“I’ve telephoned to their homes,” Mr. Holloway added. “All three boys left early, presumably for here. We know they arrived, only to vanish.”
“Brad and Dan wouldn’t have wandered off without good reason,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “I’m sure they’ll be along any minute.”
Outwardly showing no uneasiness, the two Cub leaders went ahead with last-minute preparations for the pow-wow. As the hour grew later, more and more parents appeared upon the scene.
Fred, Chips, Mack and Midge were on hand, all four togged out in Indian costumes they had made themselves.
“We can delay the start a little while longer by taking the parents to the ravine to see the big carved face,” Mr. Hatfield said. “By the time everyone gets back, the boys surely will be here.”
Mr. Holloway guided the assembled parents to the cliff. Deliberately, he made the trip a slow one. But when the group finally returned to camp, Red, Dan and Brad had not put in an appearance.
“It’s no use waiting any longer,” Mr. Holloway decided. “We’ll have to go ahead without them. Frankly, I’m worried. Something serious must have come up, or they’d be here.”
The ceremony began with the Cubs from both dens parading in a circle, about the camp fire.
Mr. Hatfield as Akela then emerged from the hogan.
Solemnly, he raised his hand in greeting.
“How!”
“How!” responded all the Cub Scout Indians.
“You my Indian brothers are the true first Americans,” Mr. Hatfield recited.
“How!” again answered the Cubs.
“Do you promise to continue to do your best to do your duty to God and your country?”
“HOW!” the Cubs shouted, howling so loud that the cry reechoed through the forest.
Mr. Hatfield directed the boys to seat themselves about the camp fire.
Mr. Holloway, who had a deep base voice, then led the assembly in singing “Home on the Range,” repeating it twice in the hope of gaining more time.
Next came the branding ceremony, or the induction of new families into the Pack. All regular Cubs were recognized as such by branding them as “old hands.” Boys who had qualified for advancement in rank next came forward to receive certificates and badges.
Though Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway ran off the ceremonies as slowly as possible, all too soon it came time for the competitive events.
“Without Dan and Brad, we haven’t a chance to win,” Midge remarked to Chips. “It makes me sick! After all the work we’ve done. Then to lose out to Den 1!”
“We haven’t lost yet.”
“No, but we will. You know that. Look at Ross Langdon! He’s strutting around like a peacock. Figures Den 1 already has won the silver plaque.”
Deep gloom had settled upon all the Den 2 Cubs. Their uneasiness was shared not only by Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway, but by parents of the three missing boys. Repeatedly, the grown-ups whispered together, apparently uncertain whether to continue the pow-wow or to halt it and organize a search for Brad, Dan and Red.
It was Dan’s mother who decided the matter.
“The pow-wow must go on as planned,” she declared. “My son wouldn’t have disappeared without good reason. I’m confident he’ll get word to us as quickly as he can. Meanwhile, he’d want the affair to continue exactly as planned.”
Judging of the various handicraft items next began. Above all else, the magnificent sand painting for which Dan had been responsible, drew favorable comment.
Unquestionably, it would have won top honors. However, Mr. Hatfield explained that only the planning work had been Dan’s and that therefore the den could not fairly claim the exhibit for points.
Judges awarded Den 1 ten points for a carved tom-tom, eight for an elaborate Indian head-dress, and three for a skillfully painted paddle. Excellent examples of Indian weaving brought an additional five points.
“That’s a total of 26 already,” Fred muttered in alarm. “We’ll be whitewashed!”
“We’ll pick up,” Midge insisted, with a confidence he did not feel.
Judges now were grading the Den 2 exhibits. With the sand painting eliminated from the entries, the Cubs of Den 2 could not expect to attain as many points as their competitors. Their only hope of winning the pow-wow rested in the athletic competition.
Chips was highly elated to win ten points for the paddle he had decorated. Fred added five points for having the best Indian costume. Brad, though not present, was awarded eight points for a cleverly made bracelet.
“Twenty-three points to Den 1’s twenty-six,” Mack added them up. “We’re behind, but it could be worse.”
The first athletic event was called a “Medicine Man’s Rassle with the Evil Spirits.”
Mr. Hatfield produced a three-foot length of broomstick. The Den 1 boys stood on one side, grasping the stick with both hands. On the other opposing side were Mack, Fred, Midge and Chips.
Though Den 1 to show its sportsmanship, limited their competitors to the same number of boys, they were able to select their strongest Cubs. Den 2 had no such choice.
