“They didn’t wear moccasins though,” the Den Chief recalled. “I noticed that they wore cowboy type boots.”
“These prints definitely were made by an Indian moccasin. No use saying anything about it to the other Cubs, Brad. It might make them uneasy. Just keep your eyes open, and be careful about leaving things unguarded.”
“I sure will, Mr. Hatfield.”
As the Cubs left the camp to return home for supper, Dan was in a very dark mood. Not only was he discouraged over the loss of the Navajo blanket, but he wondered how the sand painting ever could be properly completed.
“That’s right,” Brad sympathized with him. “You were using the design on the blanket for the sand painting, weren’t you? That is tough.”
“I made a rough sketch of it. But it’s not a very good job. The design is so complicated, I doubt the Cubs can follow it.”
“Can’t you take an easier design?”
“Yes, but we have the center all done. I guess it’s better to go on, but it’s going to be hard.”
“We ought to get that blanket back somehow, Dan. Professor Sarazen didn’t say so, but I have a hunch it’s worth a lot of money.”
“Losing it has taken all the fun out of planning for the pow-wow. Any idea what became of it, Brad?”
“An idea maybe. But nothing we can act on.”
The two Cubs had reached Morton and White St., where they must separate to go to their individual homes. They paused in front of Grisby’s Grocery Store to say goodbye.
Standing there, Dan chanced to glance through the big plateglass window where an array of fruit had been temptingly displayed.
It was not the fruit, however, which held his attention. Instead, his gaze fastened upon two men inside the store. They stood at the counter, making purchases from Mr. Grisby, the owner.
“Our friends!” Dan exclaimed. “Looks as if they’re buying camp stuff. At least they’re getting enough to last ’em awhile.”
Brad turned to stare through the big grocery store window.
“White Nose and Eagle Feather!” he exclaimed.
“Let’s go in and talk to them,” Dan suggested impulsively.
“I’d like to—very much,” Brad said, thinking of the missing Navajo blanket. “I’d like to ask them some questions. It might not be wise though.”
“I know what you mean, Brad. The same suspicion is in my mind.”
“We don’t dare accuse them of anything, Dan. We have no proof.”
“Oh, I realize that. But at least we can talk to ’em. We might learn something.”
“What’ll we say?”
“We could make the excuse of inviting them to our next Cub Scout meeting.”
“Not a bad idea,” Brad instantly approved. “White Nose and Eagle Feather could tell the Cubs about Indian customs. Let’s do it!”
Their minds made up, the two boys entered the grocery store.
The Indians had their backs turned and did not appear to notice Brad and Dan.
Eagle Feather was completing a grocery purchase. He had bought bacon, flour, matches and items one might need if embarking on an extensive camping trip.
Now that they were in the store, Brad and Dan hesitated to speak to the two Indians.
The Cubs were not actually afraid of the strangers, but their appearance seemed less friendly than at the meeting by the cliff. Eagle Feather and White Nose were grimly intent upon their purchases.
“Go ahead,” Dan urged Brad in a whisper, giving him a nudge. “Ask ’em.”
Brad moved closer to the counter. Both Indians now saw the boys, but stared at them without friendly recognition.
For an instant the boys were taken aback, wondering if they had made a mistake.
But a second glance reassured them that the Indians were the same pair they had met at the cliff.
“Good afternoon,” Brad began politely.
“Yah eh tah!” responded Eagle Feather.
Taken aback, because he knew that both Indians spoke English almost perfectly, Brad momentarily was at a loss for words.
“You remember us,” Dan said, coming to the rescue. “We’re the Cub Scouts you met at the cliff. We want you to come to one of our meetings and talk to the boys about Indian customs. Will you?”
The two Indians stared stoically, as if they had not understood a single word of the request.
It was Dan’s turn to become confused. He could not comprehend the Indians’ strange behavior. Why were they turning on the “freeze,” pretending that they never had seen the pair before?
White Nose deliberately turned his back to Brad and Dan. He directed himself to the storekeeper.
“Doh quih?” he demanded.
Then as the storekeeper failed to catch the meaning, he grudgingly interpreted in English, “How much?”
“Eight dollars and twenty-three cents.”
White Nose paid the amount, receiving change for a ten-dollar bill. He pocketed the money and picked up the box of groceries. The pair left the store without a second glance at the two Cubs.
“Well, was that a brush-off?” Dan demanded indignantly.
“They knew us all right! For some reason they pretended otherwise.”
