In the obscure light shed by a half moon, they saw a shadowy figure replacing the removable rails of the fence opening. Another man sat behind the wheel of a station wagon which had passed through to the main highway.
“Come on!” Mr. Hatfield urged the Cubs, hastening his step. “Let’s see who they are before they drive away!”
However, as he spoke, the man at the fence suddenly abandoned his effort to replace the rail. Allowing it to drop to the ground, he moved swiftly to the waiting station wagon and scrambled in.
With a roar of the engine, the station wagon pulled away.
“Quick! See if you can read the license number!” Mr. Hatfield exclaimed, turning the beam of his flashlight on the rear plate.
“Can’t make it out,” Brad muttered. “The plate is covered with mud. Maybe on purpose.”
“I thought the first two letters were WA,” Dan said. “Couldn’t be sure though.”
Mr. Hatfield went over to the rail fence.
“That car may have had a right to be on Silverton’s property,” he commented as he stooped to lift the loose rail into place. “All the same, I didn’t like the way those fellows rushed off when they saw us coming.”
“They were up to something, all right,” declared Dan. “They acted as if they were afraid we’d see them.”