Without Brad and Dan, they were greatly handicapped.
At the signal from Mr. Hatfield, each side tried to touch an end of the stick to the floor. Den 1 succeeded almost at once, achieving another ten points.
“Thirty-six to twenty-three!” Ross Langdon rubbed it in. “Why, this isn’t even a competition.”
“Quiet, you!” Midge growled. “It could be different if all our Cubs were here.”
“So you’re already cooking up an alibi?” Ross gloated. “Poor losers!”
“That’s not so!” Midge retorted furiously. “You’re welcome to the silver plaque if you can win it. We’ve beaten you enough times before.”
“Brad and Dan didn’t show today because they’re afraid of being licked in the canoe race,” Ross went on.
“You know that’s not true.”
“Then why didn’t they come?”
“I don’t know,” Midge admitted. “They may be here yet.”
“They’d better hurry then. The pow-wow’s nearly over.”
The next scheduled event was an Indian dance. The Den 1 group offered a rather uninspired number, characterized by a noisy beating of tom-toms.
By contrast, Den 2 had planned an elaborate version of the Navajo fire dance, using flashlights instead of torches. Brad was to have led this number.
“Fred, you’ll have to act as leader,” Mr. Hatfield told his son. “Think you can do it?”
“I’ll sure try,” Fred promised grimly.
The four Den 2 Cubs threw themselves into the dance whole-heartedly. So spirited was their performance that all the parents applauded vigorously.
After a brief conference, judges announced that Den 2 had captured the event, winning back the ten points they had lost.
“Thirty-six to thirty-three!” Chips chortled, taking heart. “Say, we still have a chance to win this old pow-wow!”
“Only one more event remains,” Mack pointed out. “That’s the canoe race.”
“Then we’re sunk,” Mack groaned. “Without Brad and Dan, we may as well give up without even entering the event.”
“A Cub doesn’t quit,” Midge said severely.
“Who can we put in besides you?” Mack demanded. “You’re pretty fair, but there’s no one else to back you up. Chips, Fred or me—we’re not in the class of Dan or Brad.”
Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway held a brief conference concerning the final event on the program. They too were fully aware that without Brad or Dan, the competition could not be won.
“Even if we do trail miserably, we’ll enter the event,” Mr. Hatfield decided. “We can’t have Den 1 saying we’re poor sports.”
“Midge is our best bet. He’s very nearly as good as Dan.”
“But not the equal of Brad,” Mr. Hatfield said ruefully. “And we have no one else. Neither Mack or Chips is strong and they’re only fair swimmers. Fred can swim well enough, but he hasn’t practiced paddling enough to develop much skill.”
“We have no choice,” the Den Dad replied. “It will have to be Fred.”
A short course had been marked on the river with buoys. In this, Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway had taken no part, leaving the matter entirely to Den 1 leaders.
The two canoes were carried down to the beach, ready for launching.
“Now remember, boys, this is a friendly competition,” Mr. Hatfield warned. “No straining to win. Just take it in your stride.”
Fred selected a paddle, his heart thumping. The Den 2 boys were being very decent. Both Midge and Mack had assured him that it didn’t matter whether or not the race was lost. But he knew better!
Den 2, especially Dan and Brad, had worked like beavers in the hope of winning the silver plaque.
Now, despite very bad luck, the score stood 33 to 36!
According to the rules, ten points would be awarded the two-man team which won the canoe race. None were to be given for second place.
So, as it stacked up, the silver plaque and Den 2’s honor depended upon winning the competition.
But no one knew better than Fred how hopeless was the prospect. Ross Langdon and another powerfully built Cub, Donald Fall, were to represent Den 1.
The boy watched them as they warmed up a bit, dipping their paddles in perfect unison.
He and Midge could not hope to coordinate their movements, for they never had practiced together. Always it had been taken for granted that if for any reason Dan could not compete, the team would be comprised of Midge and Brad.
“Don’t look so worried, son,” Mr. Hatfield said, slapping him on the shoulders. “This race is only for fun, you know. Win or lose, just do your best.”
“Sure,” Fred agreed with a grin. He gripped the paddle so tightly that the knuckles of his hands showed white.
“If Ross and Donald take the lead, don’t let it worry you,” Mr. Hatfield added. “Just stroke at your own speed.”
“Which will be plenty slow,” Fred replied. “Den 1 already is starting to celebrate victory.”