“Maybe they stole the Navajo blanket, and were afraid we’d jump them for it, Brad!”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Brad agreed soberly. “Looks as if they’re planning on camping out somewhere in the woods, judging from all the supplies they bought. If they’re going to stay anywhere near our river place, then it behooves us to keep watch!”
CHAPTER 8
DAN’S SAND PAINTING
After school the next night, all the Cubs took turns using Mr. Hallowell’s canoe and practicing their strokes.
While Dan, Midge and Chips worked on the sand painting, the other boys received instructions in water safety. Because Brad and Dan were the most proficient with a paddle, their practice session came last.
The two paddled across the river and back, carefully timing their strokes. Deep, even thrusts sent the craft fairly skimming through the water.
“How you coming on the sand painting, Dan?” the older boy asked from the stern seat.
“About two-thirds,” Dan replied. He rested a moment on his paddle, glancing at the overcast sky. “Think it will rain?”
“Oh, I doubt it at this time of year.”
“A hard rain could ruin our picture. Mr. Hatfield is covering it with canvas tonight—just in case. The covering will protect it from a light shower. But if it pours, the canvas probably wouldn’t keep the colors from running.”
“You fuss over that sand picture as if it were a baby, Dan!”
“Well, I want Den 2 to win the pow-wow handicraft contest.”
“Sure, but no use making yourself a nervous wreck about it. The canoe race is just as important. Mr. Hatfield told me this afternoon, he’s definitely decided to put you and me in as the contestants.”
“No foolin’?” At this information, Dan began stroking faster again. “I thought maybe he’d select Midge instead of me.”
“Midge is good,” Brad conceded. “But you have a little the edge over him. I’m glad you’re going to be my partner.”
Dan warmed to the praise, for he knew that the Den Chief always meant his words. The canoe moved through a patch of water lilies.
“Say, wait a second!” Dan cried, lifting his paddle. “Mom would like some of those lilies! I want to get a handful of ’em for her.”
Brad obediently backed water, holding the craft steady in the lily patch.
Resting his own paddle across the gunwales, Dan reached out to seize one of the flowers.
“Hey, be careful!” Brad warned.
The flower root was long and tough. As Dan tugged, the canoe rocked dangerously.
“You’ll upset us!” Brad exclaimed. “Hey, watch that paddle!”
The canoe had given a convulsive movement. Before Dan could snatch the paddle, it slid into the river.
“There it goes!” Brad declared in disgust. “Of all the dumb tricks! A fine example we’re setting the other Cubs in water safety. I just hope they didn’t see that!”
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Dan apologized. “I know Mr. Holloway told us never to lay a paddle across the canoe, but I was in such a hurry to get that water lily, I forgot.”
“We’ll lose the paddle, if we don’t fish it out of the river pretty fast. Wow! Look at it travel down stream!”
The paddle had cleared the lily pads and reeds and was floating free. Apparently, it was caught in a fast-moving current, for it traveled down river at an astonishing rate.
Brad dipped in his paddle, heading the canoe in pursuit. A few firm strokes brought him alongside.
However, as Dan reached out to scoop in the runaway, it again moved beyond his grasp.
“Say, we are in a fast current!” he agreed.
Brad paddled again, and after another miscalculation, managed to rescue the truant paddle.
“A nice exhibition!” he grinned. “I hope that teaches me a lesson.”
Brad did not chide his friend for carelessness. In fact, he was thinking more about the current than he was of the manner in which the paddle had been lost.
“Wonder what causes such a fast movement in this particular part of the river?” he speculated. “It gives me the idea—”
What the idea was, Dan never learned. For just then, Mr. Hatfield yelled across the water, motioning for the boys to come in.
“He saw me drop that paddle all right,” Dan said ruefully.
Mr. Hatfield did not scold the two boys, merely reminding them again that safety rules must be observed at all times.
“You’re both swimmers,” he said, “but even so, you can’t afford to take chances. Besides, you must set examples for the other Cubs.”
“It won’t happen again, Mr. Hatfield,” Dan promised. “I just had a mental lapse, that’s all.”
The Cub leader told the boys that the Indian pow-wow definitely had been set for the following Saturday.
“That doesn’t give us much time,” Brad said anxiously. “Think you can get the sand painting finished in time, Dan?”
“Tomorrow night probably.”
Feeling that not an hour should be wasted, Dan called Midge and Chips and the three again went to work.
