Dan Carter and the Great Carved Face Part 8

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 cl.u.s.tered 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 speak.u.m English," murmured Red, with a wink at Fred.

The Indian froze him with a quick glance.

"Speak.u.m 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.