It was true that several of the Den 1 Cubs were capering about on the beach, laughing and acting as if the plaque already were theirs.
In the stern of the Den 1 canoe, Ross flashed a confident, almost arrogant smile.
“What we waiting for?” he demanded. “Let’s go!”
Sick at heart, Midge and Fred took their own places in the Den 2 canoe. Both crafts prepared to line up at the starting point for the race.
Paddle poised, Midge chanced to raise his eyes to gaze toward the forest. He stiffened into alert attention. Dare he trust his own vision?
Midge brushed a hand across his eyes and looked again. No mistake. From amid the trees emerged two disheveled figures. Red and Brad!
“Wait!” shouted Midge, letting his paddle clatter into the bottom of the canoe. “Hold everything! They’re here at last!”
CHAPTER 19
THREE POINTS
To be left alone in the cave with only the unconscious Miquel for companion, was an eerie experience, Dan discovered.
A dreadful quiet settled upon the dark chamber once Red and Brad had gone. Dan sat with his back against a projecting rock, within reach of the old man, should he stir.
The chill of the cavern began to creep into his bones. He arose to feed the fire, noticing that there was very little wood. Scarcely enough to burn another twenty minutes. He dared not venture in search of more, lest the old Indian fully revive in his absence.
For a long while after his companions had gone, Dan sat listening to the melancholy slap of the waves at the mouth of the cave. He could not estimate time very accurately. But as the fire burned lower, he reasoned that Brad and Red should have reached the camp.
At any moment now, he encouraged himself, help would arrive. He hoped that Brad and Red would get there in time to compete in the pow-wow. If they did, his own sacrifices would be well worth while.
Old Miquel moaned and rolled over on the rock floor.
Instantly alarmed, Dan got to his feet, to place himself between the man and the edge of the pool.
Feeling inadequate to the situation, he rearranged the blanket, tucking it more closely about the figure. Old Miquel’s hands were icy cold and clammy to the touch. The cave was cold and, in addition, the elderly man’s clothing was wet.
“He may not last long unless Brad gets back here with help,” Dan thought. “Wish I could do something besides just sit and wait.”
He took off his own light jacket and wrapped it around Old Miquel. The Indian stirred again, showing signs of regaining consciousness. Encouraged, Dan began to chafe his cold hands, trying to restore circulation.
Time dragged on. The fire died down to struggling coals, leaving the cave colder and more terrifying than ever.
Dan huddled beside Miquel, watching the dark pool. He could hear the underground stream gurgling softly as it disappeared into the bowels of the earth. Now and then an object, a tree twig, a board or a leaf came floating in through the tunnel.
Already he had made minute inspection of the cave’s interior, finding only the remains of food stolen from the Cub’s camp. Obviously, Old Miquel had taken it to keep alive. Of worldly possessions, the Indian apparently had none except the clothes on his back.
Dan sat motionless in the gloom, acutely aware of a change in Old Miquel’s breathing.
The sound was plainer now, harsh and labored.
“He’s coming around,” the boy thought uneasily. “I sure hope he doesn’t make any trouble. I might not be able to handle him.”
Dan remembered Brad’s advice to quit the cave if Old Miquel caused trouble. But he had no intention of doing so except in a real emergency.
As the minutes passed, the Indian became increasingly active. At first, he merely tossed his head from side to side. Then suddenly he sat up, staring at Dan with strange eyes.
Dan’s heart began to pound. He checked an almost overpowering urge to turn and flee from the cave.
After the first surge of panic, he quieted his own fears. Placing a hand on Old Miquel’s arm, he said:
“Take it easy. You’re all right. Just lie still until help comes.”
Dan scarcely expected the old man to understand. Therefore, it came as a surprise when Old Miquel answered in plain though halting English.
“Where—am—I?”
“Why, in the cave,” Dan returned.
“Cave?” Old Miquel’s gaze began to wander about the moss-covered walls as he sought to regain his bearings.
“Don’t you remember what happened here?”
The old Indian shook his head, continuing to stare at Dan.
“Who are you?” he presently managed.
“Dan Carter. I’m a Cub Scout. Don’t you remember coming to this cave?”
Again the Indian shook his head. “I must get back to my tribe,” he murmured.
Again Dan restrained Old Miquel as he would have arisen.
“You must lie still,” he directed. “You’ve been hurt.”
“Hurt?” Miquel repeated parrot-fashion. “The fall from my horse?”