On the east side of the picture, Dan made a circle to represent the sun, filling it in with colored sand.
He was hard at work when Brad called to say that the other Cubs were hiking to the cliff to see if any more work had been done on the carved face.
Chips and Midge, tired of working on the sand design, quickly joined those who were leaving with Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway.
“Coming, Dan?” the Cub leader called to him.
“No, go on without me,” Dan answered, absorbed in the sand painting. “I want to get this thing finished before we leave here tonight.”
“Sure you don’t want to come along?”
Dan shook his head. Chips and Midge offered to stay with him, but he told them it wouldn’t be necessary.
“I can finish it alone,” he insisted. “Shouldn’t take me much longer now.”
Left to himself, Dan kept steadily at work. The picture now had taken on both form and color, with pleasing symbols in blue, black, yellow and red.
Carefully, he sifted the sand, trying not to blur edges of the outlines. Often, however, the capricious wind would snatch the grains from his fingers, blowing them helter-skelter.
Dan lost all count of time as he worked. Finally, the last outline had been filled with yellow sand, and the job was done.
Tired, but thoroughly pleased, the boy rocked back on his heels to survey the picture.
“Not bad—not half bad,” he remarked aloud.
Dan suddenly realized that the hour had grown late, for both the river and the nearby forest were darkening. The Cubs, he knew, had been gone a long while. At any moment, they should be returning to camp.
“They’ll be surprised to find the picture finished!” he thought proudly.
Dan stood back to survey the sand picture. The edges were blowing and he was a little worried lest the outlines be ruined by the wind.
“I’ll have Brad help me cover it up with canvas as soon as he gets back,” he thought. “Wish he’d hurry.”
Dan glanced toward the forest in the direction the Cubs had gone. None of the boys were in sight. What was keeping them so long at the ravine?
Deciding to wash his hands, Dan sauntered down to the river. As he crossed the rippled sand he was startled to see a moccasin print near the overturned canoe.
Rather alarmed by the discovery, the boy bent to examine the print carefully. It was much too large to have been made by one of the Cubs. At any rate, they all wore rubber-soled shoes.
Searching near the water’s edge close to the canoe, Dan found other similar moccasin marks.
“Someone’s been sneaking around here since Mr. Hatfield left,” he thought uneasily.
More than ever, Dan now wished that the Cubs would return to camp. Though not afraid to remain alone, he could not rid himself of an uncomfortable feeling that at this very moment he was being watched from the nearby woods.
His mind dwelt upon the unpleasant recollection that a painted paddle, food and a highly valuable blanket had disappeared from camp. Now it seemed someone had designs upon the canoe!
The trail of moccasin prints could not be traced beyond the beach. Yet Dan was almost certain that their maker, perhaps one of the Indians he had met, had taken refuge in the woods.
“Nothing I can do except warn Mr. Hatfield,” he told himself. “A nice thing when one can’t leave anything lying around without having it disappear!”
Dan went down to the water’s edge to wash his hands. The river looked very dark and menacing, an indication that a storm might be brewing.
Overhead, black clouds were traveling rapidly across the sky.
“Storm’s coming up fast,” Dan thought uneasily. “I hope the Cubs get back before it breaks!”
Even as he straightened up from washing his hands, a strong breath of air stirred the trees. Waves began to pile up on the beach.
Fearful that the canoe might be washed away, Dan pulled it farther back on shore.
Unexpectedly, a great gust of wind swept the beach. Sand was flung in Dan’s face, causing him to cough and choke.
The wind blew hard for a minute or two and then subsided. A few large drops of rain splashed down.
Deciding to seek the shelter of the hogan, Dan scrambled up the slope to the camp.
Pausing an instant to catch his breath, he gazed down on the cleared square of beach where only a few minutes before he had completed the sand painting.
A gasp of dismay escaped his lips. For where the picture had been, there was now only a hodge-podge of wildly mixed colors!
CHAPTER 9
A LOST PADDLE
A half-sob escaped Dan as he beheld the ruin of the beautiful sand painting. The work of hours—completely destroyed! It was almost too much to bear.
As he stood staring at the meaningless mess of mixed color, the boy heard footsteps behind him. He turned quickly to see that it was Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs returning from their hike to the ravine.
“Hi, Dan!” the Cub leader greeted him cheerily. “Picture all finished?”
“It’s finished all right.”
Dan pointed miserably to the mass of strewn sand.
“Someone wrecked it while I was down at the river washing my hands. It makes me sick. All that work—gone.”
