“I can see where a fire was built on that rock shelf directly below the carved face,” observed Mr. Hatfield.
Both he and Mr. Holloway were mystified by the strange carving, having had no knowledge that anything of the sort could be found in the park area.
“Someone was here last night all right,” the cubmaster declared.
“And someone’s here now,” murmured Brad, peering intently down into a clump of bushes directly behind the dead ashes of the camp fire. “We’re being watched by a man who’s hiding there in the foliage!”
CHAPTER 4
SUSPICION
Brad’s observation caused the other Cubs to glance alertly toward the clump of bushes. Distinctly, they could see a crouching figure among the leaves.
“Someone is hiding there!” cried Red.
His words carried across the chasm and to the man who squatted close against the wall of the cliff.
As the Cubs watched, the bush moved convulsively. They saw the shadowy figure retreat behind the screen of foliage, and finally disappear on a trail.
“You scared him away, Red!” Dan exclaimed. “Who was he, anyhow?”
“Maybe the person who carved that grotesque face in the clay wall,” commented Brad. “Whoever he was, he didn’t want us to see him.”
“Let’s go after him,” urged Chips, eager for action. “How about it?”
To reach the opposite side of the chasm, it would be necessary to make a sharp descent, and an equally sharp climb on the other side. By the time the Cubs could reach the site of the carved clay face, the fleeing man would be far away.
“No use going after him,” Mr. Hatfield decided. “After all, he may have as much right to be in this park area as we.”
“Do you suppose he was the one who carved that queer face?” speculated Fred.
“It’s very likely,” agreed his father. “The face isn’t quite finished. Notice the left side. The cheek is only half carved.”
The Cubs stood for several minutes, gazing at the huge face which seemed to return their stare. A lowering sun cast a reddish-golden glow over the upper section while the remainder of the carving was shrouded in cool shadow.
“Whoever did the work is a skilled sculptor,” commented Mr. Hatfield. “It’s possible that the park authorities authorized someone to make the carving.”
“But why in clay?” pointed out Brad. “A few heavy rains will destroy the work. To be of permanent value, it would have to be carved in the rock face of the cliff.”
“And this part of the park seldom is visited,” contributed Midge. “If the park authorities ordered the work, wouldn’t they want it done where visitors could see it easily?”
Mr. Hatfield acknowledged the logic of the Cubs’ deductions. He readily agreed that the carving might have been done by a crank, a man with a peculiar twist of mind.
“A very talented individual, however,” he added.
“Who in Webster City would have the skill to make such a carving?” speculated Mack. “I don’t know of anyone.”
Further study of the unusual carving, convinced the Cubs that it was intended to be the face of an Indian.
“I wish we had that old boy for our pow-wow!” chuckled Dan. “We’d certainly out-class Den 1.”
Rather elated by their discovery of the carved face, the Cubs lingered for awhile. Then, as the hour grew late, they started back to the beach at a brisk pace.
“I guess now you’ll quit twitting me about my vivid imagination,” Red said, enjoying his victory. “Who was right after all?”
“You were,” Brad told him. “We’ll send you a letter of apology.”
“Never mind that,” laughed Red. “Just treat me with more respect in the future.”
Upon reaching the beach site, the boys began to gather up their belongings, preparatory to starting to their separate homes.
“If we’re going to get ahead of Den 1 in the Indian handicraft exhibit, we’ll have to meet here almost every night after school for a week or two,” Dan informed his companions.
“That’s right,” echoed Brad. “You heard Ross boasting that the Den 1 Cubs have their Navajo hogan already up. We’ve not even started.”
“We can get going on that tomorrow night,” Chips declared. “How about a trading post or a Wells Fargo station?”
“We can make ’em if the fellows want to,” Brad agreed. “Just to be different though, why not try a big sand painting?”
“What’s that?” demanded Chips, whose knowledge of Indian tradition and ceremony was limited.
“Dan will tell you,” Brad said. “He’s been reading up about it at the library.”
