Apparently annoyed by the question, the foreman walked away, leaving the Cubs to their own resources. However, as they wandered from one enclosure to another, they noticed that he watched them closely.
Careful not to disturb any of the hens or cocks, the Cubs spent half an hour around the pens. As they started to leave, Mr. Hatfield asked the foreman if he thought Mr. Silverton would object if they cut a little wood for Indian bow staves.
“Oh, I guess it’ll be all right, providin’ you don’t leave the trails,” Saul Dobbs said grudgingly. “Just be careful what you cut.”
Feeling that the foreman might not be such a bad sort after all, the Cubs retraced their way through the woodland toward the river.
Midway there, Fred suddenly announced that he was famished. “When do we eat?” he moaned.
“This seems to be as good a time as any,” said Mr. Hatfield, squinting at the sun which had climbed high overhead.
From their knapsacks, the Cubs broke out sandwiches, fruit, and candy bars. But when Chips would have started a fire to warm a can of soup he had brought along, the Cub leader vetoed the proposal.
“We’re still on Silverton’s land,” he reminded the Cubs. “No fires.”
After lunch, the Cubs lay for awhile under the trees, basking in the steamy warmth of the sun.
“I see a lot of good hickory and birch around here,” Red said, stirring to effort. “Let’s get busy on those Indian bow staves.”