Dan Carter Cub Scout Part 1

Dan Carter Cub Scout.

by Mildred A. Wirt.

CHAPTER 1

Trespa.s.sers

"Are you awake, Dan?"

In the darkness of the cabin, Dan Carter stirred drowsily, scarcely aware of the whispering voice from the adjoining bunk.

Relaxed and comfortable, he lay a moment, listening to the quiet, steady breathing of the five Cub Scouts who shared the quarters.

Overhead, a splatter of rain pinged on the tin roof of the cabin. Faster and faster came the droplets, beating a tattoo on his sleep-drugged brain.

Rain! Rain! Always rain!

Since Midge Holloway's father had invited Den 2 of the Webster City Cub Scouts to camp overnight in the riverside cabin at the rear of his residential property, the weather hadn't given them a break.

"Dan!"

This time, hearing his name whispered, the boy sat up, pulling the blankets with him. In the darkness, Sam Hatfield reached out to touch his hand. An a.s.sistant Cubmaster of the citywide Pack, Sam served as leader of Den 2 in which his son Fred was an active Cub.

"Hear that rain, Dan? It's coming down hard again."

"Look's as if we're in for another ugly day," Dan admitted. He kept his voice low so as not to awaken the other Cubs.

"The river's likely rising. Think I'll take a look at the boat."

Swinging his long legs out of the bunk, the Cub leader began to pull on his clothes. Dan enjoyed the warm luxury of the blanket a moment longer, and then with a s.h.i.+ver threw it off.

"I'll go with you," he volunteered.

The two dressed quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping Cubs.

In the bunk above Dan's, Brad Wilber, the Den Chief, rolled restlessly.

By contrast, Chips Davis, half his lean body protruding from a blanket, slept peaceful as a babe. The other Cubs, Midge Holloway, Red Suell, Fred Hatfield and Mack Tibbets, were equally dead to the world.

Sam stooped to tuck the blanket around Chips' exposed torso. Then, with slickers b.u.t.toned, he and Dan went out into the night.

A gust of wind dashed rain into their faces, blotting out a view of the Holloway house on the hill. The area near the cabin had dissolved into a sea of mud.

Sam's flashlight picked out the graveled path which led to the dock.

During the night, the river steadily had risen. Fed by rampant streams to the north, the swollen waters gradually had nibbled away the sandy beach.

The boat, tied securely the night before, now pounded against the dock on a slack rope.

While Dan retied it, Sam Hatfield pushed away a floating log which had lodged against the dock post.

"River's up another four inches," he observed gloomily. "And now, more rain."

"Think we ought to call it quits?"

"That's for the fellows to decide," Mr. Hatfield replied. "It was swell of Midge's father to let us use this place. It's almost like having a regular camp.

"The Cubs sure appreciate it. But they're fed up with the weather.

Another day of this and we'll be sprouting webs on our feet.

"What's your thought, Dan? Do we stick, or shall we call enough-enough?"

"I hate to be a quitter. It's easy enough to trot home to our folks. I'd say, let's hang on another day the way we planned. Maybe the weather man will give us a break."

"Good," said Mr. Hatfield in relief. "I was hoping you'd say that, Dan.

The question is, will the other Cubs agree?"

"They're all good sports. If only we could swim or hike, everything would be swell."

"It can't rain forever," said Mr. Hatfield cheerfully. "Fact is, it's slackening now. If the weather clears, I may have an idea or two for stirring up a little fun."

From experience, Dan knew that Sam Hatfield, athletic director at Webster City High School, never lacked ideas. For that matter, neither did Midge's father, Burton Holloway, who was the organization's official Den Dad.

The camp-out on Mr. Holloway's property at the edge of Webster City had been planned as a climax to the outdoor activities of the Den. Only the weatherman, it seemed, had pulled a fast one.

The first glimmer of a gray, muggy dawn filtered through the woodland as Dan and the Cub leader climbed the slope to the log cabin.

"I'll start a fire," Mr. Hatfield volunteered.

Antic.i.p.ating rain, the Cubs, before retiring, had stored a good supply of birch bark, pine needles and dry wood in a natural ravine shelter twenty yards from the cabin.

Dan now helped Mr. Hatfield sc.r.a.pe the ground bare of soggy leaves.

Kindling the fire carefully, the Cub leader soon had a cheerful blaze going which began to radiate heat. Dan's spirits rose.

"Say, the rain is quitting!" he said jubilantly. "And here comes Midge's father!"

Burton Holloway, a lean man of athletic build, rapidly descended the stone steps from the house.

"You're all invited to our place for breakfast," he announced. "Have a bad night of it?"

"No, we were snug and warm in the cabin," Mr. Hatfield replied. "As for breakfast, I don't think we should impose on Mrs. Holloway. We'll make out."

"Suit yourselves," the Den Dad smiled. "Anyway, tell the Cubs to come to the house for anything they need."

By the time the camp fire had burned down to cherry red coals, the Cubs began to straggle from the cabin. Chips Davis, a tall stripling for his eleven years, was first to thrust his seal-like head out into the cold mist.

"Another lousy day," he bemoaned. "Four of 'em in a row. Great!"

"Pipe down and get busy," Dan growled. "A Cub is supposed to be game."