Urged to share his information, Dan began by explaining that the art of making sand paintings had been adopted from the Pueblo Indians and made into a high art by the Navajos.
“Twenty years ago, few persons were allowed to witness the making of a sand painting,” he told the Cubs. “Even today, the Indians seldom allow anyone to sketch the pictures or take photographs.”
“Then how are we going to make one?” Midge demanded.
“Oh, the ordinary designs and patterns are available. I was just giving you the background. Among the Navajos, sand painting is a sacred ceremony, held in connection with healing of the sick or initiation of a member into the tribe.”
“Most sand paintings are started at daybreak, aren’t they?” prompted Brad.
Dan nodded, warming to his subject. “That’s so they’ll be completed before sunset. It’s supposed to bring bad luck, if a painting isn’t done in one day. Several persons work on the larger pictures, but a medicine man or high priest always is in charge of the work.”
Fred asked what type of scenes were used in the paintings.
“No two are alike,” Dan explained. “The designs are all abstract, symbolic in meaning. Colored sand is used, of course. Each color has a special significance. For instance, browns and grays are for fulfillment. White represents the morning. Blue is for goodness or happiness.”
“That sounds too hard,” complained Mack. “Can’t we make something easy like a house or a sunset?”
“It wouldn’t be according to the Navajo tradition. I’m in favor of trying to do it right or not at all.”
“That’s so,” chimed in Red. “Let’s stick to the Cub motto: ‘Do Your Best.’”
“I’m for that,” Mack agreed. “But how are we going to get colored sand?”
“That’s easy,” declared Dan.
He told the Cubs they might use powdered paints, ground-up flower pots for the red color, table salt for white, and cornmeal for yellow. From library books he already had compiled several drawings from which they might make a selection of design.
“Say, you know all about it, don’t you?” Chips demanded, admiringly. “Let’s elect him Medicine Man, fellows. How about putting him in charge of the sand painting?”
“Sure,” agreed Mack and Fred, glad to turn the responsible assignment over to the capable denner.
All the others likewise voted for Dan.
“I’ll gather together the stuff we need,” he promised. “When it comes to making the painting, though, I’ll need plenty of help.”
With Dan in charge, the other Cubs were confident that all details of the project would be carried through with speed and efficiency.
By far Dan was the most popular Cub in Den 2. Not only was he even-tempered, modest and an excellent student and athlete, but he had a way of “making things go.” The boys never had forgotten how he had saved the Den’s honor when a Webster City pheasant raiser wrongfully had accused them of stealing his valuable birds.
The story of the Cubs’ encounter with the foreman of the farm and their part in saving his prize pheasants during a disastrous flood, has been told in the first volume of this series: “Dan Carter, Cub Scout.”
By placing Dan in charge of the sand painting project, the boys felt that the job already was half done.
Mr. Hatfield now came up to inquire if the Cubs were ready to leave.
“It looks like rain tonight,” he remarked, surveying the darkening sky. “So don’t leave anything lying around.”
“Where’s that paddle you painted this afternoon?” Brad asked Red. He had noticed that the boy did not have it with him.
“Didn’t you pick it up?”
“Why, no.”
Chips looked troubled. “I didn’t see it lying on the beach a minute ago,” he said. “Anyone else pick it up?”
The other Cubs looked blank, shaking their heads.
“I’ll flash back there and have another look-see,” Chips offered. “Wait for me.”
He was gone a long while. When finally he rejoined the group, he was without the paddle.
“It’s gone,” he announced, his face grim.
“Then someone must have picked it up,” declared Dan. “Everyone check.”
The Cubs could not find the missing canoe paddle among their belongings or anywhere nearby. Thinking that Mr. Holloway or Mr. Hatfield might have locked it into the cabin, Brad went there to look.
“No sign of it,” he reported. “I’ll bet a cent that paddle is still on the beach.”
“You look then,” Chips challenged. “I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
The Cubs dropped their knapsacks and trooped down to the beach. Chips’ footprints plainly were visible in the sand, showing where he had wandered in his fruitless search.
