“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 of the crates to higher ground.
“We sure are glad to see you!” Brad exclaimed as the Cubs tumbled from Mr. Hatfield’s car. “Boy! Can we use a little help.”