Through the Window
Skirting the marsh, Jack led the Cubs deep into the shadowy woods.
Apparently he had gone that way often, for he seldom hesitated in
choosing the trail.
“Where do you think he’s taking us?” Dan speculated, bringing up the rear
with Brad.
“It has me guessing, Dan. He seems to know where’s he’s going though. I
have a hunch he may show us something that will have an important
bearing.”
After a brisk five-minute hike through the woods, Jack abruptly halted.
“If you want to see anything, you got to be quiet from here on,” he
warned.
All conversation ceased. Still led by Jack, the Cubs moved on at a slower
pace. Carefully they trod, taking care not to step on sticks or dry
leaves.
Presently Jack again halted. This time he did not speak.
However, the Cubs, gathering close about, saw that they had neared their
destination.
Directly ahead, in a tiny clearing close to the stream, stood a crude
shack. Side walls were badly built from odd-shaped lumber which the Cubs
guessed had been taken from near-by construction jobs.
The flat roof was made of tar paper. Some of it had torn loose and
flapped in the light breeze.
“You didn’t build the shack?” Mr. Hatfield whispered to Jack. He had
noted a tiny curl of smoke rising lazily from a tin pipe cut through the
roof.
Jack shook his head. Motioning for the Cubs to follow, he moved in a
little closer.
“Who lives there?” Brad whispered, impatient for information.
“Wait,” Jack said. “We’ll get in close, and maybe you can see for
yourselves.”
“If we all move in, we’ll likely be seen,” Mr. Hatfield insisted.
It was decided that Jack, Mr. Hatfield, Brad and Dan should go on ahead,
leaving the others in the shelter of the trees.
Moving softly over the uneven ground, the trio crept close to the shack.
Keeping close to the wall, they reached a broken pane of glass which
served as the only window.
Jack pressed his face against it and nodded in satisfaction.
“He’s in there! Have a look!”
Jack moved back to allow Dan to take his place.
The boy peered into the dark interior of the shack. At first he caught
only an impression of an empty room with an old box which served as a
table.
Then gradually he made out a balsam-bough bed on the floor, covered with
an army blanket. Sprawled on the bed, fully clothed was a man with a
stubbly beard.
“It’s that same fellow who looked in the church window!” Dan murmured,
startled to recognize him.
“Careful, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield warned, for in his excitement, the boy very
nearly had spoken aloud. “Let me have a look.”
Dan moved aside so that both the Cub leader and Brad might peer at the
stranger.
“It’s the same man all right,” Brad confirmed Dan’s identification. “He’s
dead to the world!”
Mr. Hatfield had turned to Jack. “This is all very interesting,” he
whispered. “But you promised to show us something that might explain
about the missing money box.”
“I can’t show you while he’s in there. But he’s got it.”
“Not the money?”
“Sure.” Jack thoroughly enjoyed his knowledge.
“How do you know this, Jack? Did you see the box?”
“Right from this very window. I was wandering through the woods late one
afternoon when I came onto this shack. I was curious, so I sneaked up and
looked in.”
“And this same tramp was living in there?” Dan asked. “When was that?”
“Oh, I didn’t find the shack until a couple of days ago. I don’t know how
long it’s been here.”
“Tell us about the money box,” Mr. Hatfield urged.
“Well, as I looked through the window, I saw that tramp take it out from
under his bed. While I watched, he counted the money. I saw a lot of
bills in neat stacks.”
“Jeepers!” Dan whispered. “It must be the money we found in the church!”
“That hunk of baloney saw us through the window, and probably found out
that the box was taken to Mr. Hatfield’s house,” Brad reasoned. “But how
did he get it from there?”
“Remember Mrs. Jones’ black dress!” Dan reminded him.
“Sure, I get it. He must have stolen it from her place and wore the
garment when he slipped into the house.”
“That’s why the milkman reported seeing a woman leave the place,” Dan
nodded, peering again through the window. “The dope still is sleeping
hard.”
