“Gosh! It’s that big oak!” Dan exclaimed, squinting through the rain.
The big tree came crashing down, smashing away smaller saplings and bushes in its path.
“It might just as well have been this one,” Dan murmured, gazing uneasily up into the mass of swaying, wind-twisted boughs above his head. “We’re in a bad spot!”
“How right you are,” murmured Brad.
A bright flash of lightning made the woods as bright as day. In that moment the boys saw the wind whirling like a vicious animal in the treetops. And two hundred yards away another tree fell, making a resounding crash as it toppled.
The sight spurred the Cubs to sudden decision.
“Dan, I know Mr. Hatfield wouldn’t want us to risk staying here in this storm,” Brad said, seizing his companion’s arm. “Come on, boy, we’re getting out of here!”
CHAPTER 9
A Rising Creek
Alarmed by the intensity of the storm, Dan and Brad made a dash through the whipping trees, seeking an open area. Rain now was descending with furious power, lashing directly into their faces.
“Gosh, I can’t see a thing!” Dan gasped. “Which way is the road?”
Brad turned on the beam of his flashlight, but it failed to penetrate the blinding wall of rain.
Just then the lightning flared again, revealing an opening through the bushes. Beyond Brad glimpsed the old logging road, a river of rainwater despite its under-base of gravel.
“This way, Dan!” he shouted encouragingly. “Follow me.”
Sloshing through water and mud, they reached the barrier fence and climbed over. The blinding sheet of rain all but blotted out a view of the pavement.
“We’re safer here anyhow,” Brad said as they emerged from the woodland. “Brother! Is this a storm?”
The rain showed no signs of slackening. However, now that the boys were in a cleared area, the wind seemed less menacing.
“It’s dropping a little,” Brad observed, studying the treetops along the pavement. “The crest of the storm probably has passed.”
“But the rain is still wet,” Dan shivered. “And it’s steady. No sign of a let-up.”
Along the ditches, muddy water was rushing at a furious rate, draining toward the nearby river.
The two boys scarcely knew which direction to go. They could recall no houses close by where they might seek shelter. The nearest habitation was Mr. Holloway’s camp across the river, but they had no boat.
“There’s a filling station up the road about a quarter of a mile!” Brad recalled, shouting to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. “Let’s go there!”
Dan nodded and followed his companion. Rain drove directly into their faces, closing off their view and making it difficult to walk.
“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.”
Dan made no reply. The two boys pushed on through the slanting rain without meeting or being passed by a car. Finally, soaked and muddy, they reached the filling station.
An attendant, seeing them coming, flung open the office door.
“You look like a couple of drowned rats,” he laughed. “Here, shed those coats before you flood the place!”
Brad and Dan stripped off their slickers and wiped their dripping faces with a coarse towel which the attendant brought from one of the rest rooms. Then they sat down by the electric heater to outwait the rain.
“This is a regular cloudburst,” the filling station attendant remarked, watching the rain pelt against the window. “Worst storm we’ve had this summer.”
“May we use your telephone?” Dan requested.
“Sure. Go ahead. It’s your nickel.”
Dan dialed Mr. Hatfield’s number, intending to tell the Cub leader that he and Brad had taken refuge at the filling station.
There was no answer. Actually, the Cub leader at the moment was driving to the logging road. Alarmed by the intensity of the storm, he had lost no time in setting forth to pick up the Cubs.
Unable to reach Mr. Hatfield, Dan next telephoned his own home where his mother answered.
“I’m glad you are safe, Dan,” she said in relief. “I’ll call Brad’s mother and set her mind at ease. Don’t try to come home until the rain lets up.”
For a half hour, the storm continued without signs of slackening. Then as suddenly as it had started, the rain ended. Clouds gradually cleared away and the sun straggled out. Steam began to rise from the drying pavement.
Brad and Dan wandered outside, debating whether to return to their post or walk to Webster City.
“Mr. Hatfield wouldn’t expect us to go back there after such a terrific storm,” Brad said. “On the other hand, I don’t like to walk off a job just because the going gets tough.”
A big truck loaded with furniture rumbled into the station. The driver sprang out and after ordering the attendant to fill up the gasoline tank, began to inspect the heavy-tread tires.
“That was sure some storm,” he remarked to the filling station man. “Up in the hills the rain was heavy.”
“It’s a cinch the river will rise again,” replied the attendant, removing the hose from the mouth of the gasoline tank. “Creeks running high?”
“Out of their banks most places.”
“Any serious floods between here and Alton Heights?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The water’s coming up fast. I was lucky to get through.”
The snatch of conversation had been overheard by Brad and Dan and added to their alarm.
Although they knew the river would not rise to a dangerous level for many hours, the flood risk at Silverton’s pheasant farm was immediate.
If the rain had been heavy in the hill area as reported by the trucker, then an enormous amount of water soon would pour down into Crooked Creek. Even under normal circumstance, the narrow stream scarcely could be expected to carry the excess away