Dan Carter And The Money Box Part 34

"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 gla.s.s, the boys followed the Cub leader to the shelter of trees. There they were bombarded with a mult.i.tude 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.signment. "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 rea.s.sured him. "It's just as I thought. The tramp is cooking his meal. He'll be at it a half hour at least."