“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—”