“What’s this?” Dan asked, for they had come to the end of the path.
“Looks a little like a tool shed, only I don’t think it could be,” Brad said, equally puzzled. “Let’s have a look inside.”
The ill-fitting door had a bolt and padlock. However, the latter hung loosely and had not been snapped shut.
Brad opened the door and peered into the dark interior.
“Nothing here,” he reported, and then corrected himself. “Yes, there is too! Looks like a crate of something.”
Diving into the lean-to, he pulled the crate out where they both could see it.
“Pheasants!” exclaimed Dan. “Two of them!”
“Beauties if you ask me, Dan. What kind are they?”
“This one looks like a Germain peacock type,” Dan said, identifying it from a picture he had seen in a library book. “Gray plumage eyed with metallic spots. His tail probably would spread out if he weren’t cooped up.”
“And the other one?”
“It might be an Impevan pheasant,” Dan said doubtfully. “That green crested head and red neck feathers would make me think so.”
“For all of me, it could be a grouse,” Brad chuckled. “Wonder why these birds are cooped up here without any food or water, and not too much air?”
“Brad, you don’t suppose—”
Dan did not finish what he had intended to say, for at that moment running footsteps pounded on the path.
“Someone’s coming—but fast!” Brad muttered, shoving the crate back into the lean-to. “Hide!”
He drew Dan back deep into the bushes behind the building.
Scarcely had the two taken cover, than a bedraggled figure bounded into view. In relief, the pair saw that it was Red who had followed them.
“Brad! Dan!” he hissed in a stage whisper.
Mystified by his secrecy, the pair stepped from their hiding place.
“Quick! Duck back out of sight!” Red muttered in warning. “They’re coming this way!”
“Who’s coming?” Brad demanded.
“A couple of men. I don’t know who they are.”
“Where did you see them?” Dan asked, for as yet he heard no sound on the trail.
“Listen!” Red said, his words fairly tumbling over each other. “Fred and Mack saw ’em coming up the log road in a station wagon. When they came to the water, they parked and crossed the bridge afoot.”
“They?” Brad caught him up.
“I tell you I don’t know who they were. Fred and Mack were on this side of the log bridge. When they saw those birds coming, they hid in the woods to watch.”
“Were they seen by the men, Red?”
“I don’t think so. Mack sneaked on ahead to warn you. He’s with Chips now at the entrance to this path.”
“And the men are coming this way?”
“I didn’t wait to see, but I think so.”
“Jeepers!” Brad muttered. “If they see that the bushes were pulled away from the path, they’ll be suspicious.”
“Mack and Chips took care of that. They put the brush back in place. The only thing that might give us away unless we’re seen, are footprints. And it’s too dark to make them out now.”
“Listen!” Dan warned, grasping Brad’s hand. “I can hear someone coming up the path now.”
“Duck!” Red advised, taking shelter in the thicket.
Brad started to follow his example, then thought of something.
“That crate of pheasants!” he whispered to Dan. “Help me with it.”
Dan could not guess what the Den Chief intended to do, but there was no time to ask questions. As Brad carefully swung open the door, he lifted out the crate.
“Easy, so those birds don’t start squawking,” Brad cautioned. “Shift it into the bushes.”
With Red’s help, Dan lifted the crate back out of sight. Meanwhile, Brad had closed the door of the lean-to.
The approaching footfalls and murmur of voices now were very close.
Flattening himself on the ground, Brad crawled into the bushes, disappearing into their shelter just as two men entered the clearing.
In the indistinct light, the Cubs scarcely could distinguish the features of the two strangers.
Both were dressed in rough clothing and high rubber boots. The taller of the pair wore a large-brimmed felt hat which completely hid his face.
The other, whom the Cubs never before had seen, was stockily built, muscular, and walked with a heavy tread.
Neither of the men spoke as they moved directly to the lean-to. The taller of the pair opened the creaking door and peered inside.
“Nothing here!” he exclaimed. “Not a single crate!”
“Are you sure?” the other demanded, looking for himself. “Then we’ve been double crossed!”
“Looks like it, Jake,” the other muttered, angrily slamming shut the door. “He told us he’d leave the birds here, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. He telephoned me at my home early this morning and said everything was set. Figure he pulled a fast one?”
“Unless the storm coming up kept him from leaving the birds here.”