“A tumble into the pool of this cave,” Dan corrected. “You struck your head on a rock or something. What’s the last you remember?”
Old Miquel was silent for a long while. Dan thought he never would answer, but finally he said.
“I remember—riding through a canyon. My horse shied at a rattler.”
“And that’s the very last?” Dan demanded. “Don’t you recall anything at all about White Nose and Eagle Feather? Or the face you carved on the ravine?”
“White Nose and Eagle Feather are my brothers.”
“They’ve been after you,” Dan informed. “They came all the way from the west, picking up your trail here in Webster City.”
From the Indian’s expression, the boy knew that his words were not being understood. A theory was taking shape in his own mind. From Miquel’s words, he believed that the old medicine man had been injured some time before in a fall from his horse.
This fall, perhaps, had shocked his entire nervous system, causing a lapse of memory.
So perhaps Old Miquel had wandered away from his tribe, unaware of his own identity! Now the fall into the pool and another hard jolt had restored some recollection of the past!
“Don’t you recall coming to Webster City?” Dan questioned him.
Once more Old Miquel shook his head negatively.
“Do you remember anything about a turquoise toad?”
At this question, the Indian’s entire body seemed to stiffen.
“It was entrusted to my keeping,” he replied briefly.
“And where is it now?”
“Where?” Old Miquel probed deep into his memory. “I—I—cannot remember.”
“Somewhere in the west perhaps?” Dan prompted. “You didn’t bring it with you when you came to Webster City?”
“The turquoise—it was hidden in a safe place. No, that is not right. It was given to the white trader at the reservation store. Now it comes back to me. I feared the toad might be stolen. I gave it to the trader to keep in his store safe until the tribe ceremonial.”
“This must have been before your hard fall from the horse,” Dan deducted. “But how did you get to Webster City?”
Miquel could not answer. His only recollection other than the fall in the desert, had been a vague memory of having been on a freight train.
Exhausted from the effort required to talk, Old Miquel cringed down into his blanket again. Though he did not lapse into a stupor, he seemed to lose all further interest in his surroundings.
“He doesn’t know White Nose and Eagle Feather came here to punish him for stealing the turquoise,” Dan thought. “The old fellow’s in a bad way. Gosh, what can be keeping Brad and Dan?”
He arose and went to peer down the dark tunnel. Not a sign of any help coming! And yet Brad and Red surely had had more than ample time to get to the Cub camp and return with a stretcher.
Old Miquel apparently had regained his lost memory, but nevertheless, he was in a serious condition physically. He needed medical attention and he needed it right away.
Dan was quite sure he had figured out the real story behind the old Indian. Undoubtedly, Old Miquel had told the truth about placing the turquoise toad in the trader’s safe. When the old medicine man was better, he should be able to furnish clues which would result in recovery of the tribal treasure.
“He must have wandered off the reservation, not even knowing who he was,” Dan reasoned. “The tribe members couldn’t understand his strange disappearance. Naturally, they figured he’d made off with the turquoise. So White Nose and Eagle Feather were sent to trail him.”
Dan was meditating upon the old Indian’s interesting past, when he heard a slight scuffing noise in the passageway.
He listened eagerly. Had help come at last, or might it be White Nose and Eagle Feather returning?
Fearful of the latter, Dan remained silent, the blood coursing fiercely through his arteries.
Distinctly now, he could hear someone at the entranceway of the cave. Abandoning caution, he called:
“Who’s there?”
The answering shout from Mr. Hatfield brought intense relief.
“We’re here, Dan! Be with you in a jiffy!”
Powerful flashlights now illuminated the tunnel, dispelling its gloom. The boy could make out several persons splashing along the slippery rock floor. Help had come! His long siege was at an end.
After that, Dan had no further worries. Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway efficiently took charge. Aided by several of the Cubs from both Den 1 and 2, they carried Old Miquel out into the warm sunshine.
There, Dr. Evans, who had been summoned from town, examined the Indian.
“He suffers from under-nourishment and exposure,” he told the anxious group. “The head wound appears superficial. If you can get him back to the Holloway place, we’ll take him from there by ambulance to the hospital.”
Mr. Holloway and Mr. Hatfield personally supervised the moving of the old Indian. They would not allow Dan to help bear the stretcher, insisting that because his clothing was damp, he must hasten on ahead.
