RED’S MISTAKE
Scarcely had Brad, Dan and Red taken refuge than two shadowy figures
emerged through the tunnel.
Watching tensely from a niche in the limestone shelf, they saw Eagle
Feather climb nimbly from the floor of the underground stream to the rim
of the circular chamber.
He stood there silhouetted in the opening, the firelight flickering upon
his fierce features. In his hand was a drawn knife.
Seeing the weapon, Red clutched Dan’s hand in a tight grip. He held his
breath, fearful lest he draw attention to himself or his mates.
The Cubs were more afraid for Miquel than for themselves. But the old
Indian medicine man remained undisturbed.
Observing White Nose and Eagle Feather on the ledge above him, he
murmured, “Ah-hah-lah-nih,” in affectionate greeting.
White Nose and Eagle Feather leaped down in front of the old Indian,
their attitude hostile. They spoke rapidly, fiercely in their own tongue.
Brad, Dan and Red could not understand what was being said, though they
caught one word “turquoise.”
They guessed, however, that the two Indians were accusing the old
medicine man of having stolen the turquoise toad from the tribe.
Old Miquel began shaking his head in a bewildered way. Abandoning the
fire, he backed away from his accusers.
Step by step, White Nose and Eagle Feather pursued him.
Old Miquel backed nearer and nearer the edge of the ledge.
To the horror of the Cubs, he suddenly toppled backwards into the deep
pool. He struggled briefly and went down.
Before Brad and Dan could make a move, White Nose leaped into the water.
He submerged, and seemingly could not find Old Miquel’s body. In a moment
though, he was back on the surface, holding Old Miquel by a lock of his
long, black hair.
Eagle Feather helped to haul the old man out on the ledge.
“He’s done for,” he said, speaking in English. “His head was gashed on a
rock.”
“The Gods have spoken,” muttered White Nose. “Vengeance is not to be
ours. They have punished him for robbing his people of the Turquoise
Toad.”
“Let us go,” replied Eagle Feather.
To the horror of the watching Cubs, the two Indians made no attempt to
revive the old man. Taking it for granted that he already was beyond
help, they quitted the cavern.
Brad, Dan and Red waited only until they were certain that the two
Indians did not intend to return.
Then, they went quickly to the old man who lay motionless on the ledge.
Brad stripped off his jacket and placed it over the wet body. The old
fellow did not stir.
“He wasn’t under water long enough to have taken much into his lungs,”
the boy declared, feeling of the Indian’s pulse. “Got a handkerchief?”
Dan produced one which the older boy used to staunch the flow of blood at
Old Miquel’s temple.
“He must have hit his head on a rock all right,” he declared. “But the
cut isn’t deep. It’s mostly a flesh wound.”
“How’s his pulse?” Red inquired anxiously. “Is he still alive?”
“I think so. The pulse is so weak though that I hardly can catch it.
White Nose and Eagle Feather evidently thought he was dead or they
wouldn’t have gone off.”
“What’ll we do?” Dan asked. “Go for help?”
“He needs a doctor right away. But I’m afraid to leave him here alone.”
“If he revives, he might roll off into the pool,” Dan agreed. “Then he’d
sure drown.”
The three Cubs huddled about the prone figure, uncertain what to do.
Aside from their fears for Old Miquel they knew that their own long
absence from the Cub camp might have occasioned considerable alarm.
By now they had lost all track of time, but they were certain more than
two hours had elapsed since they had left Webster City. Soon it would be
time for the Pack pow-pow to start. With three Cubs absent, the Den 1
boys would be frantic.
Dan searched in the darkness until he found the Navajo blanket which
belonged to Professor Sarazen. This he used as an additional covering
over the old Indian.
“We can’t leave him alone, that’s sure,” Brad said with decision. “Dan,
you and Red, hot-foot it for the camp. I’ll stay here.”
“You’re needed more than I am to run off the events and take part in the
canoe race,” Dan replied. “Without you, Den 2 hasn’t a chance.”
“Getting help for Old Miquel is more important than winning a
competition, Dan.”
“Of course,” the younger boy agreed simply. “But you’ll be needed while
Midge can substitute for me in the race. See what I mean?”
“The Pack comes first,” Red sided with Dan. “I’d stay and let Dan go
only—well, I might as well admit it, I’m scared to death to be here
alone.”
