The Cubs Lend A Hand
“Mr. Silverton,” Dan began, speaking rapidly because he knew he had only
a moment in which to present his case. “It’s about your pheasants—”
“Attendant, stop the elevator at the second floor,” the sportsman
directed the operator of the cage. “I’ll walk!”
The elevator man, observing the despairing look of the two boys,
deliberately let the lift slide past the second floor level.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, fumbling with the levers. “Too late, sir.”
“Mr. Silverton, you’ve got to listen!” Dan went on desperately. “The
creek’s rising fast out at your farm! With that dam across the stream, it
may flood the pheasant runs.”
At last he had gained Mr. Silverton’s attention.
“Dam?” the sportsman demanded. “What are you talking about?”
“Logs have jammed across the creek, sir. Mr. Hatfield, our Cub leader,
said if it rained hard, water would be almost certain to back up and
flood.”
“A trucker told us the area up in the hills had a regular cloud burst,”
Brad added. “When that water gets down here, adding to what we’ve already
had, the creek will come up fast.”
The elevator had halted at the first floor and the cage door slid open.
But Mr. Silverton had lost his desire to elude the boys.
“Saul Dobbs told me nothing about the stream being clogged,” he said,
looking worried. “How long has this condition existed?”
“We noticed the logs on our visit to your farm several days ago,” Brad
said. “We wanted to tell you then, but you wouldn’t talk to us.”
“Humph! I haven’t forgotten a certain little matter still between us.”
Mr. Silverton’s pouchy face again became frozen and unfriendly. He turned
to leave the elevator, saying in curt dismissal: “Well, thanks for
telling me.”
“But sir!” exclaimed Brad. “Don’t you think—that is—shouldn’t you try to
do something to save the pheasants?”
“Saul Dobbs can be depended upon to look after my interests. Should any
emergency develop at the farm, he’ll get in touch with me.”
“But that’s just the point, Mr. Silverton,” Dan interposed. “Dobbs isn’t
on the farm.”
Mr. Silverton now gave the boys his complete attention.
“Not there?” he demanded. “How do you know?”
Dan related the information given to him by the operator of the filling
station. At last he saw that the sportsman was beginning to be disturbed.
“If Dobbs isn’t at the farm, that changes the picture!” Mr. Silverton
exclaimed. “With the creek rising, the pheasants easily could be
endangered! Why did Dobbs go away without notifying me?”
Neither Dan nor Brad made any attempt to answer. Nor did Mr. Silverton
expect them to do so, for he seemed to be thinking aloud.
“I’ll drive out there right away and see what’s happening! Will you boys
come with me? I’ll need you to point out where the gorge is choked.”
“Sure, we’ll be glad to go!” Brad agreed quickly.
Mr. Silverton led the way to a nearby parking lot where he kept his
automobile. At a fast clip they drove over the slippery pavement to the
pheasant farm.
En route, they encountered two areas where fast-running ditch water had
overflowed the road. However, they were not too deep to prevent the car
from getting through.
“I had no idea the rain was so heavy,” Mr. Silverton commented. “Of all
times for Dobbs to leave the farm unattended this takes the prize!”
The drive to the farm offered the two boys an excellent opportunity to
explain to Mr. Silverton again that the Cub Scouts never had intended to
break any of the rules laid down by him.
Delicacy however, prevented them from bringing up the subject. Mr.
Silverton seemed so worried and absorbed in his thoughts that they
decided any discussion of the matter or apology must wait until after the
present emergency.
As the big blue car descended the private gravel road and presently
emerged at the cleared area of the pheasant farm, Brad and Dan saw that
they had not exaggerated the situation. It was even worse than they had
anticipated.
Already an ugly line of murky water had spread through the woodlands to
the lower level areas. The hatching yard in the grove was covered with an
inch of water. Overflow from the creek slowly nibbled at the walks
leading to the house and to the barn on somewhat higher ground.
“Dobbs!” Mr. Silverton shouted. “Are you here?”
Receiving no answer, the sportsman parked his car some distance behind
the barn and ran to the house. All the doors were locked.
“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—”
“I’ll go after him,” Dan agreed instantly. “If he isn’t there, I’ll call
him from the filling station.”
“If you cut through the woods, be careful not to be trapped by the flood
waters,” Mr. Silverton warned as Dan started away. “Keep well to the
north of the creek.”
Leaving Brad to help the sportsman, Dan set off through the woods at a
fast dog trot.
Shadows were deepening among the trees, but he kept his sense of
direction. Circling around the flooded area, he struck the logging road
at a point well beyond the clogged point of the stream.
To the right he could hear the rush and roar of the torrent which raced
toward the river. Unless the log jam gave away or the crest of the flood
was soon past, he knew that in a short while the entire side road would
be under water.
His shoes and clothing caked with mud, Dan presently came out at the rail
fence barrier. A familiar looking car, which had pulled up on the other
side of the paved highway, was just starting away.
“That’s Mr. Hatfield’s automobile!” Dan thought. “If only I can catch him
before he drives away!”
Scrambling over the rail barrier, he shouted the Cub leader’s name. In
the act of shifting gears, Mr. Hatfield heard the boy and turned his
head.
Seeing Dan, he quickly switched off the engine and ran to the fence.