“Maybe, but I got my doubts,” the other rejoined. “For a long time now, he’s been trying to crawl out of this business. The yellow livered dog is afraid of being caught.”
“We’ve got to put the screws on him harder then. Lately, he ain’t been delivering enough to hardly make it worth while.”
Still talking, the two men started to move away from the lean-to. At that instant Red, who was nearly paralyzed from having remained so long in the same position, shifted slightly.
A stick beneath his body crackled, in the stillness of the forest, snapping like a tiny firecracker.
“What was that, Jake?”
“Didn’t hear anything,” the other man replied, but he stopped to listen.
In the bushes behind the lean-to, the three Cubs sucked in their breath and waited tensely.
“Thought I heard someone back there in the brush,” the heavy-set man declared. “I think I’ll take a look.”
He started toward the bushes where the three Cubs had gone into hiding with the crate of pheasants.
“Aw, come on,” the other said impatiently. “It’s getting late and the creek’s still rising. If we don’t get back, we might be trapped on this side of the stream.”
“Oh, all right,” his companion agreed. “But I’d have sworn I heard something.”
To the relief of the three Cubs, the pair with no further conversation, walked rapidly away.
Red, Dan and Brad waited until they were certain there was no risk of the two men returning. Then they came out of their hiding place.
“What do you make of it, Brad?” Dan asked, keeping his voice low. “Ever see those two before?”
“Never! They came here expecting to find that crate of pheasants.”
“Saul Dobbs must have left them in the lean-to,” Dan speculated. “Brad, he’s cheating Mr. Silverton—and then trying to throw the blame on the Cubs!”
“He may be in on some sort of crooked deal,” Brad said slowly. “But we’re jumping to pretty fancy conclusions. After all, we don’t have any real evidence.”
“We heard what those two men said,” Brad declared excitedly.
“Sure,” said Brad evenly, “but they didn’t mention any names.”
“One called the other Jake,” Dan recalled. “Of course, that’s not much to go on.”
“Saul Dobbs’ name wasn’t spoken,” Brad went on. “We don’t like the man, so naturally we decide he’s in on something shady.”
“What do you think we should do?” Dan asked, willing to follow the older boy’s advice.
“I don’t know whether we should make any accusations or not,” Brad returned doubtfully. “One can’t go around accusing persons on flimsy evidence. I guess the best thing to do is saying nothing until we’ve had a chance to report this to Mr. Hatfield.”
“What about this crate of pheasants?” Dan asked. “Shall we put it back in the lean-to?”
“I don’t like to do that. Those birds need food and water right now.”
“Why not take ’em to the barn and turn them loose with the other pheasants?” Dan suggested. “Then we can explain to Mr. Silverton later on, if we need to.”
“That’s a good idea!” approved Brad. “Come on, let’s move along and find out what’s happened to Chips.”
Carrying the crate of pheasants, the three retraced their way along the dark path. At the masked entrance, there was no sign of Chips.
Brad whistled softly and the boys came quickly out of hiding.
“Where did those men go after they left here?” Brad questioned. “Did you see ’em?”
“Sure,” Chips answered, staring at the crate of pheasants which Red and Dan carried between them. “They were plenty mad about something too!”
“But which way did they go?”
“Back toward the log jam and the road.”
“I sure hope Mack and Fred kept out of sight,” Brad said anxiously.
As the four started for the creek, he explained to Chips what they had seen and heard near the lean-to.
“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.
“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 cocks which we found across the creek in a shipping crate.”
“In a shipping crate?” the owner of the pheasant farm repeated in a puzzled voice.
Dan explained how he and Brad had come upon the hidden path, and of seeing the two strangers who had complained of being double-crossed when they failed to find the crated pheasants.
“Dobbs, what do you know of this matter?” his employer demanded severely.
“Why, not a thing.” The foreman laughed nervously. “Not a thing. We built a little lean-to about a year ago where I sometimes keep a few tools. Haven’t used it in months or been near there.”
“You told me nothing of having built the shack, Dobbs. In fact, I find there are many things you neglected to report. Who are the men who have been trespassing on my property?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dobbs whined. “I’ve never seen anyone use the old logging road.”
“No mention was made of anyone using it,” Brad tripped him up. “However, that’s how they have been coming here—down the road at night, crossing the log bridge afoot and then apparently to the lean-to.”
