Dan Carter and the Money Box

by Mildred A. Wirt

  CHAPTER 14 Beside the Camp Fire

  The Cubs stared at the empty oven, uncertain whether or not Mr. Hatfieldand Red had played a trick upon them.

  "Hey, where are they?" Midge demanded. "Who swiped the biscuits?"

  "That's what I want to know," said Mr. Hatfield.

  His grim tone left no doubt that the biscuits actually were missing.Their disappearance was as mysterious to Mr. Hatfield and Red as to theother boys.

  "Why, they were here a few minutes ago!" Red exclaimed indignantly."Someone's swiped 'em!"

  Mr. Hatfield glanced quickly about the camp. No one however, was withinsight.

  "Of all the dirty tricks!" Dan exploded. "Taking the food right out ofour mouths!"

  "How about the bacon and eggs?" Fred demanded. "Have they walked offtoo?"

  A check disclosed that the other food remained untouched.

  "Go ahead and fry your bacon and eggs," Mr. Hatfield advised. "Brad and Iwill take a quick look around."

  The pair circled the camp, even venturing a short distance into thewoods. Because the ground was firm and dry, they could find no telltalefootprints. Nor did they see anyone.

  Giving up the search, they returned a few minutes later to share baconand eggs with the Cubs.

  "This supper is ruined without the biscuits," Red complained. "I made 'emsuper! Honestly, I did."

  "I'll bet they turned out so hard you were afraid to serve 'em," Babejoked. "So to fool us, you buried 'em."

  "That's not so," Red denied hotly. "The biscuits were perfect when Mr.Hatfield and I went to gather wood. Someone stole 'em!"

  "It may have been that tramp who hid out in the house," Brad saidthoughtfully. "For all we know, he may still be around somewhere."

  "Just wait until I meet him again!" Midge declared, scraping the last bitof egg from his tinfoil cup plate. "I'll give him a piece of my mind!"

  "Maybe it wasn't the tramp," speculated Chips. He poked the coals with astick, and having stirred the flames, tossed a crumpled ball of foil tothe fire.

  "Who else could it have been?" demanded Fred. "We've seen no one on thisroad. Only cars that whiz past at twenty-five miles an hour."

  Chips had fastened his gaze upon the unpainted dwelling owned by theWidow Jones. The old house was some distance away, but visible throughthe trees.

  "Remember that runaway boy?" he reminded the Cubs. "He was taken back toMrs. Jones' House, wasn't he?"

  "That's right," said Mr. Hatfield. Squatting beside the fire, he hadlistened with interest to the speculation of the Cubs.

  "Well, I'll bet a cent he went off with our food!" Chips announced."Let's go to the house and find out!"

  "Yeah!" cried Midge. "We aren't going to let him get by with it, are we?"

  "Just a minute, boys," interposed Mr. Hatfield. "You're leaping to prettyfast conclusions, in my opinion. It would be a mistake--one of the worstkind--to go to Mrs. Jones and complain about the boy. We might be doinghim a rank injustice."

  "Don't forget the tramp," added Brad significantly. "A second ago, youfellows were equally sure he was the culprit."

  "Well, it wouldn't do any harm to go to the house and inquire," Chipsinsisted. "We could be sort of--" he groped for a word.

  "Discreet?" asked Mr. Hatfield, smiling.

  "That's what I mean!"

  "I had intended to stop at the Jones' house anyway," Mr. Hatfieldadmitted, starting to stamp out the dying coals. "But my purpose isentirely friendly. I'm curious to learn how Jack is getting along."

  "Let's all go," Chips urged. "We want to see if he's well fed--especiallyon biscuits!"

  "Chips, I'm a bit uncertain--"

  "Oh, I'll watch myself," the boy assured him quickly. "You can do most ofthe talking. We'll just listen and keep our eyes open."

  "I'm sure I can depend on you," the Cub leader nodded. "Well, let's cleancamp. It's getting on toward dark."

  The Cubs put out the fire, covering the smoking coals with loose dirt.Their knapsacks loaded, they soon were ready to hit the trail.

  "Now remember, boys," Mr. Hatfield warned as the group approached theJones dwelling, "even if you are suspicious, don't make any accusations.Jack already is in a bad spot."

  "If we complain that he stole our food, Mrs. Jones might send himstraight back to the Institute," added Brad. "We ought to be dead sure ofour ground before we open our lips."

  Smoke curled from the chimney of the widow's house, so the Cubs knewsomeone was at home. The yard remained untidy, reminding them that theystill had a Saturday task before them.

  However, there was evidence that someone had been doing considerablework. Kindling wood had been cut and cord wood neatly sawed and stackedby the sagging porch.

  Mr. Hatfield rapped on the door. In a moment, Mrs. Jones appeared in herkitchen apron, smiling as she saw the Cubs.

  The Cub leader politely told her he had come to inquire how Jack Phillipswas getting along.

  Immediately Mrs. Jones looked troubled. "That boy!" she exclaimed. "If Ihaven't had a handful!"

  "I hope he hasn't been giving you a bad time," Mr. Hatfield returned.

  "Well, yes, and no. There's good stuff in the lad, but he's a problem."

  "Keeping him at home is one of them, I judge."

  Mrs. Jones drew a deep sigh. "Jack is off somewhere this very minute.Early this morning I told him to cut the wood. He went through the joblike a house afire, and then before I knew it, he was gone."

  "Wandering the woods perhaps?"