“See any paddle?” the boy demanded.
“Are you certain you left it here, Red?” Dan inquired dubiously.
“Certainly I’m certain! Right here by the river. I wanted it to dry so I left it turned up to the sun.”
“Well, it couldn’t have paddled itself away!” Chips wisecracked.
“Very funny!” Red glared at him. “I spent a long while painting that paddle. Now it’s gone. Either one of you took it for a joke or—”
“On your honor, fellows, has anyone seen Red’s paddle?” Brad soberly questioned the group.
All the Cubs reasserted that they had not touched the missing item.
“When last I saw it, Red was laying it out in the sun just as he said,” added Midge. “Maybe it floated away.”
“Like fun!” Chips snorted. “This river doesn’t have a tide. I know what became of that paddle!”
“What?” Dan demanded.
“Ross Langdon took it!”
For a moment after Chips had made his accusation, no one spoke.
Then Mack said thoughtfully: “He was around here making remarks. He looked at the paddle several times.”
“He came here to snoop!” Chips accused angrily. “He was afraid Red’s paddle would win a prize in the handicraft contest, so either he took it for meanness or he pitched it into the river.”
“Ross didn’t have anything in his hands when he left here,” Dan said quietly.
“Then he shoved it into the river and it floated away! That’s probably what it did!”
“Chips, don’t go completely off your base,” Brad interposed. “You’re making some pretty rash accusations.”
“Ross likes to win,” added Dan. “He’s boastful too. But I’d hate to think he’s dishonest.”
“One Cub never should make that accusation against another unless he’s prepared to back it up with proof,” resumed Brad severely. “You’re only making wild guesses, Chips.”
“Well, if Ross didn’t take the paddle, who did? Answer me that!”
“I don’t know what became of the paddle, Chips. Red was rather careless though, to leave it lying so close to the river’s edge.”
“Oh, so it’s all my fault?” cried Red.
“Now don’t get huffy. No one is blaming you. On the other hand, we’ve no right to put it on Ross.”
“Just wait until I see that lad,” Chips muttered. “I’ll drag it out of him!”
Brad took Chips by the arm, giving him a little, impatient shake.
“Get hold of yourself,” he advised. “Do you want to stir up bad feeling between Den 1 and Den 2? If you go to Ross and accuse him, you’ll get all of his denmates sore at us.”
“Our Indian pow-wow will turn into full scale war instead of a nice friendly competition,” warned Dan severely. “You can’t do it, Chips.”
“Oh, all right,” the boy growled. “If you’re going to make such a fuss about it, I’ll keep quiet. I’m convinced though, that Ross got away with that paddle! I’ll keep on thinking so too, unless it shows up.”
CHAPTER 5
STRANGE INDIANS
After school for the next three days, the Cub Scouts spent much of their spare time either at the river or gathering clothing to be shipped to the Navajo reservation.
No more was said about the missing paddle. Though the Den 2 boys saw Ross Langdon in school, they avoided mention of their loss.
Red meanwhile, obtained another paddle, and went quietly to work on a more elaborate design. The finished job was so much better than the first that all the Cubs declared the Den might actually have been the gainer for having lost the paddle.
Not to be bested by Den 1, the boys set as one of their major projects, the making of an Indian hogan.
The house, they decided, would be made of best tree boughs and covered over with mud and clay. Brad pointed out that while it would be easier to use canvas or cloth for the slanting walls, the mud would be more in keeping with Navajo tradition.
Hogans were circular, six or eight-sided huts, with a roof-hole for the escape of smoke, he explained. The structure had only a single door which traditionally faced east toward the rising sun.
“The north side of the hogan always is the ‘woman’s side’ of the house,” Brad went on with a grin. “In our hut, we’ll skip that. We want it to look like a real Navajo hogan though. So we’ll need a lot of clay. When it hardens on the skeleton-pole structure, it should form a hard, rain-proof surface.”