“You’ve done more than your share now,” the Cub leader warmly assured him. “You and Brad hike as fast as you can for the house. Put in a call for an ambulance, so it will be waiting when we get there.”
“And don’t let Red show you the way,” Mr. Holloway added with a smile. “He’s not too good at finding the trail.”
Brad had no intention of twice losing his way. Taking no chances, he announced his intention of taking the longer but better marked path.
Hastening back to the camp, the two friends brought each other up-to-date on what had occurred.
“Tell me about the pow-wow,” Dan urged after he had revealed everything he had learned from Old Miquel in the cave. “Den 1 came out ahead, I reckon?”
“The pow-wow isn’t finished yet.”
“Then they didn’t go ahead when we failed to show up?”
“All the events except one have been run off. They were just starting the last one—the canoe race—when Red and I hit camp. We’d have been there a lot quicker only we got lost in the woods.”
“How’s the score?”
“Den 1 leads by three points. But that doesn’t mean a thing. Whoever wins the canoe race, wins the silver plaque.”
“When does the race come off?”
“Don’t know,” Brad answered. “Finding Old Miquel has thrown everything into a mess. Maybe now, the race will be called off. In that case, Den 1 wins.”
For awhile, neither Dan nor Brad gave very much thought to the pow-wow. Upon reaching the Holloway home, they immediately telephoned the Webster City Hospital, arranging for an ambulance to be sent.
By the time the men came in from the woods bearing the stretcher, it had arrived.
Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway both offered to accompany the old Indian to the hospital. But as Dr. Evans was to ride with the ambulance, they were assured that it was unnecessary.
Mrs. Holloway provided Dan with a change of clothing. Although the garments were a snug fit, he did not mind.
“Quite a morning,” Mr. Hatfield remarked as things quieted down a bit. “Dan, now that I’ve had a chance to catch my breath, let me say, we’re proud of you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dan said, flushing at the praise. “I just hope Old Miquel gets along all right.”
“He will, I think. Dr. Evans says he’s not in bad shape and has a good, strong physique.”
“Yes, it’s practically certain he’s the artist,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “The drawings on the cave wall reveal his skill. Poor fellow! He seems to have no memory of what he did after he came to Webster City.”
“Wonder what became of White Nose and Eagle Feather?” Dan worried. “Someone ought to find them and tell them the truth about Miquel.”
“We’ll attempt to locate them,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “Just now, we have a pow-wow on our hands. The Cubs haven’t had anything to eat. Furthermore, there’s one more event on the program. Or shall we call it off?”
“No!” yelled all of the Den 2 Cubs. Chips added quickly: “Let’s have the race now, and then our lunch!”
Mr. Hatfield gazed thoughtfully at Dan and Brad. Both boys, he knew, were somewhat worn from their harrowing experiences of the morning.
“It might be better to wait a day or so—” he began.
“Not on my account, sir,” broke in Dan. “Midge can take my place, if you don’t think I should enter the race. I feel fine though! Rarin’ to go!”
“Same here,” grinned Brad. “We’re ready to test our skill against Ross and Donald any old time you say. The quicker the better.”
“And if you get beat—as you certainly will—you’ll say it was because you were tired,” Ross twitted.
“No such thing,” Brad retorted.
Mr. Hatfield, Mr. Holloway and the leaders of Den 1 consulted over the advisability of holding the race that day. Feeling was running a bit too high, they knew. But then, there always had been keen rivalry between the two dens.
The race itself was a very short one, not long enough to place any of the contestants under strain.
“We’ll go ahead now since you’re all so eager,” Mr. Hatfield finally announced. “But remember, this is a friendly competition. How you win is more important than who wins.”
All the Cubs and their parents gathered at the beach to watch the event. Fred and Midge willingly relinquished their paddles to Brad and Dan.
“Win that plaque for us!” Fred urged as the pair took their places in the canoe.
“We’ll sure try!” Dan promised with a grin.
At a given signal, the two canoes were off! Ross and Donald made a flashy start, immediately taking the lead.
Flustered by being caught off guard, Brad and Dan did not at once coordinate their efforts. By the time they began to work as a unit, Ross and Donald already had gained an alarming lead.
“Dig in, Dan!” Brad urged, increasing his own efforts.
The course was so short that both boys knew the race would be over almost before they could regain lost ground.
Dan’s paddle dipped smoothly and fast. His keen eyes sweeping the water made a startling discovery.
