“Dan!”
This time, hearing his name whispered, the boy sat up, pulling the blankets with him. In the darkness, Sam Hatfield reached out to touch his hand. An assistant Cubmaster of the citywide Pack, Sam served as leader of Den 2 in which his son Fred was an active Cub.
“Hear that rain, Dan? It’s coming down hard again.”
“Look’s as if we’re in for another ugly day,” Dan admitted. He kept his voice low so as not to awaken the other Cubs.
“The river’s likely rising. Think I’ll take a look at the boat.”
Swinging his long legs out of the bunk, the Cub leader began to pull on his clothes. Dan enjoyed the warm luxury of the blanket a moment longer, and then with a shiver threw it off.
“I’ll go with you,” he volunteered.
The two dressed quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping Cubs.
In the bunk above Dan’s, Brad Wilber, the Den Chief, rolled restlessly. By contrast, Chips Davis, half his lean body protruding from a blanket, slept peaceful as a babe. The other Cubs, Midge Holloway, Red Suell, Fred Hatfield and Mack Tibbets, were equally dead to the world.
Sam stooped to tuck the blanket around Chips’ exposed torso. Then, with slickers buttoned, he and Dan went out into the night.