Following the Trail
Excitement swept the camp the next morning when Mr. Hatfield told the
Cubs they were to play the trail game Dan had proposed.
Taking the boys partially into his confidence, the Cub leader explained
that he wished to obtain as much information as possible about Jabowski
or any other occupants of the island.
“What sort of information?” Mack asked, puzzled.
“It’s a request that can’t be explained,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “Just
keep your eyes open. If you notice anything unusual report it after the
hunt is over. Dan will lay the trail.”
“I’ll need twenty minutes start of the gang,” Dan announced, already
making his plans.
Mr. Hatfield told the Cubs that he might be absent from camp upon their
return. He had arranged for a yacht club boat to pick him up, as he
wished to visit Tim Tyler to make certain the boy had suffered no ill
effects from his previous night’s ducking.
“I shan’t be gone long,” he told the Cubs. “During my absence, Brad will
be in charge.”
“And that means you all must do just as I say,” Brad instructed the
younger boys. “I’ll lead the clue hunt, and I want you to stick close to
me. No stragglers!”
The Cubs allowed Dan a full twenty minutes start and then set out in
pursuit.
Midge found the first clue, a bit of bush broken off and weighted down
with stones.
Farther on, Red spied a forked stick which pointed the direction. The
trail avoided the marsh, skirting the shore much of the way. Finally it
wound through a brushy hollow and came out within view of the old hotel
where Jabowski lived.
“What’s the idea of all this?” Red demanded, sinking down on a rock to
rest. “Dan brought us to this old hotel on purpose, didn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Brad agreed. “And here’s a note from him.” His keen eyes
had sighted a slip of paper speared on a nearby tree branch.
Obtaining it, he read aloud: “Watch the windows of the hotel.”
“The windows?” Red repeated. “What does he mean by that?”
“Don’t know,” Brad shrugged. “Just keep your eyes peeled for anything
unusual.”
“Such as what?” Midge demanded.
“I can’t tell you that. I don’t know myself. If you see Jabowski or
anyone around, keep tab on ’em. Pick up any information you can, no
matter how trivial it may seem.”
“But why are we doing this?” Mack complained. “I don’t get it.”
“Mr. Hatfield will explain later.”
“You and Dan seem to be on the inside,” Chips grumbled.
“If you don’t want to play the game, you can trot back to camp. And that
goes for all of you!”
“Oh, don’t get tough,” Chips retorted. “We’re willing to spy out the
enemy camp, but it would be more to the point if you’d do a little
explaining.”
“All in good time, all in good time,” Brad rejoined, restored to good
humor.
Following the trail Dan had marked, the Cubs slowly circled the hotel
building.
“I don’t believe Jabowski lives there,” Midge declared. “The place is
deserted.”
“No, it isn’t,” corrected Red. “I see smoke coming from the chimney at
the rear.”
Brad praised the boy for his observation and urged the others to be on
the lookout for other signs.
A little farther on, the Den Chief paused to study the grimy windows of
the ancient building.
“Jabowski doesn’t hurt himself keeping the place clean or tidy,” he
remarked. “Look at those windows! And the weeds in the yard!”
“And the shutters,” contributed Fred. “They’re banging around at every
angle.”
Brad suddenly froze into alert attention. His gaze had focused hard upon
one of the upstairs hotel windows. The glare of the sun was upon it, and
for a moment the others could not see what had attracted his interest.
“Fellows, there’s someone standing at the window!” he exclaimed. “Not
Jabowski either!”
“It looks like a boy,” Chips declared, shifting his position so that the
reflected sunlight would not blind him.
Huddled together, the Cubs all fastened their gaze upon the window.
Plainly they could see a youth standing there, his face pressed close
against the dirty pane.
“_Jeepers!_” Chips whispered in stunned recognition. “_It’s Jacques!_”
Almost at the same instant, Brad and the other Cubs had made a similar
observation. The boy who stood at the window was the same one who had
vanished from the Cave only a few days earlier.
As the boys watched, a hand appeared from nowhere to jerk Jacques back
from the window. They waited several minutes, but the boy did not
reappear.
“You know what I think!” Midge cried, recovering from stunned surprise.
“Jacques is being held a prisoner in there!”
“Either Jabowski or someone else saw him trying to signal us, and pulled
him back out of sight!” Fred added excitedly. “I say we ought to break in
and rescue him!”
“Not so fast,” Brad cautioned as the other Cubs were ready to back up the
proposal. “Our orders were to report back to camp. Remember?”
“But this is an emergency,” Chips argued. “If Jacques is being held a
prisoner, we ought to get him out!”
“And maybe get ourselves into a peck of trouble. Nope! Dan must have seen
that boy too or he wouldn’t have left the note. We’re hiking back to
camp. It’s up to Mr. Hatfield to decide what to do.”
Turning deaf ears upon all protests, Brad led the Cubs back the way they
had come. Suddenly, a figure loomed up ahead of the boys. It was Jabowski
who confronted them. From where he had come or how long he had been
secreted in the bushes, they could not guess.
