Red had a similar collection. “We’re going to use these for an Indian headdress!” he announced. “We can enter it in the Pack’s Indian craft exhibit at the end of the summer, and maybe win first prize!”
“You win first prize for being the Den’s No. 1 Dodo,” Brad said furiously. “Cripes! Can’t a fellow trust you a minute?”
“Brad, let me handle this,” said Mr. Holloway quietly.
Turning to the puzzled Chips and Red, he asked them if they knew what they had done.
“We haven’t done anything,” Chips insisted. “If all this fuss is about these feathers—we picked ’em up over there on the ground.”
“That’s right,” Red said, made uncomfortable by the Den Dad’s steady gaze. “You can bet we didn’t pluck any birds. In fact, we didn’t see a single pheasant.”
“I wasn’t referring to the feathers,” replied Mr. Holloway. “Do you realize where you are?”
“Sure. On Mr. Silverton’s land,” Red answered, still failing to comprehend.
“You’re in the forbidden area, Red. The Cubs pride themselves on keeping their word and being honest. You and Chips knew the rules.”
The two culprits gazed at each other in consternation.