“Ross Langdon must have been here!” Chips cried furiously.
“Not while I was around,” Dan returned. “Fact is, I didn’t see a soul.”
“It’s unfair to blame Ross,” said Mr. Hatfield quietly. He had been looking about the camp, making a few observations. “Don’t you realize what happened to your sand picture?”
Dan shook his head.
“It was stolen by the wind.”
“The wind! That’s right, it did blow terribly hard here for a few minutes! I was scared the hut would blow down.”
“Obviously, it was the wind that scattered the sand,” Mr. Hatfield went on. “Too bad you didn’t cover the picture with canvas before it was wrecked. Or, better still, you could have used a little shellac as a base to hold the sand in place. I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it.”
“How long will it take to re-make the picture?” Brad asked with forced cheerfulness. “I’ll be glad to help, only I’m not very artistic.”
Dan remained silent. At the moment he was too discouraged to think of re-doing the sand painting.
Mr. Hatfield flung an arm about his slumped shoulders.
“Buck up, Dan,” he said. “Practice makes perfect, you know. You’ll make an even better picture next time.”
“We’ll all help you,” Chips offered. “Maybe next time we can do the picture Navajo style—all in one day.”
“We’ll almost have to, if we want to have it ready for the pow-wow Saturday,” Dan said with forced cheer. “Okay, fellows. We’ll start in again right after school tomorrow night. I’ll fix some more materials in the meantime.”
“That’s the spirit, Dan, old boy,” Red approved.
“Show him what we found at the cliff,” urged Fred.
Dan now noticed for the first time, that Red was carrying a bulky, folded object. It appeared to be an Indian blanket.
“You found Professor Sarazen’s blanket!” he cried jubilantly.
“No such luck,” Red corrected. “We did find this, though.”
He spread a tattered red, white and black woven blanket on the grass. Plainly it was Indian in design and made on a hand loom. The pattern was incomplete, for the blanket had been used until it was fairly in tatters.
“Where did you find that?” he asked the Cubs.
“At the ravine,” Red explained. “While the others were looking at the carved face, I went poking around in the bushes back of the cliff. I found this.”
“Say, maybe whoever left it, took our good blanket!”
“That’s my theory,” agreed Mr. Hatfield. “The blanket is worthless, of course. We just brought it along to show you.”
Little more was said as the Cubs prepared to start home. They took care to see that no items of value were left lying about. Mr. Hatfield personally locked the canoe, the paddles and all tools in Mr. Halloway’s cabin.
Dan was bitterly disappointed over the loss of the sand painting. However, his spirits were revived by a good night’s rest. By the following afternoon he had assembled new materials and was ready to start work again on another project.
“This time I’ll outline the picture in a protected place,” he announced.
While Dan was making the preliminary layout, Brad and the other Cubs busied themselves with canoe practice. At intervals the denner saw them deliberately upset the craft, empty it of water, and scramble in. This accomplished, they would paddle back to shore.
Dan worked doggedly, determined to keep at his task, though he had lost enthusiasm for it. For the second sand painting, the boy had chosen a more secluded spot, well protected by a wind-break of trees.
As he outlined geometrical figures with a sharp-pointed stick, he became aware of a rather uncomfortable feeling. At intervals Dan would glance over his shoulder, feeling that he was being watched.
“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?” he asked himself in disgust. “I’m getting more nervous than an old cat!”
He tried to concentrate on the work before him. But he could not rid himself of that strange, uncomfortable sensation that he was being watched.
Glancing over his shoulder, he actually saw a shadowy face peering down at him from the foliage on the slope above. Or did he imagine that too?
Dropping his stick, Dan glanced quickly about the camp. The Cubs were still on the river, receiving instruction in canoeing.
“Maybe I am seeing things!” he thought. “Anyway, I’ll find out.”
Scrambling up the slope, Dan boldly entered the fringe of woods.
Distinctly, he heard a faint rustling sound, and the crackle of a stick. Someone had been watching him! That person now was moving rapidly away.
Dan moved faster. Now deep among the trees, he could see no one. It was as if he were chasing a will-o’-the-wisp!
Finally giving up, the boy returned to the slope directly above the site he had selected for the sand painting.
A gap in the tree branches, he noted, permitted a perfect view not only of the camp but also of the picture he had started.
“Someone was watching me, all right,” he thought. “Wonder if it was Ross?”