“We can get plenty of good clay over the cliff,” Dan suggested. “I noticed the quality was especially good there at the ravine near the carved face.”
“Grab buckets, fellows, and let’s go after it,” Brad urged.
Sure of the route, he led the Cubs through the tall hardwoods toward the ravine. A saucy bird trilled at them from a tall pine. Otherwise, except for the chattering of a squirrel, the forest was very quiet.
Well aware that the other Cubs shared his eagerness to view the carved clay face once more, the Den Chief hiked directly to the ravine.
The air felt cool and damp as they emerged from the woods, directly opposite the great carved face.
“Gosh, it’s still here!” exclaimed Chips. “I’d half convinced myself it was all a pipe dream.”
“The carving is real enough,” declared Dan in awe.
Even more than upon their previous visit, the Cubs were impressed by the lifelike appearance of the staring face.
As they gazed fixed at it, Midge inquired if the park authorities had been informed of the Cubs’ discovery.
“Mr. Hatfield talked to the park superintendent about it,” Dan told the group. “It was all news to Mr. Jennings. He said it must be the work of a crank. Park employees have been instructed to try to catch the sculptor, but they haven’t time to keep watch constantly.”
“Work has been done since we were here last,” observed Brad. He had been studying the face intently. “See! That section to the left has been finished.”
“That’s so,” agreed Red. “It’s funny the park people can’t catch the fellow.”
“They’re not too disturbed about it,” Brad replied carelessly. “After all, the carving is a credit to the park. Mr. Hatfield says it’s certainly being done by a skilled and talented sculptor.”
“He doesn’t have any idea who the person may be?” Dan questioned thoughtfully.
“Not the slightest. In fact, Webster City has only one really talented sculptor, and he’s so far up in years, it’s unlikely he’d attempt anything like this.”
After gazing at the clay image for awhile, the Cubs descended the sharp incline and struggled up the steep, uneven slope on the opposite side of the ravine.
Catching their breath, they viewed the strange face at close range. Lips and cheeks of the weird creature had been colored with powdered red sandstone. Bits of broken dishes formed the whites of the eyes.
To the left of the face, on the rock shelf lay a grotesque fallen tree trunk, its dead fingers of roots stretching out toward the carving. It was at the base of this tree that the Cubs found the dead ashes of a fire.
“Gosh! It gives me the creeps just looking at that face!” Fred muttered. “Let’s get our clay and beat it.”
The boys began to fill their pails. Now and then as they worked, they kept casting furtive glances at the face on the wall. A grim, half-smile played over the stoical features, as if the carved man were enjoying his own little joke.
“Where do you suppose that bird keeps himself?” Mack demanded suddenly. “The one who does the carving, I mean?”
“He may hide in the forest here,” Brad replied. “Whoever he is, the park officials will catch up with him in time. They’re just too busy to spend much time watching.”
Dan straightened suddenly. His attention had been seized by a faint rustling sound and a slight movement of bushes to the right of the clay face.
He stood tense on the rock shelf, convinced that someone was watching.
“What’s wrong, Dan?” Brad asked, instantly alert. “See anyone?”
“Indians maybe?” teased Red.
The snicker died on his lips and his blood fairly congealed as two men silently stepped from behind the foliage. Both wore corduroy pants, rough looking shirts, boots and sombrero-type hats.
However, the gaunt faces with skin pulled tightly over cheek bones, plainly distinguished them as Indians.
“Jeepers creepers!” Chips muttered and sucked in his breath.
The Cubs instinctively clustered together. Although the sudden appearance of the two strangers did not frighten them, they were made vaguely uneasy.
The taller of the two Indians wore a bracelet decorated with silver and turquoise. An ornamental belt girded his lean waist.
“Good afternoon,” said Brad. He spoke evenly enough though inwardly he was quaking a bit. “Anything we can do for you?”
The Indian replied with a guttural rumble in his throat.
“No speakum English,” murmured Red, with a wink at Fred.