Neither Dan nor Brad made light of Red’s fears for they knew that even an
hour’s wait in the cave could prove a terrifying experience.
“We’re wasting valuable time,” Dan urged. “Get going, you two. I don’t
mind staying. Honestly, I don’t.”
“Want Red to wait with you?”
“No. If the pow-wow is run off, he’ll be needed in camp. No use tying him
down here when he couldn’t do any good. I’ll make out.”
“We’ll hurry as fast as we can,” Brad promised. “The second we reach
camp, we’ll send a doctor and some stretcher bearers.”
The Den Chief clasped Dan’s hand for an instant, well aware that the
younger boy deliberately had sacrificed himself that his Cubmates might
have a better chance to win.
“If Old Miquel should come to, he might get rough,” Brad warned in
parting. “Don’t take chances. If he makes trouble, just get out of the
cave as fast as you can.”
“Sure,” Dan promised. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. Just get to
camp as fast as you can and tell Mr. Hatfield what happened.”
With reluctance, Red and Brad started off through the tunnel, not at all
sure that they were doing right in leaving Dan behind. But then, they had
no choice. Old Miquel must have medical attention at once, or he might
never recover.
At the mouth of the cave, the two Cubs halted briefly to take bearings.
White Nose and Eagle Feather had vanished. The sun was well up in the
sky, indicating that the hour was even later than they had anticipated.
“Gosh, I’ll bet the pow-wow has started!” Red exclaimed. “We’ve got to
get back fast.”
Brad edged around the ledge to the beach. He was starting off the way
they had come when Red halted him with a suggestion.
“I know a shorter way,” he insisted. “It’s through the woods, and hard
going for a short distance. But we can cut off at least twenty minutes.”
“You’re sure of the trail?” Brad asked dubiously.
“It isn’t marked, but I know this section. Besides, one can’t get lost in
the park.”
“Don’t you believe it!” Brad replied. “Maybe not permanently lost, but
one could lose a lot of time wandering around looking for a main road or
a marked path.”
“We’re not far from our camp, Brad. I’m sure of the way.”
“Okay then, lead off. The important thing is to get back as fast as we
can. Old Miquel’s life may depend upon it.”
Confidently, Red started off, circling behind the beach into a dense
forest of towering trees.
At first the going was quite easy, but as they moved farther and farther
from the water front, the underbrush became more difficult. Soon they
encountered a swampy area which slowed them down.
“Say, we’re not making any time this way,” Brad protested, wading through
a boggy place. “Let’s strike back toward the beach.”
“The going will be easier as soon as we’re through this,” Red insisted.
“I remember. Even though it’s hard going for a little while, we’ll save
time.”
Brad had his own opinion. However, realizing that it was too late to turn
back now without losing more precious minutes, he kept silent. He blamed
himself severely for having listened to Red. From past experience he
should have known that the younger boy’s enthusiasm often carried him
away.
The swampy area behind them, the Cubs looked in vain for a marked trail.
“We should have hit it right here,” Red declared, deeply troubled. “Well,
it can’t be too far ahead.”
“You’re not losing your way, are you?” Brad demanded. “Dan’s back there
in the cave, waiting and—”
“I’ll get you into camp,” Red cut in though with less confidence. “I may
be a little mixed, but I’m sure of my directions. We’ll strike the marked
trail any minute now.”
On they plowed, past fallen trees and then through another stretch of
mosquito swamp. By this time Red was mud to his knees. The sleeve of his
jacket was torn, and his face had been scratched by brambles. Brad was in
little better condition.
For awhile Red kept doggedly on, the older boy plodding behind him. Then
they came to another much larger area of fairly deep swamp. Both boys
halted, gazing at each other in despair.
“We’re lost,” Red burst out, “and it’s all my fault. I thought I knew the
way. Now I’m mixed up.”
Brad did not blame his friend for he knew he had tried his best.
“We can’t cross this swamp area,” he said quietly. “We made a bad mistake
leaving the beach route. Now we’ll have to retrace part of our way, and
try to hit the old trail.”
“That will delay us a lot. And Dan—he’ll be expecting us.”
“I know,” Brad said grimly. “We’ve let him down. But it can’t be helped.
We made one mistake. The important thing is not to make two of ’em. With
luck, we’ll still reach camp before it’s too late.”