"Dan, I'm going to telephone Dobbs," Brad said, reaching a sudden decision. "Then we'll have the matter off our minds at least. Got a nickel?"

"My last one," Dan said, fishing a coin from his pocket.

Brad found the number of the Silverton Pheasant Farm in the directory which hung from a cord on the wall. But no one answered his call. He allowed the telephone to ring a long while before finally hanging up the receiver.

"No use," he said in disappointment. "Dobbs doesn't seem to be there.

Maybe he's outside looking after the pheasants."

The filling station attendant who had come into the office for change, overheard Brad's remark.

"You're trying to get Saul Dobbs?" he inquired.

"That's right."

"You won't find him at the pheasant farm. Just before the storm broke I saw him driving toward Webster City."

"And he hasn't returned since?"

"Haven't seen him."

"Then that means there's no one in charge now at the pheasant farms,"

Brad said anxiously. "With the creek rising so fast, it's likely to back up into the pens."

"Saul Dobbs is a careless, shiftless sort," the filling station man replied with a shrug. "I never could see why Mr. Silverton kept him in charge."

Turning from the telephone, Brad's troubled eyes sought those of Dan in silent question.

Both boys knew that something must be done quickly if the pheasants were to be saved. Yet they hesitated to disobey by again venturing onto private property to investigate the choked stream.

"Let's telephone Mr. Silverton," Dan urged. "Being in the city, he may not realize how heavy the rain was out here."

Brad lost no time in making the call. But when he gave his name at Mr.

Silverton's office, he coldly was informed that the sportsman was "busy."

"I must talk to him right away," Brad argued. "It's important."

"Sorry," repeated the voice. "Mr. Silverton has given orders that your calls are not to be transmitted to him. So sorry." The receiver clicked in his ear.

"How'd you like that?" Brad howled. "We try to save his old pheasants and he won't even talk to us!"

"We've got to get word to him somehow," Dan insisted. "Brad-"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't we hitch a ride with that truck driver into the city? If we can get to Silverton's office in time, we ought to be able to make someone understand what's happening out here."

Brad did not take a moment to debate. Already the trucker was starting to pull away from the filling station.

"Come on," he urged, bolting out the door.

The boys signaled the truck driver who halted just before he reached the main highway.

"Are you driving to Webster City?" Dan shouted.

"That's right."

"Will you give us a lift?"

"I sure will," the trucker agreed heartily, opening the cab door. "Hop in, boys."

As the truck rattled along the slippery road, Dan and Brad told the driver of their urgent reason for reaching the Gardiner Building.

"You're making no mistake in thinking that creek will flood," the trucker declared, putting on more speed. "Even if the stream isn't clogged, she's sure to go over her banks."

To help the boys, the driver dropped them off directly in front of the Gardiner Building. Their shoes caked with mud, their wet hair still plastered down, the pair made a sorry appearance as they entered Mr.

Silverton's outer office.

Seeing Brad and Dan, the receptionist regarded them with cold disapproval.

"I told you over the telephone that Mr. Silverton will not see you," she said before Brad could speak. "Those are his orders."

"But we must see him!" Brad insisted. "Rains have flooded the creek and some of the pheasants may drown if they aren't taken care of right away!"

The receptionist looked somewhat startled. Having no idea what the boys were talking about, she shook her head.

"I positively cannot disturb Mr. Silverton now," she said. "If you want to wait on the chance he'll see you when he comes out, you may."

"How long will that be?" Dan asked.

"Mr. Silverton usually leaves his office at four-thirty."

"That's fifteen minutes yet," Brad said, glancing anxiously at the wall clock. "We shouldn't delay. Please-"

"I've already explained that I cannot disturb Mr. Silverton. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do."

The receptionist busied herself typing a letter. However, the boys saw her gaze with disapproval at the enlarging pool of water which dripped from their slickers onto the floor.

At intervals, Dan and Brad would get up from the bench and go to the window. Fifteen minutes already had elapsed. And still Mr. Silverton's office door remained closed.

Then at twenty minutes to five, when the Cubs had nearly given up hope, the sportsman unexpectedly walked out of his inner office. He wore his hat and coat and would have pa.s.sed through without speaking to anyone, had not the receptionist stopped him.

"Mr. Silverton, these boys have been waiting a long while to see you,"

she informed the pheasant farm owner. "They are quite insistent that it is important."

The sportsman gazed at Brad and Dan, and appeared to look straight through them.

Deliberately turning his back, he then strode toward the outer door.