The course had been laid out in such a way that it included a stretch of the swift current which flowed down-river to the hidden cave.
Ross and Donald obviously were unaware that their canoe was traveling parallel to the ribbon of fast water.
“Brad!” Dan exclaimed, directing his companion’s gaze to the current.
The older boy instantly saw the fast water, and with a hard surge of the paddle, could have steered the Den 2 canoe into it. But he hesitated.
“Would it be fair?” he muttered.
Dan understood what his friend meant. Ross and Donald were unaware of the fast current which if utilized, undoubtedly would give a canoeist a decided advantage.
Once in the swift-moving ribbon of water, the Den 2 canoe easily might overtake the other craft. But would it then be a test of skill? Hadn’t Mr. Hatfield said that it wasn’t winning that mattered but the manner in which victory was achieved that counted?
“Skip it,” he answered Brad’s terse question. “We’ll win by our own skill, or not at all.”
The finish line now was close at hand. Knowing that the honor of Den 2 depended entirely upon them, Brad and Dan dug in with their paddles. They had to win! The Cubs were expecting them to save the silver plaque. But could they do it? The race was so short.
Along shore the Cubs of both dens were cheering for their particular den mates. Dan and Brad heard the shouts but were only vaguely aware of them.
Slash! Slash! Their paddles lashed the water cleanly, sending the canoe forward in smooth spurts.
“Keep it up!” Brad encouraged. “We’re gaining!”
Dan nodded, not wasting breath in a reply. The distance between the two canoes rapidly was dwindling. If only the finish line were not so close!
Ross and Donald realized they were losing ground. Uneasily Ross looked over his shoulder to see how hard they were being pushed. For an instant he held his paddle, missing a stroke. The bow swung off course.
Before Ross could bring it back into a straight line, Dan and Brad surged ahead. The two canoes raced evenly.
By this time all the Cubs ashore were shouting like maniacs. “Come on Dan! Brad!” some of the boys yelled, while others cheered Donald and Ross to greater efforts.
The finish line loomed up. An instant before it was reached, Brad put all his strength into a final thrust of the paddle. The canoe fairly leaped forward, crossing the finish line a half length ahead of the other craft. Den 2 had won! The plaque had been saved!
CHAPTER 20
THE TURQUOISE TOAD
Dr. Evans had just come from Webster City Hospital with a report for Mr. Hatfield concerning Old Miquel.
“The old fellow’s coming around nicely,” he informed the Cub leader. “A day or two of complete bed rest and he’ll be as good as ever. Quite a character! I had a long talk with him.”
“Did Dan guess right about him?”
“Absolutely. The old coot is a Navajo medicine man. He carved the face at the ravine though he has little recollection of doing it. So far as I can determine, he suffered a severe head blow which caused a memory lapse. Apparently, he hopped a freight, and must have been tossed off here at Webster City. Having no money, he took to living in the woods.”
“Did he tell you anything about the turquoise, doctor?”
“About the same as Dan learned. The tribal treasure was entrusted to him. He sticks to his story of giving it to a trading post man by the name of Howard Brandall. I wired him and received confirmation. The turquoise is still in his safe. He didn’t know the tribe considered it lost or stolen.”
“That’s fine!” Mr. Hatfield said heartily. “Then there’s no reason why Old Miquel can’t soon return to the west?”
“None whatsoever. By the way, what became of those two Indians who tried to avenge the tribe?”
“White Nose and Eagle Feather? No one has seen them since they left the cave this morning.”
Dr. Evans consulted his watch. “It’s now after four o’clock,” he noted. “They should be found, if they’re still in Webster City.”
“I’ll call the Cubs of both dens together and see if we can round them up,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “They should be told the truth about Old Miquel.”
Though the Pack ceremonies long since had ended, nearly all of the Cubs had remained at the Holloway camp, swimming and enjoying the beach. By now though, all were dressed in their uniforms again.
Summoning the Cubs, Mr. Hatfield asked them to be on the lookout for the two Indians.
“Until they’re found, it will be unsafe for Old Miquel to be released from the hospital,” he added.
Brad and Dan were especially eager to join in the search. Their first mission, however, was to return to Professor Sarazen the Navajo blanket found in the cave. After that, they went to the grocery store, thinking that the two Indians might have been seen there.
The storekeeper informed them that neither Eagle Feather nor White Nose had returned that afternoon.
“I’ll bet they’ve left town,” Dan remarked as the day wore on.
