“I sure wish a car would come along,” Brad muttered.
Now that they would have welcomed a ride, the busy highway suddenly had become a deserted thoroughfare.
Struggling on, the Cubs presently came to a stone bridge arching over a creek. Upon reaching it, the boys noticed that already its murky waters were within two inches of flooding the pavement.
“Wow!” Brad exclaimed, pausing to glance briefly at the raging torrent. “She’s coming up fast—and I mean fast!”
“Isn’t this the same creek that flows through Mr. Silverton’s property, Brad?”
“That’s right.”
“If the log jam hasn’t been cleared out before this, the water’s likely to start backing up in the pheasant runs just as Mr. Hatfield predicted!”
“I’m afraid of it,” Brad agreed. “Saul Dobbs ought to have looked after things. But if he failed to, well, this storm will sure make a mess of things at the farm.”
The boys stood a moment longer watching the torrent race beneath the stone archway. So fast was the creek rising that they could see the lapping waters nibbling away at the concrete. It would soon cover the pavement.
“Twenty minutes and the water will be running over the road,” Brad said. “If it’s clearing out at the pheasant farm, all well and good. But if it starts backing up there, Dobbs is in for plenty of trouble.”