“No,” Brad explained patiently, “that part probably was an accident. The bridge was just a convenient means of getting into this section of the woodland.”
“Then you believe someone has been stealing pheasants from Mr. Silverton?” Red said slowly.
“Ah, the bright boy is catching on!” declared Brad.
“Your theory may sound good to you, but I’d say it’s full of holes like a sieve,” Red retorted.
“For instance?”
“Well, Saul Dobbs must have known about that log jam. And living on the place, how could he help but know if a strange car used the old road?”
“That’s what I’m wondering myself.”
Hardly knowing what to do, Brad stood staring thoughtfully up the dark, mysterious looking path. It had not been used many times, he knew, for the grass was worn thin in only a few places. Elsewhere, it merely was heavily trampled.
Though tempted to see where the trail led, he hesitated to take time to explore it. Soon it would be quite dark, and none of the Cubs had brought a flashlight.
Furthermore, with night coming on, the air was becoming chilly. In their damp clothing, the boys already were thoroughly uncomfortable.