The caretaker’s voice was hard and unfriendly as he demanded:
“What d’you think you’re doing here?”
“Why, we’re playing ‘follow the trail’,” Brad said as the other Cubs were
too abashed to reply.
“You were spying on the house!”
“Spying?” Brad asked innocently. “Why, what is there to see?”
“Nothing. Not a thing,” Jabowski retorted, made uncomfortable by the
manner in which the boy had turned the accusation. “I just don’t like
kids swarming over the place. See?”
“Mr. Manheim gave us permission to camp on the island.”
“But not to run wild over it. This here place is mine and I don’t want
snoopers. Now get back to your own end of the island and stay there!”
“Sure, sure,” Brad said, signaling the Cubs to make no resistance. “We
were leaving anyhow.”
“I don’t aim to be mean,” Jabowski said, mollified by the boy’s
willingness to obey. “But a guy has to have some privacy. That raft
upsetting last night set my nerves on edge. You the boy that dived under
it?”
“No, that was Dan Carter.”
“Which one is he?” Jabowski’s keen gaze swept the group.
“Dan isn’t here,” Midge informed the caretaker.
“Well, no matter,” Jabowski said. “Git along now, and mind what I said.
You keep to your end of the island and there’ll be no hard feelings. By
the way, when you leaving?”
“For good you mean?” Brad asked. “Why, late this afternoon, I guess.”
“Then you won’t be camping here another night.” Unmistakable relief was
stamped on the caretaker’s face. “Good-bye, boys.”
“Oh, you may see us again,” Brad said with mischievous intent. “Oh, say!
Have you run into that tramp who annoyed us the first day we camped
here?”
“Tramp? The one who threw the stone?” Jabowski’s expression became
guarded. “No, I searched the island after Mr. Manheim complained to me.
No one around. If anyone scared you, he’s gone now.”
“Let’s hope so, at least,” replied Brad evenly. “Well, so long, Mr.
Jabowski. Sorry to have bothered you.”
The Cubs tramped off, and because they knew the caretaker was watching,
did not look back until they were a long distance from the old hotel.
Once out of sight and hearing, the boys discussed the important discovery
they had made.
“There’s no question that it was Jacques we saw at the window,” Brad
declared. “But what’s he doing here? And was it Jabowski who pulled him
away from the window, or someone else?”
“He’s a prisoner, for sure,” Midge insisted. “We know someone spirited
him away from the Cave. He’s probably been held here ever since.”
“Come on, let’s find Mr. Hatfield,” Brad urged, starting along the trail
again.
At the camp a few minutes later, the Cubs were surprised to find the site
entirely deserted. Dan was nowhere around. Nor was Mr. Hatfield or
Midge’s father to be found.
Belatedly, Brad recalled that the Cub leader and Mr. Holloway had
expected to make a brief trip that morning to the mainland.
“That’s probably where they are,” he remarked, his gaze anxiously
sweeping the river. “But where’s Dan?”
“Maybe he went along,” Fred suggested.
“Maybe,” Brad agreed doubtfully. “But he couldn’t have returned to camp
very long ago.”
While the other boys aired their bedding and attended to camp tasks, the
older boy wandered along the shore.
On the west beach he noticed where a boat had been pulled up on the wet
sand. The area was splattered with footprints, both large and small.
“A boat landed after the Cubs went trail hunting,” Brad reconstructed the
scene. “Dan must have come down here to meet the folks, whoever they
were. Maybe he went away with them, or was taken away!”
As far as Brad could see, the river was deserted of small craft. However,
the dense bushes lining both sides of the wide stream provided ample
protection for any boat which might seek to keep out of view.
Recalling the motorcraft which apparently had been serviced by the island
raft, Brad became increasingly uneasy.
“It isn’t like Dan to go away without leaving word,” he told himself.
“Something’s happened to him!”
Just then his roving gaze fastened upon a pile of three stones placed
conspicuously on the beach. Plainly they had been left there to attract
attention.
Brad kicked aside the stones. Folded beneath the lowermost one was a note
from Dan.
“Called to Police Station,” it read. “No chance to see Mr. Hatfield. See
you soon—I hope.”
Brad read the message twice, trying to figure it out.
“Now why would Dan be called to the police station?” he speculated. “It
must be something important to bring the cops here after him.”
Brad was certain that his chum had committed no crime. But why otherwise
would he be sought by police?
“See you soon—I hope,” he reread the final words of the note. “That
sounds as if he thinks he may run into trouble. I wonder if Jabowski or
someone who dislikes having the Cubs on Skeleton Island turned in a false
complaint?”
Decidedly worried, the Den Chief pocketed the note and walked slowly back
toward camp.
Without a motorboat, he knew he could do nothing until Mr. Hatfield and
Midge’s father returned from the mainland.
“A nice kettle of fish,” he muttered. “Dan at the police station, and
Jacques apparently a prisoner in the old hotel. No telling what may
happen next! And me with all the responsibility!”