Finally giving up, the boy returned to the slope directly above the site he had selected for the sand painting.
A gap in the tree branches, he noted, permitted a perfect view not only of the camp but also of the picture he had started.
“Someone was watching me, all right,” he thought. “Wonder if it was Ross?”
Carefully, Dan inspected the soft, moist earth. At first he could find no footprints or other sign of the watcher. But after he had pulled away a pile of damp leaves from the trail, he discovered a print which appeared to have been made by a moccasin.
“It wasn’t Ross,” he decided. “One of those Indians is watching our camp. I don’t like it.”
Decidedly troubled, the boy returned to the sand painting. But he could not keep his mind on it. What use, he thought, to go to so much work again, with the ever present hazard that over-night the picture might be ruined by a hostile stranger?
Presently, Dan sauntered down to the beach, intending to tell Brad and Mr. Hatfield of his latest discovery. The Cub leader was still out on the river giving Midge and his son a few advanced pointers on stroking.
Brad, he noticed, was talking to Red and Chips farther down the beach. They were speaking rather loudly and seemed to be deep in some sort of argument.
“Sure, I brought the paddle in when I got through with my turn at the canoe,” Red said furiously. “Don’t try to accuse me of losing it!”
“I’m not accusing anyone,” Brad told him, holding his temper in check. “No use getting your back up! I’m just checking on the paddles, that’s all. We’ve lost one and we can’t afford to lose another.”
“Ask Mr. Hatfield then,” Red said peevishly. “He probably has the extra one with him in the canoe.”
“I know he has one. I don’t think there were two spares.”
“Well, ask him,” Red insisted. “I know I didn’t have it.”
Coming up to the trio, Dan asked Brad what was wrong.
“Another paddle missing,” Brad answered briefly. “Or at least I think it’s gone. I’m not blaming anyone. Only checking.”
Acting upon Red’s suggestion, he called to Mr. Hatfield to ask how many paddles the Cub leader had in the canoe.
“Then we’re one short again,” Brad declared grimly.
“Think it was stolen?” Dan asked, instantly recalling the moccasin track in the woods.