an office in the Gardner Building there. On nice weekends, he drives out to the pheasant farm to look it over, but mostly he lets Dobbs run the place.”
“I see,” said the Cub leader, pocketing his change. “Well, good morning, sir.”
Outside the general store, the Cubs gathered in a group to discuss their next move.
“You