A grotesque carved face loomed on the wall. (See Page 31) “Dan Carter and the Great Carved Face”

CONTENTS

Chapter Page 1. A Missing Cub 1 2. The Face on the Cliff 12 3. Red Proves His Point 22 4. Suspicion 33 5. Strange Indians 45 6. Another Loss 54 7. A “Brush-off” 67 8. Dan’s Sand Painting 74 9. A Lost Paddle 83 10. An Underground Stream 93 11. Friend or Foe? 104 12. Exploring the Cave 114 13. More Trouble 126 14. Red’s Slip of Tongue 135 15. The Man in the Cave 148 16. Danger 158 17. Red’s Mistake 168 18. The Pow-wow 177 19. Three Points 188 20. The Turquoise Toad 204

Dan Carter and the Great Carved Face

CHAPTER I
A MISSING CUB

Firelight splashed the eager faces of six Cub Scouts, who squatted Indian fashion around the glowing log.

Sam Hatfield, cubmaster of Den 2 at Webster City, raised his hand in cheery greeting.

“How!”

“How!” responded the Cubs. Expectantly, they waited for their chief to speak.

On this particular night, the den meeting was being held on a river slope directly behind the home of Burton Holloway, one of the Den Dads.

As all the Cubs knew, the session was no ordinary week-end ceremonial. For Mr. Hatfield had promised that an important announcement would be forthcoming.

“Everyone here?” The cubmaster’s gaze roved from one Cub to another as he started to call the roll. “Brad Wilber!”

“Present,” drawled the Den Chief.

Brad was nearly 14, a Boy Scout and an acknowledged leader among the younger Cubs. Mr. Hatfield depended a great deal upon the dark-haired, serious youngster, having found him to be even-tempered and quick of wit.

“Dan Carter!” the cubmaster resumed the roll call.

“Here,” answered Dan with a friendly grin. He was a sandy-haired boy, clever in school and a fine athlete. All the Cubs liked him.

Next Mr. Hatfield called the name of his own son, Fred, who replied with a loud “How! Me heap big Injun!”

The roll call also included Mack Tibbets, Chips Davis and Midge Holloway, a son of the Den Dad. But when Red Suell’s name was spoken, he did not respond.

“Where’s Red?” Mr. Hatfield inquired. In the flickering firelight he could not see the boys’ faces distinctly. “Not here yet?”

“Late again,” drawled Chips. “You know Red. He never can make a meeting on time.”

“I thought he’d be here tonight,” said Brad. “He had something special on his mind. Fact is, I’m a little bothered about it—”

“Someone’s coming down the hill now,” cut in Dan. He directed attention toward a shadowy, hurrying figure.

A moment later, Red, who had acquired the nickname because of his fiery hair, breathlessly joined the group. He carried a bulky object concealed in a large paper bag.

“Time you’re getting here!” Chips scolded him. “What you got in that sack?”

“Oh, nothing.” Red grinned mysteriously.

Carefully holding together the top edges of the bag so that none of the Cubs could see what it held, he took his place in the circle.

Mr. Hatfield stirred the log with a stick, sending up a shower of sparks.

“I’m about to spin a few Indian stories,” he remarked. “But first, now that we’re all here, I’ll tell you about next month’s den project. Ever hear of the Navajos?”

“Sure!” chirped Chips, proud of his knowledge. “Blankets! We’ve got some at home.”

The other Cubs hooted in derision.

id="Page_4" class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[4]"/>

“The Navajos are Indians,” corrected Dan. “They live on a large New Mexico reservation.”

“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Hatfield. “The Navajos are very skillful at weaving blankets and making silver ornaments, so Chips wasn’t too far off.”

“What do the Navajos have to do with our project?” asked Mack Tibbets curiously.

“A lot, I hope. I thought we might adopt a Navajo Pack.”

“Do the Navajos have Cub Scout organizations?” demanded Red. In his surprise, he nearly dropped the paper bag which he had kept so carefully tucked under his arm.

“Why should we adopt an Indian Pack?” questioned Midge Holloway.

“Because the Navajo youngsters need our help,” Mr. Hatfield explained. “The government has aided the Indians by setting up schools and providing many necessities. But while some of the Navajos are well off, others are very poor, depending almost entirely upon sheep raising for a living. Their dwellings are hogans or houses built of sticks, rock and mud. Few have adequate clothing or shoes.”

“What do the Navajo Cubs need?” asked Brad.

“All sorts of things. Books, uniforms, craft articles and especially money.”

Mr. Hatfield went on to say that if the Cubs decided to adopt a Navajo Pack, cash might be raised by various projects, including an Indian pow-wow.

“Say, that sounds swell to me!” approved Dan instantly. “I’m for it!”

“Me too,” chimed in Midge Holloway.

All the other Cubs likewise voted in favor of the project.

The matter decided, Mr. Hatfield related several Indian stories. As the fire burned lower, the boys huddled close together, for a chill had come upon the summer night.

Unintentionally, Dan brushed against Red’s mysterious paper bag. He could tell by the feel that it held something soft and warm.

“What are you hiding, Red?” he demanded. “You keep clutching that sack as if you’re hanging onto a live rabbit. What’s in it?”

“A bear maybe,” grinned Red. “Wait and see!”

Remarking upon the darkness of the woods, he stared fixedly toward the tall pine trees. His intensity began to make the other Cubs feel a trifle uneasy.

“What’s wrong with you anyhow, Red?” Dan asked, losing impatience.

“Nothing,” Red returned innocently. “Gosh, but it’s getting dark! Do you ’spose any wild animals are out there in the woods watching our fire die down?”

