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?”