Carefully, Dan inspected the soft, moist earth. At first he could find no footprints or other sign of the watcher. But after he had pulled away a pile of damp leaves from the trail, he discovered a print which appeared to have been made by a moccasin.
“It wasn’t Ross,” he decided. “One of those Indians is watching our camp. I don’t like it.”
Decidedly troubled, the boy returned to the sand painting. But he could not keep his mind on it. What use, he thought, to go to so much work again, with the ever present hazard that over-night the picture might be ruined by a hostile stranger?
Presently, Dan sauntered down to the beach, intending to tell Brad and Mr. Hatfield of his latest discovery. The Cub leader was still out on the river giving Midge and his son a few advanced pointers on stroking.
Brad, he noticed, was talking to Red and Chips farther down the beach. They were speaking rather loudly and seemed to be deep in some sort of argument.
“Sure, I brought the paddle in when I got through with my turn at the canoe,” Red said furiously. “Don’t try to accuse me of losing it!”
“I’m not accusing anyone,” Brad told him, holding his temper in check. “No use getting your back up! I’m just checking on the paddles, that’s all. We’ve lost one and we can’t afford to lose another.”
“Ask Mr. Hatfield then,” Red said peevishly. “He probably has the extra one with him in the canoe.”
“I know he has one. I don’t think there were two spares.”
“Well, ask him,” Red insisted. “I know I didn’t have it.”
Coming up to the trio, Dan asked Brad what was wrong.
“Another paddle missing,” Brad answered briefly. “Or at least I think it’s gone. I’m not blaming anyone. Only checking.”
Acting upon Red’s suggestion, he called to Mr. Hatfield to ask how many paddles the Cub leader had in the canoe.
“Two,” came back the answer.
“Then we’re one short again,” Brad declared grimly.
“Think it was stolen?” Dan asked, instantly recalling the moccasin track in the woods.
“No-o.” Brad spoke thoughtfully. “I remember when Chips, Red and I came in from our practice session on the river, that paddle was laid down—”
“Right here where we’re standing,” Chips interposed. “It was fairly close to the river.”
“I should have picked it up myself,” Brad said. “I guess I just didn’t notice, that’s all. I’m as much to blame as anyone else.”
“The paddle should be here,” Red said doggedly. “How’d it get away?”
“It probably floated off,” Brad answered. “The waves pound up here whenever a big cruiser passes.”
“Well, if the paddle floated off, it can’t be far away,” Red declared.
“That’s so,” agreed Brad. He turned to Dan. “Let’s go after it!”
“Afoot?”
“Not much chance of trailing it that way. Maybe Mr. Hatfield will let us take the canoe.”
Brad had observed that the Cub leader already was paddling toward shore with long, sure strokes.
The two Cubs went down to the water’s edge to meet him. Quickly, Brad explained what had happened. As they had expected, Mr. Hatfield showed immediate concern.
“We can’t afford to lose another paddle,” he said. “We’ll have to find this one, that’s all.”
Motioning for Brad and Dan to exchange places with Fred and Midge, he pointed the canoe down stream.
For the next twenty minutes, the three searched every cove and back-water along the shore. The lost paddle could not be found.
“It beats all what could have happened to it,” Brad said, resting a moment. “You didn’t see anyone in camp while we were out on the river, did you, Dan?”
“Not on the beach,” the younger boy answered slowly. “I did see someone watching me from the woods—an Indian, I think.”
“I guess it’s no use looking any farther for the paddle.”
“Wait. Let’s not give up just yet,” Mr. Hatfield said unexpectedly. He had been studying the swift river current with deep absorption. “Maybe an Indian stole our paddle, but I doubt it. Notice how fast this water moves?”
“Only one little ribbon of it,” Brad replied. “I discovered that the other day. This old river must have a lot of currents.”
Mr. Hatfield nodded. “On your toes, boys,” he said. “I’m going to try an experiment.”
“What are you going to do?” Brad asked, puzzled.
Without answering, Mr. Hatfield deliberately dropped his paddle into the river.
CHAPTER 10
AN UNDERGROUND STREAM
Brad and Dan watched in fascination as the paddle drifted away from the canoe.
At first it moved very slowly, then faster and faster.
Brad noted instantly that the paddle seemed to travel downstream much faster than the canoe and also at a quicker pace than other drifting objects nearby.
“It’s caught in an especially swift current!” he exclaimed. “I wonder what causes that fast water? An underground stream emptying into the river?”
