“Unless the storm coming up kept him from leaving the birds here.”
“Maybe, but I got my doubts,” the other rejoined. “For a long time now, he’s been trying to crawl out of this business. The yellow livered dog is afraid of being caught.”
“We’ve got to put the screws on him harder then. Lately, he ain’t been delivering enough to hardly make it worth while.”
Still talking, the two men started to move away from the lean-to. At that instant Red, who was nearly paralyzed from having remained so long in the same position, shifted slightly.
A stick beneath his body crackled, in the stillness of the forest, snapping like a tiny firecracker.
“What was that, Jake?”
“Didn’t hear anything,” the other man replied, but he stopped to listen.
In the bushes behind the lean-to, the three Cubs sucked in their breath and waited tensely.
“Thought I heard someone back there in the brush,” the heavy-set man declared. “I think I’ll take a look.”
He started toward the bushes where the three Cubs had gone into hiding with the crate of pheasants.