The Indian froze him with a quick glance.
“Speakum English very well,” he replied sarcastically. “I graduated from the University of New Mexico.”
“Oh!” gasped Red, taken aback. “I—I’m sorry. I thought from your clothes—that is—”
“Never mind, Red,” Brad came to his rescue. He spoke politely to the two Indians. “We’re a Den of Cub Scouts, out for a hike. This carved face interests us. You made it perhaps?”
The Indian shook his head. “I am Eagle Feather,” he introduced himself. “This is White Nose. We are of the People.”
“That means you’re Navajos, doesn’t it?” asked Dan, who had been reading up on customs of the reservation Indians.
“We come from New Mexico,” Eagle Feather replied.
“We search for one of our brothers,” added the other Indian. White Nose also spoke excellent English, though with less ease.
His raven-hued hair was combed back straight and long. In the lobe of his left ear hung a single turquoise earring.
“A scurrilous prairie dog!” muttered Eagle Feather.
“You see him, perhaps?” White Nose questioned.
“No prairie dogs,” answered Brad. “In fact, this is all Greek to us. We don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Say, I bet this is all a joke!” exclaimed Mack. “Mr. Hatfield has planned this whole thing to point up our Navajo pow-wow!”
Midge gave him a quick kick in the shins. The grim expressions of the two Indians had convinced him that their appearance had not been planned by either Mr. Hatfield or Mr. Holloway.
The two Indians had turned to regard intently the weird carving on the cliff wall.
“We search,” said Eagle Feather, “for the one who made that face in the clay. I called him brother, but he no longer is of the tribe. He is an outcast.”
“Dishonored,” added White Nose.
“He must be punished for his sin against the tribe,” went on Eagle Feather. “You have seen him here at the cliff?”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brad declared uneasily. “We came upon this carved face only a few days ago. We don’t know anything about it, and that’s the truth.”
“What’s this tribesman done that you’re so anxious to find him?” Dan asked curiously.
The two Indians, however, did not reply to the question.
Apparently satisfied that the Cubs could provide them with no information, they spoke together for a moment in their own tongue.
Then, with polite farewells, they vanished back into the trees.
For a long while after the Indians had gone, the Cubs remained speechless.
“Did it happen? Or did we dream it?” Mack muttered.
“We didn’t dream it,” replied Brad soberly. “I almost wish we had.”
“Those guys are tough,” said Dan. “Did you notice the expression of their faces? Whoever that Indian is that they’re after, I feel sorry for him.”
“He must have violated some law of the tribe,” Chips speculated. “Gosh! This is going to be exciting!”
“It may be a lot more than that,” declared Brad. The Cubs saw that he was deeply worried. “I don’t like it a bit—not a bit. Grab your clay fast, and let’s get out of here. I want to talk to Mr. Hatfield.”
CHAPTER 6
ANOTHER LOSS
The meeting with the two Indians had excited all the Cubs and as they hiked back to the day camp, they could discuss no other subject.
“Did you notice Eagle Feather’s belt?” Dan asked the others. “It had big discs of silver strung together on leather.”
“Seeing it gave me an idea,” declared Brad enthusiastically. “We’ll want to make some fancy Indian costumes for our pow-wow. We can rig up calico shirts and slit denim trousers up the side. But we’ll need belts to set off the outfits.”
“Maybe you can wheedle one from the Indians,” Red twitted.
“I’ve got a better idea. We’ll make em!”
“Know anyone that owns a silver mine?” Midge scoffed.
“No, but the tops of peanut butter cans will do just as well. We can use the metal discs, punch them with holes and string them on leather straps.”
“Say, that’s a good idea!” Dan approved instantly. “Wouldn’t cost us a cent either.”
“I know what would snap up our pow-wow more than anything else,” declared Fred. “A couple of real Indians!”
“White Nose and Eagle Feather, for instance?” chuckled Chips, stepping over a fallen tree on the trail.
“Sure. Why not?”
“We’ll appoint you a committee of one to arrange it.”
