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!