  "Yes, that boy is like a wild things with his love of the outdoors. Hewent off for three hours yesterday and I gave him a switching when hecame back. But it didn't prevent him from trying the same trick today."

  Mr. Hatfield smiled as the widow mentioned the switching. She was a fraillittle woman, weighing a scant one hundred pounds. Jack, by contrast, wasbuilt like a football player and heavy for his age.

  "I don't think the switching hurt him any," Mrs. Jones said. "The scampsort of laughed while I was doing it. I'm right provoked at him todaythough. He took the rifle when he left."

  "Why, that's rather dangerous."

  "Oh, Jack's a good shot," Mrs. Jones informed him. "I wouldn't mind himusing the gun, if he'd ask me for it. It's those sneaking ways of histhat annoy me."

  "I know what you mean," nodded Mr. Hatfield, reflecting upon the missingbiscuits. "Well, be patient with the lad. He may develop. And if there'sanything I can do, call on me."

  "If you could round that boy up and send him home, I'd appreciate it,"the widow sighed. "There's no telling where he is, or when he'll comedragging in--if at all."

  "You haven't had any serious trouble with him?"

  The widow hesitated. "I haven't wanted to report his behavior to theCourt officials, because if I do, I know they'll pack him off to theindustrial school. I'm trying to give him a chance."

  "But he has caused you worry? There's more to it than restlessness andrunning away?"

  "Well, a few things have disappeared," Mrs. Jones admitted reluctantly."Nothing of much value, but it bothers me."

  "What are some of the things that have been taken?"

  "Jack always is sneaking into the ice box. He'll pack himself a lunch anddisappear for hours."

  "A typical boy's trick."

  "Oh, I'm not complaining about the food. Though it plagues me that hedoesn't come right out honest like and ask for it."

  "The boy takes other things?"

  "One of my black silk dresses disappeared. I'd dry cleaned it withgasoline and hung it up in the shed to air out. To tell you the truth, Iforgot about it for several days. When I went to get it, well it wasgone."

  "What would Jack want with a black silk dress?" Mr. Hatfield questioneddubiously.

  "You tell!" Mrs. Jones made a despairing gesture. "He chops wood and thenhalf of it disappears before I can pop it into the stove. I think hecarries it off to build fires in the woods and marsh."

  "It's curious that he
would take a dress," said the Cub leader with apuzzled shake of his head. "The other things more or less fit in with hisoverpowering desire to lead an outdoor life. But a woman's dress!"

  "It was an old one without much value," Mrs. Jones admitted. "I liked itthough, on account of the pretty jet buttons."

  At mention of jet buttons, Dan shot Mr. Hatfield a quick glance. He sawthat the Cub leader likewise was startled by the possibility whichpresented itself.

  "What kind of buttons, were they?" the boy asked.

  "Just tiny jet buttons, diamond in shape."

  "If we find the boy, we'll send him home," Mr. Hatfield said hastily.

  He was afraid that Dan or one of the other Cubs might say something whichwould further disturb the widow.

  Herding the boys together, he led them away from the house. Once beyondhearing of the widow, they all had plenty to say.

  "Jack swiped our biscuits all right!" Red said indignantly. "We're sapsto let him get by with it too!"

  "We ought to have him sent back to the Child Study Institute!" addedMidge. "Who does that kid think he is? We ought to clip his comb!"

  Mr. Hatfield had not given much thought to the stolen food. However, hewas gravely troubled by Mrs. Jones' reference to the jet buttons.

  "Do you suppose Jack was the one who came to your house that morning?"Dan asked, falling into step with the Cub leader.

  "Naturally, it raises a question in one's mind, Dan. But for the life ofme, I can't understand how he would know about the tin box."

  "Furthermore, he didn't live here at the time the money disappeared fromyour house, Mr. Hatfield."

  "That's so, Dan!" the Cub leader exclaimed, obviously relieved. "For aminute I was afraid of the worst. It only goes to prove one shouldn'tjump to conclusions. Guess I've said that a dozen times."

  As the Cubs reached the main road, Chips called attention to a curl ofsmoke rising lazily from the woods.

  "Someone must have a camp fire back in there," he remarked.

  "It's a rather dangerous place to start a fire," Mr. Hatfield said."Suppose we investigate."

  Turning aside from the road, the Cubs climbed a rail fence and made theirway through the thickets. Picking a trail carefully, Mr. Hatfield ledthem single file.

  "Quiet, boys," he advised as Babe kept shuffling his feet through the dryleaves. "No use advertising ourselves."

  Before the Cubs had gone far into the woods, they could smell the aromaof food cooking.

  Mr. Hatfield signaled for the boys to slow their pace. Treadingnoiselessly, they approached with caution.

  At the edge of a small clearing the Cub leader abruptly halted.

  Eager to see what it was that had drawn and held their leaders attention,the boys closed in about him.

  "Can you beat that!" Dan whispered.

  Directly ahead was a wind-sheltered hollow, framed by bare trees. A campfire had been built close to the banks of a winding stream. On a crudelyconstructed spit, a dressed rabbit slowly broiled over the coals.

  The one who turned the spit had his back to the Cubs. He was wrappeddeeply in a heavy coat many sizes too large for his lean frame. Besidehim lay a rifle.

  But even though the Cubs could not see the lad's face, they recognizedhim instantly. The one who sat so contentedly by his fire, gazing offinto space, was Jack Phillips.