“That ain’t so!” Dobbs denied, suddenly losing control of his temper. “You’re just saying it to make trouble for me. You want me to lose my job! You’re sore because I told Mr. Silverton about the Cubs trespassing on the restricted area.”
“We’re reporting exactly what we saw,” Brad replied.
“Can you describe the two men?” Mr. Silverton asked, paying no attention to Dobbs’ accusation.
“One was heavy set and about middle age,” Brad recalled. “The other was taller. We couldn’t see their faces plainly because it was so dark.”
“They called each other Jake and Bernie,” Dan contributed.
The names struck sparks in Mr. Silverton’s mind.
“Not Bernie Bauer and Jake Freeze?” he demanded.
“We didn’t hear the last names, sir,” Dan returned regretfully.
“Nevertheless, your general description fits the pair,” Mr. Silverton said, turning again to the crestfallen foreman. “Friends of yours, aren’t they, Dobbs?”
“I know Bernard Bauer and Jake Freeze slightly,” Dobbs replied, considering his words carefully. “But believe me, Mr. Silverton, they’ve never come here. At least not to my knowledge.”
“I’ve suspected for a long while that someone was stealing some of my best pheasants, Dobbs. In fact, we discussed it several times. But it remained for the Cubs to bring the proof I needed!”
“Proof! What proof have they dug up? How do we know they didn’t make up the whole story about finding those cocks in the lean-to?”
“I’ll vouch for the honesty of Brad and Dan,” said Mr. Hatfield, who had listened silently to the discussion. “For that matter, their findings do not surprise me. I’ve suspected for some time that trespassers were using the old logging road.”
While the Cub leader spoke, Dan by the light of the lantern had been inspecting the pheasant crate. Now he was ready to spring his most important discovery.
“If you want proof that someone has been stealing pheasants, look at this!” he exclaimed.
Attached to the shipping crate with a bit of wire was the torn half of an old tag, showing that it had been expressed to Malborne.
In the wavering light of the lantern, Mr. Hatfield and the owner of the pheasant farm inspected the writing.
“We found the other half of this shipping tag on the old logging road several days ago,” Dan told Mr. Silverton. “Apparently, the crate has been used repeatedly.”
Mr. Hatfield, who had kept the missing half of the tag, removed it from his billfold and gave it to Mr. Silverton.
“Obviously, pheasants have been shipped out for resale,” the sportsman said. “This convinces me. And I rather think Freeze and Bauer are our boys!”
“The Cubs have given you a twisted story,” Dobbs whined. “I tell you I never saw this pheasant crate before.”
“Dobbs, you’re lying!” Mr. Silverton accused him. “I’ve seen that crate myself. Isn’t it one we kept as an extra? I remember one of the slats was broken. You mended it—”
“And here is the repaired place,” Dan pointed it out.
Thus tripped in his story, Dobbs began to stammer and make the excuse that he had failed to recognize the crate.
“I’ve had enough of your alibis,” Mr. Silverton said angrily. “You’ll do the rest of your explaining to the police!”
“Don’t turn me over to the authorities, Mr. Silverton,” the man pleaded. “I’ve worked for you two years—doing the best I could. I did make mistakes—I admit it, and the worst one was ever getting acquainted with those two yellow dogs, Jake Freeze and Bernie Bauer.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere, Dobbs. So you admit you worked with them in stealing my pheasants?”
“If I tell you the whole story, will you let me off?” Dobbs tried to bargain.
“We’ll see,” his employer returned coldly. “Unless you do tell me, I’ll call the police. I promise you that!”
Dobbs drew a deep breath and said sullenly: “Well, it was like this: I knew Freeze and Bauer several years ago before I came to work for you. During the war I was employed by a man named Willis who had an estate north of here.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Silverton nodded.
“He had deer in his forest. Meat was scarce then, and it seemed a shame for folks to go without, just for want of a few ration stamps.”
“So you made a deal to supply deer to Freeze and Bauer?” Mr. Silverton demanded, guessing at the story.
“That’s about the size of it,” Dobbs admitted. “Only they came to me with the proposition. I never liked the business, so I pulled out and came to Webster City.”
“Then you got mixed up in pheasant stealing?”
