“Did you recognize either of those two men?” he asked Chips.
“Hardly could see their faces, Brad. They were hopping mad because you hid the crate of pheasants.”
At the creek, Mack and Fred who had taken refuge among the oak trees, came out of hiding as the other Cubs emerged from the trail.
Excitedly they reported that the two men had crossed the log bridge only a few minutes before, wading through the deepening water to the parked station wagon on the old road.
“Did you get the license number?” Dan inquired.
“Couldn’t,” Fred explained. “Too dark to see that far. And the men never turned on their car lights.”
“They had a hard time getting the motor started,” Mack contributed. “The driver got mad and began berating the other fellow. Oh, they were heated!”
“You didn’t hear any names spoken?” Brad questioned.
“Names?” Mack repeated. “Well, one of ’em called the other Bernie.”
“That’s two names we have now!” Red exclaimed. “Jake and Bernie. Ever hear of anyone by either of them?”
None of the Cubs had. Mack thought it possible that the pair were known to Mr. Silverton, and in fact, might have been employed by him to do work on the farm.
“That’s possible, of course,” Brad conceded. “But if they were farm workers, why would they talk about being double crossed?”
Although nearly a half hour had elapsed since Mr. Hatfield and the sportsman had gone to the house in search of dynamite, neither had returned. During their absence, Mack and Fred had made an effort to dislodge some of the logs which were causing the water to back up. Their attempts however, had been unavailing.
“The creek still is rising,” Fred declared as the Cubs waded across the piled-up debris to the other side of the stream. “Wonder what’s happened to Mr. Hatfield and Silverton?” Answering his own question, he added: “They may have had to go into the city after dynamite.”
Talking over the matter, it was agreed that Mack, Fred, Red and Chips would wait at the log jam, doing what they could to release the smaller tree branches. Brad and Dan were to carry the crate of pheasants to the barn, and if they could find Mr. Silverton, report to him what they had seen and heard.
Splashing through the knee-deep water, the two boys picked their way through the darkness. Once, stumbling over a submerged tree stump, Dan nearly dropped his end of the shipping crate.
But finally, with no mishap, they reached the clearing.
The rising water now had flooded all the pheasant pens and was creating a large island of the house and barn.
“If the creek keeps coming up, water will start filtering into the barn in another hour or so,” Brad said anxiously. “Then we’ll need the Cubs to help move the pheasants into the loft.”
Mr. Hatfield’s car was nowhere to be seen, a fact which led the two boys to believe that the Cub leader and Mr. Silverton had driven away to obtain dynamite.
At the barn, Brad and Dan opened the crate and turned loose the two cocks which were absorbed in the flock.
“There’s nothing we can do here,” Brad said. “I suppose we may as well go back to the creek.”
As the pair turned to leave, they heard footsteps outside the barn door. Thinking that it was Mr. Hatfield or Mr. Silverton, Dan called:
“Here we are! In the barn!”
No one answered his shout. But a moment later, the door of the barn was flung back, and the boys found themselves gazing into the blinding light of a gasoline lantern.
A massive, squat figure, whose shadow was grotesque, stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“So, it’s you again, my young friends!” observed a harsh, mocking voice. “This time I’ve caught you red handed!”
Brad and Dan could not see the man’s face for the glare of the lantern. But there was no mistaking the voice. The one who confronted them from the doorway was Saul Dobbs.
CHAPTER 13
Accusations
“So you’ve been stealing pheasants while I was away!” the workman accused the startled boys. “This time you won’t get off with excuses! I’m turning you over to the police on a delinquency charge!”
Saul Dobbs set the lighted lantern on the floor and moved toward Brad and Dan. Before he could lay hands upon them, the barn door creaked behind the foreman.
“What’s going on here?” demanded a familiar voice.
Dobbs whirled around to see Mr. Silverton and Sam Hatfield standing directly behind him.
“I caught ’em this time, Mr. Silverton,” the workman said in keen satisfaction. “When I found ’em here, they were stealing the pheasants.”
“Idiot!” Mr. Silverton reprimanded him. “If it hadn’t been for the Cubs, two thirds of my pheasants would have drowned. Where, may I ask, have you been?”
Dobbs lost some of his assurance. “Why, I drove into town for a few minutes,” he stammered. “The storm came up suddenly. As soon as I could get back here—”
“It’s taken you long enough,” Mr. Silverton retorted. “Your job was to stay here. Where were you?”
“Why, I—that is—I had an appointment with a friend. It—it was just personal business.”
“And while you were attending to your personal business, the pheasant runs were flooding. You knew that the creek was choked with logs and debris?”
“Why—no.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Silverton pinned him down. “The Cubs discovered it on their first visit here. Unless the dam is dynamited, the water will keep rising for hours.”
“I’ll see what can be done right away,” Dobbs said, reaching for the lantern.
As he stooped, his gaze fell upon the shipping crate which Dan and Brad had deposited on the floor only a few minutes before. His attention fastened upon it only momentarily, and then deliberately he looked away.
However, both Brad and Dan had seen the glance, and it dawned upon them that the foreman had knowledge of the crate having been left in the lean-to.
Despite the urgency of getting back to the creek to dynamite the log jam, Brad determined to bring up the matter then and there.
“Dan and I very easily can explain why we’re here—” he began, only to have Mr. Silverton interrupt.
“There’s no need for you to explain to Dobbs, boys.”
“But we feel you should know, sir,” Dan broke in. “We brought two
