Dan Carter and the Great Carved Face Part 16

"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 pa.s.ses."

"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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 sh.o.r.e 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 pa.s.ses 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 pa.s.sengers, 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 sh.o.r.e 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 a.s.sign 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e. Except for a narrow, sandy beach, sheer limestone cliffs rose to a height of more than a hundred feet.