“It begins to look that way,” Brad agreed. “Since we can’t find ’em, we’ll have to give up the search for the time being.”
Disheartened, the two friends started for their homes. The day had been an exciting one, and both were tired. But they felt highly elated. Not only had they won the silver plaque for Den 2, but they had solved the mystery of the strange carved face. Likewise, they had the satisfaction of knowing that Old Miquel had been restored to reason.
Presently the boys drew near the railroad tracks. A flasher light warned of the approach of a freight train.
Had they hastened, Dan and Brad could have crossed ahead of the long, heavy freight. Instead, being in no hurry, they waited for it to pass.
The train rumbled by, moving slower and slower as it approached the station. Finally, it came to a jerky halt.
“Now we’ve got to wait,” Brad grumbled.
Dan did not answer. His gaze had fastened upon two lean figures. The men had emerged from behind the tool house on the railroad right-of-way. He recognized them as White Nose and Eagle Feather.
As Dan stared in disbelief, the two ran along the tracks. Finding an open boxcar, they leaped lightly inside. By now the boy had come to life.
“Quick, Brad!” he shouted. “We’ve got to stop them before they get out of town!”
The older boy also had recognized the two Indians. With Dan he darted to the boxcar whose door had been pulled shut from the inside.
The two Cubs pounded on the barrier, calling upon those inside to “open up!” When there was no response, Brad finally managed to shove open the heavy door.
“White Nose! Eagle Feather!” he called.
He could not see the two Indians anywhere in the dark interior of the car. At the same time, the freight’s heavy engine gave a sharp toot. The long string of cars began to move.
Again Brad shouted to the two Indians. Though he could not see them, he knew they must be in a dark corner of the car. The train was moving faster now.
The Cubs ran to keep up.
“You must stay!” Brad shouted. “The turquoise has been found! Old Miquel didn’t die! He’s told everything!”
The words carried, for from the darkness of the car, the two Indians suddenly emerged. They stood framed in the open doorway, and as Brad again pleaded with them, listened attentively.
The train now was moving so fast that the boys could not keep up.
“It’s no use,” Dan gasped. “They’re gone.”
But even as he spoke, the two Indians leaped from the train. They landed on their feet and came back to talk to the boys.
Brad related what had occurred since the two Indians had left the cave, stressing that Old Miquel never had been responsible for his strange actions.
“You can’t punish him for something that wasn’t his fault,” he ended. “Won’t you go to the hospital now—tonight—and tell Miquel that everything is all right again? That he can go back to the tribe?”
“We go,” White Nose promised. Gravely he and Eagle Feather shook hands with the two boys before departing.
Ten days elapsed before the Cubs saw the Indians again. Their appearance came most unexpectedly at a weekly meeting of Den 2 at Mr. Hatfield’s home.
“A little surprise, boys,” declared the Cub leader.
He then introduced not only White Nose and Eagle Feather, but Old Miquel as well. The old medicine man had almost fully recovered from his injuries and now was able to be about.
The three Indians made little talks, thanking the Cubs for the collection of clothing which was to be sent to the Navajo reservation. White Nose related the story of why the turquoise toad was so highly treasured by his people, and ended by presenting Brad and Dan with small pieces of carved gems.
“We return to our tribe tomorrow,” White Nose said in conclusion.
“Miquel too?” asked Dan.
He was assured that the old medicine man would accompany his two Indian brothers to New Mexico, there to resume his rightful place in the tribe.
Never before had the Cubs enjoyed such an unusual meeting. Not only did the Indians tell them many fascinating stories, but they recited chants and gave several dances. Finally, at a late hour, the meeting broke up.
“Wow! We really picked ourselves a theme when we decided to go in for Navajo lore!” Dan declared, collapsing into a chair. “What’s next on the program, Mr. Hatfield?”
“Oh, that’s a secret,” laughed the Cub leader.
“Is it something as exciting as the great carved face or the cave?” demanded Chips eagerly.
“You know we couldn’t expect to run into anything like that again in a million years,” Midge protested.
“Oh, yes, we could!” insisted Red. “And we will, too!”
“Sure,” drawled Mack, “with Mr. Hatfield to select the Cub theme, and Brad and Dan to carry it out, we’re certain to steer a straight course into another ripping adventure!”
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
- Silently corrected a few typos (but left nonstandard spelling and dialect as is).
- Rearranged front matter to a more-logical streaming order.