“Mr. Hatfield might do it,” interposed Brad, taking Chips’ suggestion half seriously. “Those Indians are well educated and they might be willing to cooperate with the Cub organization. The only trouble is, we don’t know where they’re staying in Webster City.”
“Or what brought them here,” added Dan soberly. “I didn’t like all that talk about searching for one of their brothers. They were too grim. To me, it had an ugly sound.”
“They seemed to think that the person they’re after carved the face on the cliff,” remarked Mack. “That deepens the mystery.”
“I wish Professor Sarazen of the Webster City College art staff could see that carving,” Brad said thoughtfully. “If I get a chance, I think I’ll drop around at his place and tell him about it.”
The Den Chief had been swinging along through the forest at a smooth but fast pace. Now, coming to a little brook, he paused abruptly.
“Whad’you see?” demanded Dan, who was directly behind.
Without answering immediately, the older boy bent down to examine a crude snare which had been built across a game run near the stream bank. “Someone’s been hunting for rabbits here!” he exclaimed.
“And hunting is illegal in the metropolitan park preserve!”
“Sure, it is. Notice anything unusual about this snare!”
Dan nodded. “I saw some pictures like it in those Indian books I read.”
“It’s an Indian snare all right.”
“Maybe White Nose and Eagle Feather set it up here,” Fred speculated.
“Maybe,” agreed Brad, his voice trailing off.
He pocketed the snare, and the Cubs went on to the day camp.
So much time had been lost that the boys knew they would have to work fast to complete their hogan before dark. During their absence, Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway had started the frame of the hut. Bent boughs had been tied firmly together with leather and cords.
“The Navajos have eight different types of houses,” the Cub leader informed the boys as they worked. “The dwelling is erected in a single day, for all the neighbors come in to help. On the reservations, they’re usually made of pinon logs, cedar bark, an earth roof, and the chinks filled with mud.”
For an hour the Cubs labored, taking satisfaction in seeing the hogan grow slowly but surely.
“There!” Brad declared in satisfaction, as the square doorway was nailed on, “it’s finished! I call it a dandy job too!”
“You do?” demanded a voice from behind him.
Brad whirled to see Ross Langdon standing there, a grin on his face.
“Oh, hello, Ross,” Brad greeted him, trying to make his voice cordial. “Didn’t hear you come up.”
Ross had been studying the hogan, and obviously was impressed by the work. But he would not say so. He sauntered over and leaned rather heavily against the doorway.
“Hey, Ross!” exclaimed Dan, dropping his hammer. “Don’t do that. You might knock the thing down.”
“Why should I bother?” Ross retorted loftily. “A good strong wind will take care of it. Den 1 has a much better hogan. We really did a job.”
“Glad to hear it,” Dan replied, refusing to take offense.
Ross’ unexpected arrival in camp did not please the other Cubs. Chips, in particular, had not abandoned his belief that the Den 1 boy had been responsible for the loss of the painted paddle. He now eyed him suspiciously.
“What brings you here so often, anyhow?” he demanded.
“Oh, just looking around.”
It was on the tip of Chips’ tongue to accuse Ross of taking the missing paddle. However, a warning glance from Brad caused him to lapse into silence.
Ross moved away from the hogan toward a site on the beach which Dan painstakingly had cleared in preparation for making a large sand painting.
“What’s going up here?” the Den 1 boy asked curiously.
“Oh, just a surprise feature for the pow-wow,” Dan told him. “An added attraction.”
“We may have a few other surprises to spring too,” hinted Red.
“Such as?”
“Real Indian stuff,” Red informed him. “Maybe some Indians.”
This was too much for Ross. “Fat chance of digging up a live Indian in Webster City,” he scoffed. “You’re just doing a lot of silly talking.”
Darkness was settling over the treetops, so Mr. Hatfield brought the friendly argument to an end by saying it was time to end the work for that day.
“It looks a little like rain,” he observed, squinting at the sky. “We’ll have to take our tools inside tonight.”
