“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.