Part 19 (1/2)

”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, fis.h.i.+ng 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, s.h.i.+ftless 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.