Dan Carter-- Cub Scout — Context and Discussion

whipping a small one from the top desk drawer. “All the trails on my property are marked. Now, you may visit the barns, the pheasant runs and the central area near the foreman’s house. But this breeding ground, where we keep the Germain peacock pheasant, is restricted.”

Mr. Silverton etched in a small section along the river and highway. “You agree to stay out of this area?” he asked again.

“We’ve already given our promise,” said Brad.

“Good. Then take this map along,” Mr. Silverton said, thrusting it into Dan’s hand. “Good afternoon, boys.”

Fingering the map, Dan remained facing the sportsman. “Please, sir—”

“Yes, what is it now?”

“May we have a paper, or some authorization? Saul Dobbs may not be willing to take our word—”

“Yes, to be sure,” Mr. Silverton said hurriedly. He scribbled a brief note on a memorandum sheet which bore his printed name.

“This will take care of it,” he said. “You should have no trouble from now on with Dobbs.”

“I’m sure we won’t,” said Dan, pocketing the order.

“But remember,” Mr. Silverton warned as the boys turned to leave, “you’re on trial. If any of the Cubs disobey instructions, your privileges will end. Now get along with you. I have work to do.”

Jubilant at having obtained permission to visit the Silverton Pheasant Farm, Dan and Brad told Mr. Holloway the good news when he came for them twenty minutes later.

“Fine!” he praised. “You boys must have put up a good argument. We’ll plan a trip to the farm tomorrow if the weather permits.”

The following morning, cheered by a warm sun which rapidly dried the damp trails, the Cubs set off for the Silverton Pheasant farm with Sam Hatfield and Midge’s father.

“Remember, gang,” the Cub leader warned as he paused on the path where the party had met Saul Dobbs the previous day. “We’re here on trial. Mr. Silverton will toss us out in nothing flat if we wander into forbidden areas. Everyone got that straight?”

To make certain that all the Cubs understood, Dan passed out the map which Mr. Silverton had given him the previous day.

“This section along Crooked Creek near the main road and the river is taboo,” he said, outlining it with his finger tip.

“Wonder why Silverton doesn’t want us to go there?” speculated Red.

“Because he keeps his fancy pheasants in that area,” Dan explained. “The point is, Brad and I gave our promise the Cubs will stay away from the marked section.”

“We will,” said Midge. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Lead on,” sang out Mack.

The Cubs moved single file along the narrow woodland trail, noticing many fine oak, white elm, ash and birch trees.

“Say, we could get wood here for some dandy Indian bows and arrows!” Fred exclaimed enthusiastically. “Wonder if Mr. Silverton would mind?”

“We’ll not cut any wood without first asking permission,” said the Cub leader to his son. “And no playful whacks at any of the bushes,” he added, glancing at Chips who was known to have an itchy hand with a belt axe.

At a brisk pace, Mr. Hatfield led the Cubs on, crossing a creek at a footbridge. Soon he came to an open space which permitted a view of the Silverton barn, the hatchery, the holding pens and a small dwelling, evidently the cottage where Saul Dobbs lived.

Beyond the mesh enclosed pens, a field had been planted in cover strips of sorghum grass.

“Oh! Oh!” muttered Dan under his breath. “Here comes Old Man Trouble himself!”

Saul Dobbs, who had been interrupted as he clipped the wings of a blue-breasted pheasant, trod angrily toward the Cubs.

In his gnarled hands he still held the beautiful bird, whose handsome red neck feathers shaded off into a long silver white tail.

“What’s the big idea?” Dobbs demanded harshly. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from here? D’you want me to call the sheriff?”

“One moment, Mr. Dobbs,” said Sam Hatfield. “We have permission to visit the farm.”

“Mr. Silverton said you could come here?”

The information plainly annoyed the foreman, for he scowled. “How do I know you ain’t just saying that?” he demanded.

Dan produced the memorandum written in Mr. Silverton’s hand. Dobbs read it in stony silence.

“Okay, it’s nothing to me one way or the other,” he shrugged. “You can look around if you like. But mind, don’t get the birds stirred up.”

“Isn’t that a silver pheasant you have in your hand?” Mr. Hatfield inquired pleasantly.