drive to the farm offered the two boys an excellent opportunity to explain to Mr. Silverton again that the Cub Scouts never had intended to break any of the rules laid down by him.
Delicacy however, prevented them from bringing up the subject. Mr. Silverton seemed so worried and absorbed in his thoughts that they decided any discussion of the matter or apology must wait until after the present emergency.
As the big blue car descended the private gravel road and presently emerged at the cleared area of the pheasant farm, Brad and Dan saw that they had not exaggerated the situation. It was even worse than they had anticipated.
Already an ugly line of murky water had spread through the woodlands to the lower level areas. The hatching yard in the grove was covered with an inch of water. Overflow from the creek slowly nibbled at the walks leading to the house and to the barn on somewhat higher ground.
“Dobbs!” Mr. Silverton shouted. “Are you here?”
Receiving no answer, the sportsman parked his car some distance behind the barn and ran to the house. All the doors were locked.
“You were right!” Mr. Silverton said to the Cubs. “Dobbs has gone off, apparently for the day!”
“And the water’s creeping up fast,” Brad said, gazing anxiously at the pheasant pens which already were beginning to flood.
“A nice mess!” the sportsman muttered. “Half of my pheasants will be lost if I don’t get them out of the fields.”
“Can’t we help?” Dan offered.
“Yes, I’ll need you and anyone else I can get. This will be a big job. We’ve got to work fast to keep ahead of the rising water.”
Smashing a glass pane at the rear door of the foreman’s dwelling, Mr. Silverton went inside to telephone.
“I’m trying to round up men,” he explained a few minutes later to Brad and Dan. “But at best it will take an hour for anyone to get here. And it’s an awkward time—close to the dinner hour.”
“All the Cubs would help if I could get word to them,” Dan said eagerly.
“I can use anyone, and I’ll pay well for the work. The vital thing is to get help fast.”
“Say, Mr. Hatfield should be showing up at the old logging road exit to relieve us of our stint!” Brad exclaimed. “Dan, if you could reach him—”
“I’ll go after him,” Dan agreed instantly. “If he isn’t there, I’ll call him from the filling station.”
“If you cut through the woods, be careful not to be trapped by the flood waters,” Mr. Silverton warned as Dan started away. “Keep well to the north of the creek.”
Leaving Brad to help the sportsman, Dan set off through the woods at a fast dog trot.
Shadows were deepening among the trees, but he kept his sense of direction. Circling around the flooded area, he struck the logging road at a point well beyond the clogged point of the stream.
To the right he could hear the rush and roar of the torrent which raced toward the river. Unless the log jam gave away or the crest of the flood was soon past, he knew that in a short while the entire side road would be under water.
His shoes and clothing caked with mud, Dan presently came out at the rail fence barrier. A familiar looking car, which had pulled up on the other side of the paved highway, was just starting away.
“That’s Mr. Hatfield’s automobile!” Dan thought. “If only I can catch him before he drives away!”
Scrambling over the rail barrier, he shouted the Cub leader’s name. In the act of shifting gears, Mr. Hatfield heard the boy and turned his head.
Seeing Dan, he quickly switched off the engine and ran to the fence.
“Where’s Brad?” he asked anxiously. “When the storm broke so suddenly, I came out here as fast as I could. Had a flat tire on the way, which held me up. Is Brad all right?”
“He’s with Mr. Silverton,” Dan replied, and poured out his story of Dobbs’ disappearance and the threatened flood disaster at the pheasant farm.
“No one there but Brad and Mr. Silverton?”
“That’s right, and the water is coming up fast. Mr. Silverton’s trying to get men from Webster City, but having no luck. Brad stayed with him to do what he could.”
“Silverton is in a spot,” the Cub leader declared. “When I saw that log jam in the creek, I was afraid something like this would happen.”
“Mr. Hatfield, do you think the Cubs could help?” Dan asked breathlessly. “If only we could round them up!”
“We can and will, Dan. Jump into the car! We’ll make a whirlwind trip into Webster City and see how many boys we can find!”
Driving as fast as the slippery pavement permitted, the two soon reached the city. Notified as to the emergency at the pheasant farm, Red, Chips, Mack and Fred immediately offered their services.
“Wear your slickers and either high boots or galoshes,” the Cub leader advised the boys. “It’s plenty moist out at Silverton’s place and the creek still is rising.”
Mr. Hatfield, in stopping at his own home to pick up his son and a pair of hip boots for himself, paused long enough to telephone Mr. Holloway and Midge. The information received from across the river was disconcerting.
“They can’t come with us,” he reported to the Cubs. “The river is rising fast, and Mr. Holloway is afraid the cabin may be flooded within a few hours. He and Midge are sticking close to look after things there.”
“Gosh all fish hooks!” Red groaned as he piled into Mr. Hatfield’s car with the other Cubs. “If the flood reaches the cabin, some of our Den equipment may be ruined. Especially our handicraft work.”
“I left the pheasant feather war bonnet there somewhere,” Chips added with concern.
“Mr. Holloway and Midge will look after your things,” the Cub leader reassured the boys. “The water hasn’t reached the cabin yet. As soon as we’ve done what we can to help Mr. Silverton, we’ll drive over to Mr. Holloway’s place.”
“After the way Silverton talked about the Cubs, he doesn’t deserve too much help—” Chips began, but a glance from Mr. Hatfield silenced him.
Taking the longer route which entered the Silverton property from the higher level road, the Cub leader was able to drive his car within a hundred yards of the pheasant farm barn.
“Wow! The water’s even higher than it was when I left!” Dan exclaimed in dismay.
Already, many of the pheasant pens were partially submerged by the creeping, chocolate-colored water.
Brad and Mr. Silverton, wet to their waists, had used grain to coax some of the more valuable pheasants into traps or carrying crates.
Sorely beset, they had been unable to free the penned pheasants or to carry any