“I’ve wondered myself,” Mr. Hatfield declared, keeping close watch of the drifting paddle. “Some time ago, Mr. Holloway pointed out to me that a fast current less than twelve feet wide moves along shore for a considerable distance. We never took time to trace it down or discover its origin.”
“The paddle is caught in that current now,” Dan nodded.
“I’d thought of the same thing myself,” Brad declared. “Fact is, I’ve wondered if maybe those two missing paddles didn’t float away.”
“I’m sure Ross never took them,” Mr. Hatfield said.
“This fast-moving current passes close to the beach,” Brad said thoughtfully. “Furthermore, each time the paddles disappeared, they’d been left lying close to the water’s edge!”
“Anyway, Brad, it’s a theory worth investigating. We can’t afford to lose another paddle. If we’re not careful, this one will get away from us!”
The paddle which the Cub leader had dropped into the water, was moving faster and faster. Pursuing it, Brad pushed the canoe forward with deep thrusts of the one remaining paddle. But with two heavy passengers, he could not make the craft spurt ahead.
“Want me to take over?” Mr. Hatfield offered.
Brad grinned and shook his head. “I need to build up muscle for the Saturday race. You and Dan keep your eyes glued on that paddle.”
As the canoe proceeded downstream, Mr. Hatfield outlined his theory regarding the disappearance of the paddles. He reminded the Cubs of the river’s close proximity to Lake James, only a half mile distant from their camp. Often on pleasant Saturday afternoons, the Cubs had hiked there for cook-outs.
“Now it strikes me that Lake James is at a somewhat lower level than this river,” the cubmaster went on reflectively. “Does that give either of you a clue?”
“An underground stream might connect the two!” Brad said promptly.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Mr. Hatfield nodded, “Anyway, we’ll soon know. Notice, that floating paddle is moving toward shore again.”
“It’s traveling, too!” Dan exclaimed. “Almost as if it had a motor!”
“Even if the river did carry away our two paddles, that doesn’t explain what happened to the Navajo blanket or our cache of food,” Brad remarked thoughtfully. He shifted the paddle to the other side of the canoe so that his arm muscle might have a brief rest.
“No, someone deliberately took those things. It bothers me, too.”
“Indians?” Dan interposed.
“It could be.” Mr. Hatfield spoke rather guardedly, as if reluctant to tell the Cubs everything that was in his mind. “I’ve been trying to run into those strangers, to get a line on them. So far, I’ve had no luck.”
Since the Cubs first had discovered the carved clay face at the ravine, park officials had made several visits to the site. Twice they had noted that additional work had been done. But on no occasion had they found anyone in the vicinity.
“The park is too short-handed to assign a man to watch the ravine,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Eventually the culprit or culprits will be caught, but it may take time.”
“I think the one who is doing the work is hiding out somewhere in the woods,” Dan volunteered his theory. “And we’re likely to lose things until he’s found and put out of the park preserve.”
“Say, we’re going to lose another paddle if we don’t watch out,” Brad directed attention of the other two to the ribbon of current.
Despite his best efforts, the paddle again was moving faster than the canoe. It had swung in quite close to shore now.
The Cubs never had visited this particular section of the forest preserve. No trails had been built in the area, for the underbrush remained thick, particularly along the shore. Except for a narrow, sandy beach, sheer limestone cliffs rose to a height of more than a hundred feet.
Mr. Hatfield studied the wall of bushes overhanging the water.
“I think I see where that current goes underground,” he declared. “Quick, Brad! Bear down or we’ll lose that paddle.”
Brad took several quick thrusts of his own paddle. With a scraping of twigs, the canoe nosed into a tangle of brush.
Directly ahead, the truant paddle had snagged against a log which protruded from the water. Beyond, the swift-flowing current seemed to vanish into the cliff itself.
Barely in time, Mr. Hatfield reached out to snatch the floating paddle.
As Brad now held the canoe steady, the trio studied the face of the cliff with keen interest. The water here was very deep, flowing silently into the dense wall of bushes.
“Edge in a little closer, Brad,” Mr. Hatfield instructed.
Brad obediently steered the canoe deeper into the brush tangle. It was hard to keep the craft pointed downstream, for the current kept pulling the bow.
Mr. Hatfield pulled aside some of the heavy branches. At the sight before them, Brad and Dan sucked in their breath.
A torrent of water flowed silently, mysteriously into a great, arching cavern. The three amazed explorers could not see its end.