“After stealing the money, it’s odd he didn’t try to get away from here,”
Mr. Hatfield thought aloud. “Well, let’s get back and report to the Cubs.
It’s risky standing here in the open.”
After taking one more peek through the dirty pane of glass, the boys
followed the Cub leader to the shelter of trees. There they were
bombarded with a multitude of questions.
“Let’s march into that shack in a body and make that tramp give up the
money!” Chips proposed boldly. “Then we’ll have him arrested!”
“Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?” Mr. Hatfield suggested.
“It’s far wiser to have him arrested first and let the police demand the
money.”
“That’s so,” agreed Brad. “We aren’t arresting officers.”
“That tramp may sleep another hour or perhaps only five minutes,” Mr.
Hatfield said uneasily. “Tell you what! I’ll take Red and head for the
nearest telephone. The rest of you stay here in the woods. Watch the
shack but keep out of sight. I’ll be back as soon as I can call police or
a state trooper.”
“We won’t let him get away,” Dan promised.
“Brad’s in charge,” Mr. Hatfield said as he and Red started off through
the woods. “Obey his orders.”
After the Cub leader had gone, Brad told the boys to spread out a little
and to flatten themselves on the ground.
“Hey, I want to take a peek into that window!” Chips announced.
“Nothing doing!”
“You and Dan got a chance to look. I guess if you did, the rest of us can
too!”
“Sure, let’s take turns,” proposed Midge.
Brad gave him a withering look. “Am I going to have trouble with you
guys?” he demanded.
“Mr. Hatfield didn’t say we couldn’t,” Chips argued.
“Use your head. You know if we all start going back and forth to that
window, sooner or later we’ll be seen. We have an important job to do.”
“That’s right,” Dan supported the older boy. “And Brad’s in charge. What
he says goes.”
“That’s all right for you,” Chips argued. “You already had your look.”
Surprisingly, Jack Phillips now entered the discussion.
“Pipe down, you!” he flung at the astonished Chips. “You’re yapping like
a baby. We do as Mr. Hatfield said—see!”
Chips and Midge both subsided.
Time passed very slowly. Brad began to think it was taking Mr. Hatfield
and Red a long while to telephone police. The Cubs, he could see, were
growing cold and restless. Babe in particular, who had not dressed warmly
enough, huddled against the older boy.
“How much longer will it be?” he asked.
“I sure wish I knew,” Brad replied. “Listen, Babe. You’re shivering. Why
don’t you hike to Mrs. Jones’ place and warm yourself?”
Babe shook his head. “Nothing doing,” he said stoutly. “I’m as tough as
the other fellows any day.”
Another five minutes elapsed. Brad was shifting into a more comfortable
position, when Dan gripped his arm.
“Look, Brad!” he whispered.
The door of the shack had opened. For a moment the tramp stood there in
his wrinkled clothes, gazing directly toward the woods.
“Lie still, fellows!” Brad ordered. “I don’t think he sees us.”
“What’s he going to do next?” Dan speculated uneasily.
The tramp stretched himself, and wandering down to the stream, washed his
face. After taking a drink, he re-entered the shack.
“I sure hope he stays there,” Chips whispered.
The wish was a futile one. A minute or two later, the tramp reappeared,
carrying a few cooking utensils.
Turning his back to the Cubs, he followed the curve of the creek and
vanished from sight.
“Is he leaving for good?” whispered Dan.
“I don’t think so,” Jack Phillips answered. “I’ve seen him cook his food
in a rock shelter about a hundred yards down-stream. He doesn’t dare have
a fire inside the shack, or he’d likely burn it down.”
“All the same it’s our job to keep him in sight until the police get
here,” Brad said. “Jack, suppose you and Fred follow and find out where
he goes. Report back as soon as you can.”
“Sure!” agreed Jack, liking the assignment. “We won’t let him get away.”
“If he should lead you a chase, mark the trail,” the Den Chief advised.