“Where’s Brad?” he asked anxiously. “When the storm broke so suddenly, I
came out here as fast as I could. Had a flat tire on the way, which held
me up. Is Brad all right?”
“He’s with Mr. Silverton,” Dan replied, and poured out his story of
Dobbs’ disappearance and the threatened flood disaster at the pheasant
farm.
“No one there but Brad and Mr. Silverton?”
“That’s right, and the water is coming up fast. Mr. Silverton’s trying to
get men from Webster City, but having no luck. Brad stayed with him to do
what he could.”
“Silverton _is_ in a spot,” the Cub leader declared. “When I saw that log
jam in the creek, I was afraid something like this would happen.”
“Mr. Hatfield, do you think the Cubs could help?” Dan asked breathlessly.
“If only we could round them up!”
“We can and will, Dan. Jump into the car! We’ll make a whirlwind trip
into Webster City and see how many boys we can find!”
Driving as fast as the slippery pavement permitted, the two soon reached
the city. Notified as to the emergency at the pheasant farm, Red, Chips,
Mack and Fred immediately offered their services.
“Wear your slickers and either high boots or galoshes,” the Cub leader
advised the boys. “It’s plenty moist out at Silverton’s place and the
creek still is rising.”
Mr. Hatfield, in stopping at his own home to pick up his son and a pair
of hip boots for himself, paused long enough to telephone Mr. Holloway
and Midge. The information received from across the river was
disconcerting.
“They can’t come with us,” he reported to the Cubs. “The river is rising
fast, and Mr. Holloway is afraid the cabin may be flooded within a few
hours. He and Midge are sticking close to look after things there.”
“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.”
“Where shall we take the pheasants?” the Cub leader asked, quickly
surveying the situation.
“I think the barn is the best place,” Mr. Silverton decided. “Turn them
loose there. The water shouldn’t come that high.”
“Get busy, boys,” Mr. Hatfield instructed the Cubs.
Handling the crates carefully, the boys carried them one by one to the
barn. There, after making certain the doors and windows all were closed,
they set the startled birds free on the ground floor.
Meanwhile, along the pheasant runs, Mr. Silverton aided by Brad and Mr.
Hatfield, had been collecting the traps. As rapidly as the pheasants were
caught, the Cubs carried them to the barn where they milled with the
others.
“We’ve done all we can here,” Mr. Silverton decided as deepening shadows
made it difficult to locate straggling pheasants. “Some will take refuge
in the trees and bushes.”
“The water’s still coming higher,” Mr. Hatfield observed as he prepared
to move his car. “If the gorge were cleared out, the level should drop
fast.”
“Let’s see what can be done,” Mr. Silverton proposed.
Both men moved their cars to higher ground lest flood waters continue to
rise. Then, followed by the Cubs, they circled around to the old logging
road, approaching the dam from the upper and drier side.
“Why Dobbs would leave a mess like that in the stream, I can’t figure!”
Mr. Silverton exclaimed in disgust as he caught sight of the jam. “He
must have known about it, but he never spoke of it to me.”
Mr. Hatfield casually pointed out that the logs formed a natural bridge,
adding: “Almost as if they had been laid deliberately.”
“They do at that!” the sportsman agreed. “Let’s have a closer look.”
While Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs waited on dry land, he waded out to
examine the accumulation of debris. When he returned to the group a few
minutes later, his expression was grim.
“You’re right, Mr. Hatfield,” he declared. “I’m convinced those logs were
placed deliberately. Apparently, more has been going on here than I
suspected!”
“Any chance to dislodge them?” the Cub leader questioned.
“Not without a crew of men. But a stick of dynamite would do the trick. I
think Saul Dobbs has some locked up in the tool house.”
While the Cubs waited, the two men started back to the house to obtain
the dynamite.
“What I can’t figure, is why anyone would go to the trouble of making a
log bridge at this particular point,” Dan said, frowning as he watched
the water spill over the makeshift dam. “Farther up stream, there’s a
perfectly good foot bridge.”
“This section is near the restricted part of the woods,” Brad commented.
“Mr. Silverton keeps his best Germain pheasants there. And say! I wonder
if they’re safe?”
“The water’s backing up fast in that direction,” Red observed.
“Maybe we ought to investigate,” Dan proposed. “Think it’s safe to cross
the dam?”
“The water isn’t more than ankle deep,” Brad decided. “We can get across
if we’re careful.”
Joining hands, the Cubs cautiously waded through the shallow sheet of
water which coursed over the top of the dam.
“Mack, you and Fred stay here to wait for Mr. Hatfield and Silverton,”
Brad instructed. “Otherwise, they’ll wonder what became of us.”
Though disappointed to be left behind, the two Cubs made no protest.
Brad, Dan, Chips and Red, then went on alone.
“Chips, I wish you’d show us again where you and Red picked up those
pheasant feathers,” Brad said suddenly.
“Sure, providing the place isn’t under water,” the other agreed. “I guess
it won’t be, because we’re moving into higher ground.”
The four Cubs continued for a short distance, and then Red and Chips fell
into an argument as to the exact place where they had found the feathers.
“It was right here,” Red insisted, indicating a small clearing.
“No, it wasn’t,” denied Chips. “It was farther on.”
Dan paid no heed to the two Cubs, for he had made an interesting
discovery of his own.
“Fellows, come here!” he called excitedly. “See what I’ve found!”