“Some of the stuff can be loaded into the canoe and paddled down stream to the cabin,” suggested Mr. Holloway.
Brad and Dan, aided by Fred, quickly gathered up the more cumbersome items, stowing them in the craft. Mr. Hatfield supervised the loading.
He intended to assign Brad and Dan to take the canoe in, with Mr. Holloway riding along to supervise the job.
Before he could do so, Ross grabbed up one of the paddles.
“Let me help,” he offered.
“Well, what d’you know?” Chips muttered, his mouth sagging open.
Without waiting for anyone’s consent, Ross stepped into the canoe. He and Mr. Holloway shoved off and with deft, sure strokes paddled downstream toward the nearby Holloway cabin.
“Ross certainly turned cooperative fast,” Dan muttered. “You could push me over with a hummingbird’s feather!”
“Look at that boy paddle!” murmured Midge in grudging admiration. “He’s good!”
“That’s why he grabbed a paddle,” Red said contemptuously. “He wanted to show off.”
“He’ll win the canoe race for Den 1,” Midge declared with misgiving.
Dan and Brad watched Ross silently and without envy. Each summer the Langdon boy spent several weeks at his parents’ cottage on Lake Elmo and quite naturally had acquired a high degree of skill at all types of water sports.
The two Den 2 Cubs knew full well that they would be up against tough competition in the race. They wanted to win for their organization. Though they made no comment, both silently determined to practice harder than ever before in an effort to at least give Ross a run for his money.
In the next few days, the Cubs spent all their spare time either working at the camp or otherwise making preparation for the coming pow-wow.
One night after school, Dan, Brad and Midge canvassed several neighborhoods in search of items to be exhibited and also clothing to be sent to the Navajo reservation.
By design, Brad included the home of Professor Sarazen as one of their stops. Mrs. Sarazen gave the boys a bundle of clothing and showed them a half dozen beautifully woven Navajo blankets which her husband had acquired on a trip West.
“Would you like to have one of them for your pow-wow?” she inquired. “They’re all very fine blankets.”
“Gee! We’d sure like to have one, if you aren’t afraid it might be damaged!” Dan exclaimed gratefully.
“I’ve loaned things to the Cubs before,” Mrs. Sarazen said, smiling. “They’re very dependable, I’ve learned.”
Removing one of the smaller blankets from a cedar chest, she spread it out on the floor for the boys to see.
“This is a ceremonial blanket, often called a Yeibitchai or a sand-painting rug,” she explained. “The first of this type was made in 1910 by Hosteen Tia, a Navajo medicine-man.”
“Why do they call it a sand painting rug?” Brad asked curiously.
“Each rug is a replica of a sand painting,” Mrs. Sarazen explained.
“Say, maybe we could make our sand painting like this blanket!” Dan proposed. “It’s an awfully complicated design though.”
“It is that,” agreed Mrs. Sarazen. “Almost too intricate, I’d judge, for duplication.”
The blanket was largely woven in black and white. It was characterized by figures representing twelve rattlesnakes.
Mrs. Sarazen told the Cubs that the original sand painting from which the blanket had been copied represented a ceremony connected with a snake-bite cure.
“Take the blanket along now,” she urged. “If the design isn’t too intricate, use it for your own sand painting.”
Just then Professor Sarazen sauntered in from the garden. He told the boys more about Navajo blankets, tribal customs and habits.
In turn, Brad related how the Cubs had come upon the strange carved face on the cliff wall.
“I must see that carving for myself!” Professor Sarazen exclaimed. “From your description, I doubt that it was made by any Webster City sculptor.”
Dan was pleased to have acquired a genuine Navajo blanket. The next night after school, he and Brad took it to the river camp to show to the other Cubs.
Mr. Hatfield especially, was impressed by the fine quality of the weaving.
“This is too fine a blanket to keep here until the pow-wow,” he declared. “Since Dan is in charge of the sand painting, why not make him custodian of the blanket?”