“A cave!” Dan whispered in awe.
“Our paddle would have been sucked in there if we hadn’t snatched it just in time,” added Brad. He grasped a tree branch with one hand, helping Mr. Hatfield hold the canoe steady.
“This explains what became of those first two paddles we lost,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “Undoubtedly, they were sucked into this cave. Furthermore, the underground current explains what’s happened to a number of things that have disappeared on the river. Mr. Holloway lost a life preserver last summer. He hunted for miles down-stream, but never could find it.”
“Doesn’t anyone know about this cave?” Dan asked, staring into the dark, silent water.
“Never heard it mentioned,” Mr. Hatfield answered. “The park people may have this underground stream mapped, but I rather doubt it. The preserve was set up only a little over a year ago, you know. Parts of the area never have been fully explored.”
Brad was impatient to investigate the cavern. The entranceway was very small, just large enough to admit a canoe, but not with its occupants sitting upright.
“Say, if we all lie down, we can get in there,” he estimated. “It will be a tight squeeze though.”
“And we wouldn’t know where we were going, or what we were running into,” Mr. Hatfield put an end to his plans. “I’d like to learn what’s inside the cave, but we’re not going to be foolhardy.”
“Then if we can’t shove the canoe in, how are we going to recover our lost paddles?” Brad demanded, disappointed by the Cub leader’s rejection of his proposal. “How’ll we ever find out where the stream goes or what’s in the cave?”
“Maybe we never will,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “We’re not taking risks, and that’s that.”
Actually, as he peered longer into the dim, dark cave, Brad lost much of his desire to explore. He could see that the current moved swiftly along the rock floor. Even if it were possible to get the canoe in for a short distance, it might be impossible to work it out again against the stiff opposition of the racing underground stream.
“The water is swift,” Dan observed, “but it doesn’t look very deep inside the cave.”
Mr. Hatfield had made the same observation. He instructed Brad to pull the canoe up onto the tiny stretch of beach close by.
“Then we are going to explore?” the Den Chief demanded.
“Not exactly. I want to probe the depth of the water at the mouth of the cave.”
Beaching the canoe, the Cubs searched and finally found a long, fairly straight stick which could be used as a measuring rod.
Following Mr. Hatfield, they inched their way along the cliff wall, fighting bushes all the distance.
The ledge was so narrow that only the Cub leader could peer into the cave opening.
“What do you see?” Dan demanded eagerly.
“Nothing but damp walls veering upward to a rough, low roof,” Mr. Hatfield answered. He had thrust head and shoulders into the opening, so his words were muffled. “I wish I had a flashlight.”
“Want me to go back for one?” Brad asked.
Mr. Hatfield turned down the offer, pointing out that the hour already was late. By the time Brad could return, it would be nearly dark.
Carefully, the Cub leader measured the depth of the water. At the mouth of the cave, it was nearly waist level. But a foot inside the entrance, the depth was six inches less.
“Unless I’m mistaken, the floor of the cave slopes upward,” Mr. Hatfield declared.
“Then farther back, you think the water might not be so deep?” Dan questioned.
“That’s the way it looks from here. I can’t see very far though.”
“Gosh, wait ’till the Cubs hear about this cave!” Brad chuckled. “And won’t we have it all over the Den 1 fellows! I sure wish we knew what’s back in there.”
Mr. Hatfield had completed his inspection of the entranceway. He now backed away to rejoin Dan and Brad.
“We might be able to explore it,” he said, dubiously.
“Today?” Dan’s voice became electric with anticipation.
“No, that’s definitely out. We’d need flashlights and lots of batteries, a good stout rope and maybe some other equipment. Besides, I’d want Mr. Holloway’s opinion before tackling it.”
“When can we do it?” Brad demanded. “Tomorrow night?”
“Possibly,” Mr. Hatfield conceded. “I’m making no promises though.”
Now that they could learn no more, the Cubs were eager to return to camp to tell their Den mates of the exciting discovery. Launching the canoe, both Dan and Brad paddled. However, it was hard work, moving against the current.
Nearly twenty minutes elapsed before the trio came within hailing distance of the camp.
“Perhaps it’s just as well not to mention the cave tonight,” Mr. Hatfield remarked. “I want the Cubs to know about it eventually. But if they learn about it too soon, it may get them all excited.”
“And take their minds off the pow-wow,” Dan added with a laugh. “We still have a lot of work to do around the camp before Saturday.”