“Not intentionally. Believe me, Mr. Silverton, I’ve worked hard trying to keep things running smoothly here.”
“You receive a generous salary for your work, I believe?”
“Oh, I ain’t complaining,” Dobbs said uncomfortably. “You’ve been decent to me—mighty decent.”
“How did you get mixed up with Freeze and Bauer again?”
“They learned I was working for you and followed me here. At first I wouldn’t listen to ’em, but they kept threatening if I didn’t play along, they’d tip off to you about my previous black market activities. Then I knew I’d lose my job.”
“So you made a deal with them?”
“They forced me into it. I never got much out of it myself.”
“How long has this stealing been going on, Dobbs?”
“Only since last fall. At first Freeze and Bauer didn’t take many pheasants. Lately, they’ve pressured me into letting them have more and more.”
“The pheasants were shipped out of town for sale, just as the Cubs thought?”
“I don’t know where they were sold,” Dobbs said. “Freeze and Bauer never told me any of the details of their business, and I didn’t ask. Mostly they drove in here at night, using the old logging road.”
“You let them know when the coast was clear, so to speak?”
“They made me do that. But believe me, Mr. Silverton, I never let ’em have as many pheasants as they wanted.”
“Very considerate of my interests,” the sportsman said sarcastically. “You knew about the log jam in the creek, of course.”
“Freeze and Bauer put the logs in so they could cross the stream at that point and reach the lean-to. I was afraid it might make trouble, but I didn’t look for the rains to be so heavy.”
“You left the two pheasant cocks in the lean-to and then went away late this afternoon? That was to give your friends a chance to come here while you were away?”
“They ain’t friends of mine,” Dobbs insisted. “I told you, they’ve been making life mighty hard for me.”
“Where do the two live?”
“At a little hotel on Brady Avenue in Webster City.”
“I’ll swear out a warrant for their arrest immediately,” Mr. Silverton declared. “As for you, Dobbs—”
“Don’t be too hard on me,” the workman pleaded. “I told you the whole truth. I never would have got mixed up in the dirty business only they kept after me. I’ll be glad to see ’em behind bars.”
“Will you testify against them?”
“I will if you’ll let me off, Mr. Silverton. I swear it!”
“All right,” the sportsman agreed, impatient to be finished with the discussion. “I want no scandal, so I’ll let you off. But understand this! You’re through here—fired. Now get out! My secretary will send you your final pay check.”
“Thanks, Mr. Silverton,” Dobbs mumbled, shuffling toward the door.
His heavy boots sloshed through a trickle of water which had seeped unnoticed into the barn.
“The creek’s still rising!” he exclaimed, startled.
As Dobbs thrust open the barn door, more water trickled in.
Mr. Silverton seized the lantern from the floor. As he flashed it out-of-doors, he saw that the entire area near the house and barn was flooded.
“It’s coming up fast!” he exclaimed in dismay. “We’ve got to dynamite the log jam right away or the water will keep rising!”
The rapidity with which the creek waters had flooded the low area and the higher ground where the barn was situated, alarmed Mr. Silverton and Sam Hatfield.
“Where is Fred?” the Cub leader asked anxiously. “And the other boys?”
“We left them at the creek, not far from the log jam,” Dan explained. “They’ve probably moved to higher ground somewhere along the old logging road. We told them to wait.”
“We’ve got to get back there and work fast!” Mr. Silverton said, starting hurriedly away.
“Mr. Silverton, let me dynamite the jam for you,” Dobbs offered unexpectedly. “It’s dangerous work and you ain’t used to handling the stuff.”
Mr. Silverton hesitated, apparently on the verge of refusing the request.
“Please let me help,” Dobbs urged. “It’s the least I can do to make amends.”
“Very well,” the sportsman agreed. “We need your help. The dynamite is in my car. Be careful it doesn’t get wet, because it’s all I have.”
“I’ll set off the blast,” Dobbs said, starting away. “Just be sure all the boys are out of range when she goes off!”
“We’ll round the Cubs up now,” Mr. Hatfield said. “What about these pheasants here in the barn?”
“Dan and I can move them up into the loft,” Brad offered eagerly.
“If we can dynamite the dam, it may not be necessary,” Mr. Silverton said. “First, let’s see what can be done at the creek. If we fail there, we’ll have to come back and move everything out.”