“In that case, I want to take it home with me,” Dan returned promptly. “That is, until the day of the pow-wow.”
“I was going to suggest that, Dan.”
Using the blanket’s base design, the Cubs made a rough sketch of the sand painting. Then they began to block out the main outline on the beach.
They were hard at work when an elderly man sauntered into camp. Dan instantly recognized him as Professor Sarazen, and rushed to welcome him.
“Making good use of that blanket, I see,” commented the teacher.
After admiring the start which the boys had made on the sand painting, he remarked that he had come, hoping someone would show him the carving at the ravine.
“I’ll be glad to guide you to the spot,” Dan offered.
“So’ll I,” chimed in Chips, eager for a little diversion.
“Wouldn’t mind a little hike myself,” added Fred quickly.
Mr. Hatfield laughed, remarking that he thought all the Cubs wanted to go.
“Mystery always is more intriguing than work,” he chuckled. “But then, we’re well along with our preparations for the big pow-wow. The hogan is finished, the sand painting started, and we expect to get at our Wells Fargo station in a couple of days. Let’s all knock off, and go to the cliff.”
The Cubs were hopeful that Professor Sarazen would be impressed by the great carved face. Nor were they mistaken.
Upon reaching the ravine, he made a careful inspection of the work, declaring it to be Indian in origin.
“A somewhat crude carving,” he told the Cubs, “but the work of a man of great talent. Amazing that such a face could be created here and no one have seen the artist.”
After Professor Sarazen had studied the face awhile, viewing it from several angles, the group returned to the river camp.
“Time to break up for tonight, boys,” Mr. Hatfield said. “See you all tomorrow after school—same time.”
As the other Cubs gathered up their belongings, Dan went to the hogan for the Navajo blanket. He was gone a long while. When he came out of the hut, he went directly to Mr. Hatfield.
“I can’t find the blanket Professor Sarazen let us have,” he said nervously. “Did you put it anywhere?”
“Why, no, Dan. I saw you put it inside the hut myself.”
“Just before we all left for the cliff,” Dan agreed.
“It must be there.”
Dan shook his head. “It’s gone—stolen,” he said miserably. “It was valuable too. How am I going to face Professor Sarazen?”
CHAPTER 7
A BRUSH-OFF
Professor Sarazen had very little to say when Dan gave him the disheartening information about the Navajo blanket. His kindly silence, however, made the Cubs feel all the worse about the loss.
“It wasn’t your fault,” the professor said quietly.
“But it was!” Dan insisted. “When we borrowed the blanket, it was understood that we’d take good care of it. We never dreamed anyone would run off with it in broad daylight.”
“It may show up later,” Professor Sarazen said to encourage him. “I hope so.”
Well aware that the Cubs felt very badly, he did not add that the blanket was one of the most valuable in his collection.
While Dan talked with Professor Sarazen, Mr. Hatfield and Brad again searched the hogan where the blanket had been left.
“Hello! Something else is gone!” the Cub leader exclaimed, his gaze roving swiftly about the interior of the hut. “I stored a box of tinned food here, ready for a cook-out later this week. You didn’t move it, Brad?”
“Haven’t been inside this hogan all day.”
“Well, it went the same way the blanket did,” Mr. Hatfield said grimly. “Frankly, Brad, I don’t like the way things are disappearing.”
“That paddle too,” Brad recalled. “The Cubs still blame Ross.”
“I don’t think he took it,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Ross isn’t a thief. Someone else is prowling around this camp. We’ll have to be very careful about leaving anything of value lying around, even during the daytime. Warn the Cubs.”
“I will, Mr. Hatfield.”
In inspecting the inside of the hut, the Cub leader’s eye picked up several moccasin prints not far from the doorway. He stooped to examine them.
“Ha! Here’s something!” he exclaimed.
“Moccasin prints!” agreed Brad. “Say, do you suppose those two Indians—White Nose and Eagle Feather could have been sneaking around here?”
“It’s a possibility, Brad.”