“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 shore 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 shore. Except for a narrow, sandy beach, sheer limestone cliffs rose to a height of more than a hundred feet.
Mr. Hatfield studied the wall of bushes overhanging the water.
“I think I see where that current goes underground,” he declared. “Quick, Brad! Bear down or we’ll lose that paddle.”
Brad took several quick thrusts of his own paddle. With a scraping of twigs, the canoe nosed into a tangle of brush.
Directly ahead, the truant paddle had snagged against a log which protruded from the water. Beyond, the swift-flowing current seemed to vanish into the cliff itself.
Barely in time, Mr. Hatfield reached out to snatch the floating paddle.
As Brad now held the canoe steady, the trio studied the face of the cliff with keen interest. The water here was very deep, flowing silently into the dense wall of bushes.