Dobbs obtained the dynamite from Mr. Silverton’s car, and the party set off for the creek. Failing to see Fred, Mack, Chips and Red by the dam, Mr. Hatfield gave the familiar Pack whistle.
From higher land far up the logging road came an immediate response.
“Round up the Cubs, Brad,” Mr. Hatfield instructed the Den Chief. “Then keep them all together until after Dobbs sets off the dynamite.”
“Sure,” Brad agreed. “Coming, Dan?”
Leaving the log jam where an avalanche of water was pouring over the pile of debris, the two boys quickly found the other four Cubs.
“We thought you never would get back,” Red said. He was wet to the waist and covered with mud, having fallen down on the slippery road. “The creek came up so fast, we moved out.”
Brad and Dan recounted their own experiences at the barn, and ended by telling Dobbs’ confession.
“And all the while that guy was trying to put the blame on us!” Chips exclaimed indignantly. “What a nerve! He drove us away from here because he was afraid we’d learn the truth.”
“And we did, thanks to Mr. Hatfield’s suspicions about the logging road,” declared Brad. “But if Dan hadn’t noticed the shipping tag on that crate, I doubt Dobbs ever would have confessed.”
“What happened to Freeze and Bauer?” Fred questioned. “They got away?”
“Temporarily,” Brad answered. “Mr. Silverton knows their address though. So unless they wise up and slip out of town, he’ll swear out a warrant for their arrest.”
Keeping together, the Cubs returned to the creek, the banks of which had dissolved into a dark, murky, ever-spreading lake.
On the log jam, endeavoring to place the charge of dynamite, were Dobbs, Sam Hatfield and Mr. Silverton. Seeing the Cubs, Mr. Hatfield shouted to Brad to come and hold the lighted lantern. The others, he warned to keep far away.
Carefully Dobbs placed the dynamite charge, having trouble in keeping it dry until the fuse could be lighted.
“Now everyone get out of here quick!” he ordered. “I’m sticking until the last minute.”
As the long fuse began to burn, Mr. Silverton, Brad, and Sam Hatfield, quickly waded back to the waiting Cubs. Together, all retreated a safe distance.
“Come on, Dobbs!” Mr. Silverton shouted to the workman. “Better get out. That fuse will burn fast!”
Thus urged, Dobbs leaped off the logs and started at a run through the water. Gasping for breath, he reached the Cubs.
With increasing tenseness, everyone waited for the explosion. Minutes passed and it did not come.
“The fuse has damped out,” Dobbs muttered. “I’ll go back and see what’s happened.”
“No, wait!” Mr. Silverton commanded, placing a restraining hand on the man’s arm.
Even as he spoke, there came a terrific blast which shook the ground where the Cubs stood. Logs were hurled helter-skelter as the pile of debris broke up.
“She’s moving out!” Dobbs cried jubilantly.
Wading to the stream’s edge, the Cubs watched the splintered logs float off downstream.
A few of the larger pieces at either side of the jam had not been dislodged by the blast, but the gap was large enough for the main flow of the torrent to pour through.
“The water level will lower rapidly now,” Mr. Silverton said in satisfaction.
Soon the Cubs observed for themselves that damp rings were appearing on the bases of the trunks of nearby trees, indicating that the flood was receding.
“The danger here is past,” declared Mr. Hatfield. “But on the river, I fear it’s a different story.”
“Do you suppose the Holloway place is under water?” Brad asked anxiously.
“Not the house,” the Cub leader replied. “But the cabin may be flooded. If not by this time, it may a little later. The river rises slowly, but for days now it has been almost at bank level.”
“Shouldn’t we go there and see if Mr. Holloway needs help?” Dan suggested. “A lot of Cub stuff is stored in the cabin.”
“Including that Indian headgear Red and I made!” Chips contributed. “I’d sure hate to lose it just before the Pack handicraft show.”
“Speaking of that feather headgear, I owe the Cubs an apology,” Mr. Silverton said. “Several of them, in fact. There’s no time to speak of certain matters now, but later on, you’ll hear from me. In the meantime, thanks for everything you’ve done tonight!”
The Cubs, eager to reach Mr. Holloway’s place, said good-bye and left the sportsman and Dobbs at the creek. Returning to Mr. Hatfield’s parked car, they rode with the Cub leader into Webster City, and on toward the outskirts.