“Fred knows how to do it so the Cubs can follow.”
Fred and Jack hastened off in pursuit of the tramp. However, it seemed
they scarcely had disappeared until they returned again, breathless from
hurrying.
“Anything wrong?” Brad demanded.
“Not a thing,” Jack reassured him. “It’s just as I thought. The tramp is
cooking his meal. He’ll be at it a half hour at least.”
“All the same, we ought to keep him in sight,” Brad decided. “You two
hustle back and watch. If he starts this way, give some sort of signal.”
“What’ll it be?” Fred asked. “I know! I’ll whistle like a whippoorwill.”
“Are there any of ’em in the woods at this time of year?”
“Oh, the tramp won’t notice,” Fred said. “I could give my siren whistle.”
“No, the whippoorwill signal will be better,” Brad decided quickly. “That
siren of yours would send him hot-footing in the opposite direction. But
don’t use any signal unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
No sooner had the two gone off, than Chips again urged that the Cubs
investigate the shack.
“Jack said the tramp will be tied up for a half hour,” he argued. “This
is our chance! We can get in there and find the money!”
“Sure, Mr. Hatfield would want us to do it!” Midge backed him up.
“Well, I don’t know—it’s sort of risky.”
“Oh, you’re too conservative,” Chips said hotly. “I’m not afraid!”
“No one is afraid,” Brad retorted. “It’s just a matter of common sense.
If the tramp should catch us here before the police arrive—”
“Heck! We’re seven to his one! What do we need? An army?”
The taunt annoyed Brad. “I’m just trying to do what Mr. Hatfield would
want us to,” he retorted. “You’re so hot-headed.”
“Then go in there yourself and search the shack!” Chips challenged. “Or
are you afraid?”
“No, I’m not, and you know it! I just have sense enough to figure that
the tramp could come back here any minute.”
“Fred and Jack are watching, aren’t they? If the fellow leaves the creek,
they’ll whistle. Go on! The important thing is to get that box of money!”
Brad gazed thoughtfully toward the creek. From a short distance away, he
could see a few wisps of smoke arising.
“All right, we’ll take a chance!” he decided reluctantly.
Chips started for the shack, only to have Brad haul him back.
“Not you!” he said. “Dan and I will search the shack. You and Midge and
Babe stay here and keep watch. If you hear a whistle, or see anyone
coming, give us a warning.”
“Some guys have all the fun!” Chips complained.
“Fun!” Brad snorted. “We’re taking the risk. Don’t forget, that tramp may
be armed, either with a revolver or a knife. If he should catch us in the
shack, he might give us a tough time of it.”
“If you’re scared, let me go.”
“Oh, you make me tired!” Brad snapped in disgust. “Stay here and watch.
Come on, Dan.”
The two darted across the clearing and opened the door of the shack.
A few garments hung from pegs on the wall. An orange crate had been
fashioned into a table. Otherwise, except for the balsam bed on the
floor, the room was bare.
Losing no time, Dan and Brad began to tear the bed apart.
“It’s not here,” Dan said in disappointment. “Wait”—his hand struck a
metal object buried deep amid the carefully laid brush.
Triumphantly, he brought out the tin box.
“Good work, Dan!” Brad praised. “Is the money still there?”
Dan raised the lid. The box appeared filled with bills and coins.
“Not much can be missing at any rate,” he said in satisfaction. “Finding
this box will clear Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs!”
“Now our only problem will be finding out who’s entitled to the money—”
Both boys froze into alert attention. Faintly they had heard a whistle
from down-creek.
“Gosh!” Brad exclaimed. “We’re getting out of here!”
At that same moment, someone tapped on the glass pane at the rear of the
shack.
Whirling around, Brad and Dan saw Chips’ contorted face pressed against
the window. He motioned frantically.
Seizing the tin box, Brad and Dan started for the door.
Before they could reach it, heavy footsteps were heard outside.
Then the door creaked back, and the tramp stood there blocking the exit!