From where Dan stood, he could see only a short distance up the weed-choked dirt road. Why, he wondered, was Mr. Hatfield so interested? By this time he knew the Cub leader never did anything without a purpose.
“Let’s walk down the road a ways,” Mr. Hatfield proposed.
As he swung his long legs over the fence, the top rail tumbled to the ground. Mr. Hatfield waited until Dan and Brad had stepped over, and then stooped to replace the barrier. Carefully he examined the other rails which had been carelessly set in position.
“These logs have been removed quite recently,” he told his companions. “Wouldn’t you say someone has been using this old road? Perhaps entering and leaving it from the main highway?”
“That would fit in with what Chips and Red said about hearing voices!” Brad exclaimed. “But according to the map, this logging road doesn’t actually enter the restricted area of Mr. Silverton’s property.”
“No, but it parallels the stream much of the way,” Mr. Hatfield recalled. “One could drive a car in, park almost anywhere, and if he chose, cross the creek afoot.”
“That log jam makes a regular bridge!” Dan exclaimed. “But tell me! Why would anyone except Silverton or his workman have any reason to use the road?”
Mr. Hatfield did not directly answer the question. Instead he said: “I’m not indulging in any fancy speculation. Just wanted to check up on a few points, that’s all.”
Whistling a line from “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles,” the Cub leader set off down the old road. Rather mystified, Dan and Brad tagged at his heels.
A short distance farther on, Mr. Hatfield paused to study automobile tire tracks plainly visible in the grass and sand.