As the highway curved near the river, the Cubs noted with increasing anxiety that large areas of low-lying shore had been nibbled away.
Finally, at the Holloway residence, they piled out of the car to see lighted lanterns moving in the vicinity of the log cabin.
Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs trooped down the slope to find Midge, his father, and Mrs. Holloway, moving bedding, furniture and knickknacks from the cabin.
“Glad you’re here!” Midge’s father greeted the newcomers. “From the look of your clothes, you’ve already had a bout with this flood.”
“A winning one, we’re glad to report!” the Cub leader laughed. “Need help here?”
“We certainly do, although for the moment the situation is fairly well in hand. But I’m worried about the folks on Rabb Island.”
The island of which Mr. Holloway spoke was situated in mid-river only a short distance downstream from the Cub’s cabin. Until recently it had been unoccupied.
“Why, I didn’t know anyone lived there,” Dan said in surprise.
“A family of four moved in about three weeks ago,” Mr. Holloway revealed. “They’re living in a shack there—the mother and father and two youngsters.”
“Rabb Island is low,” the Cub leader said. “And the river has risen several feet in the last few hours.”
“The Dustin family has a boat of sorts,” Mr. Holloway said. “I wouldn’t worry, only I know Mr. Dustin went away late this afternoon just before the storm broke. Whether he got back or not, I don’t know.”
“Then Mrs. Dustin and the two children might be on the island alone?” Mr. Holloway asked.
“That’s what’s worrying me. I don’t know.”
“Any way we can find out?”
“I intend to row over there as soon as I get things cleaned up here. But the water’s risen so fast I haven’t had a chance.”
“I’ll go over right away and check up,” volunteered the Cub leader. “That is, if I can borrow the boat.”
“Midge and I hauled it up by the boat house. The dock is under water now.”
“We’ll help you get it out,” Dan offered eagerly. “Need anyone to go along?”
“I can only take one Cub, because I may need to bring passengers back.”
“Take me,” urged Chips, who had just come out of the flooded cabin after having rescued the Indian feather headdress. “I’m a good rower.”
“Better than I am,” conceded Dan as he saw Mr. Hatfield hesitate.
“Why, yes, Chips, you may go along,” agreed the Cub leader. “Now let’s launch the boat.”
The Cubs carried the craft to the water’s edge. Chips climbed in with Mr. Hatfield who took possession of the oars. The Cubs then gave a mighty shove which sent the boat well on its way.
“That dope!” Red exclaimed belatedly.
“Who is?” demanded Brad who stood near the submerged dock watching the boat disappear into the darkness of the river.
“Chips! Didn’t he take our Indian headdress with him?”
“He did have it in his hand,” declared Dan. “But it should be safe enough.”
“Unless he absently drops it into the river! Or the boat may leak and the feathers get wet. We did a lot of work on that headdress. Only this morning Mr. Holloway told me he thought it might be one of the best items entered in the Pack exhibition.”
“Well, don’t worry about it,” Brad advised. “Chips thinks a lot of that headdress too. Depend upon it, he’ll take care of those precious feathers!”
After the boat had vanished beyond view, the Cubs returned to the cabin to see if anything had been left undone.
Every object which possibly might suffer damage from the rising water, already had been removed to the Holloway home on the hill.
“The cabin itself can’t be injured by water,” Mr. Holloway told the boys. “But it’s likely to be left in a dirty mess.”
“We’ll make a date right now to help you clean the place,” Dan offered. “Everyone show up at the next Cub meeting armed with a mop!”
Because Brad and Dan were soaked through, Mrs. Holloway insisted that they change clothing before starting home. Midge’s extra Cub uniform was a fair fit for Dan, while Brad borrowed garments from Mr. Holloway’s wardrobe. The other Cubs were provided with changes of socks.
“Sorry I can’t give you all complete outfits,” Mrs. Holloway said regretfully.
“Don’t bother,” Mack told her. “Our folks will be coming for us in a few minutes anyhow.”
While the Cubs were waiting for the arrival of their parents, Mrs. Holloway brewed hot chocolate and made sandwiches. In the warm kitchen, the boys consumed great quantities of food, and recounted the story of their exciting pheasant hunt at Mr. Silverton’s farm.