“Probably a mountain lion, six wolves and a couple of bears,” Dan retorted. “All waiting to attack! Don’t try to stir our imaginations, Red.”

“Who me?” Red demanded indignantly.

He subsided into silence. However, a few minutes later, Dan heard him urge Mr. Hatfield to “tell a good scarey bear or wolf story.”

“It’s getting rather late,” the cubmaster rejoined. “Our wood is nearly gone.”

“I’ll get some more,” Red offered eagerly.

Before anyone could stop him, he darted off into the woods.

Instead of telling an animal story, Mr. Hatfield explained the origin of the Navajo fire dance, or mountain chant.

This spectacular Indian dance, he related, was performed by the braves four or five times a year, usually late in fall.

“The Navajos believe that bears and snakes are evil spirits,” the cubmaster remarked. “If a Navajo kills a bear, he fears that the animal’s spirit may enter his own body. So to free such an evil spirit from the body, the Indian braves take part in the fire dance ceremony which often lasts five days.”

Dan paid only scant attention as Mr. Hatfield described the colorful dance. He kept watching the fringe of woods for a glimpse of Red. Surely, the boy had been gone long enough to return with an armful of firewood!

“What’s become of him?” he whispered to Brad who sat on his left in the circle.

“Oh, he’ll be along soon enough,” Brad shrugged. “Relax.”

Mr. Hatfield finished his description of the fire dance. Mr. Holloway then told the Cubs of plans which included the building of a Navajo trading post, a hogan and perhaps the making of a sand painting.

“We’ll practice canoeing too,” he added. “Fact is, we’re hoping to schedule a canoe race with Den 1 at the end of the season.”

“We’ll beat ’em too!” Midge announced proudly. “Dan and Brad are handy with a paddle.”

“So is Ross Langdon of Den 1,” Dan reminded him. “Don’t count our trophies until we win ’em.”

“Also, keep in mind that winning isn’t nearly as important as good, friendly competition and fun,” Mr. Hatfield added. “Now, shall we close the meeting by the Cub Promise?”

Quickly the boys formed in a circle about the dying embers of the fire. In unison they recited:

As the meeting broke up, Mr. Hatfield doused water on the live coals.

“What became of Red?” he asked. “He left camp twenty minutes ago for more wood. He must have gone to the house.”

“Probably to get a head start at the refreshments,” chimed in Chips. “That’s Red!”

“I’ll see if he’s there,” Dan offered quickly. “I saw him disappear into the trees, but he may have circled around.”

A light glowed from the kitchen windows of the Holloway house on the hill.

The dwelling stood at the extreme edge of the metropolitan park area in the section which included many acres of wild, almost virgin timber. On many occasions the Cubs had been allowed to use the Holloway cabin which fronted the river. Often too, they explored the marked trails, usually accompanied by either Mr. Holloway or the cubmaster.

Climbing the gravel path, Dan peered in at the open kitchen door. In the glare of the electric light he could see Mrs. Holloway setting a long table with paper plates and napkins. Fragrant chocolate simmered on the stove.

“Oh, hello, Dan,” Mrs. Holloway greeted him cordially. “You’re the first Cub to come looking for food.”

“Then Red hasn’t been here?”

“Why, no, not yet.”

“We’re looking for him,” Dan explained. “Guess he must be somewhere else.” Without telling more, he ran back to the river front to report to Mr. Hatfield.

Both Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father were troubled to learn that Red had not been found at the house. Anxiously, they gazed toward the dark woods.

“Maybe he’s lost in there,” Dan said, reading their thought. “I saw him start off that way.”

Mr. Hatfield reached for a powerful flashlight which he always kept ready for use. “I thought Red had more sense than to go beyond view of the camp fire,” he commented. “He can’t be very far away though.”

“Let’s call to him,” proposed Mr. Holloway. “If he’s anywhere near, he’ll hear us.”

The two men shouted Red’s name repeatedly. No answering cry came from the darkness. However, the other Cubs gathered about, alarmed by the disappearance of their den mate.

“It’s really my fault,” Brad said, addressing the two men. “I shouldn’t have let him do it.”

“Do what, Brad?” questioned Mr. Hatfield. “What are you talking about.”

“The truth is, Red planned to play a little joke on the Cubs.”

“A joke? What kind of joke, Brad?”

“It was

connected with that paper sack he had with him. He brought a bear skin rug from home. Red figured he’d slip away from camp, put it on, and then sneak back to scare the Cubs. You know—pretend to be a real bear.”

“Red should have known better than to try such a kid trick!”

“It was my fault,” Brad said, taking the blame. “I should have set my foot down hard when he told me his plan. He was so hepped up about it, I let him go ahead.”

“But why didn’t he come back as he planned?”

“That’s what has me bothered,” Brad admitted anxiously. “He intended to make a few scratching sounds in the trees and show himself about the time the story telling reached a climax.”

“Red is such a youngster,” Mr. Holloway murmured. “He never did have much sense of direction—”

“Right now, he may be wandering around in the woods, hopelessly lost,” added Mr. Hatfield grimly. “We must find him quickly, or it may turn into an all-night job!”

CHAPTER 2
THE FACE ON THE CLIFF

The Cubs bunched together, waiting for orders. Red’s plight, they knew, easily might be a serious one. If he foolishly had wandered deep into the woods, it might be necessary to organize searching parties in order to find him.

“Mr. Holloway, Dan, Brad and I will try to pick up his trail,” the cubmaster said quietly. “The rest of you go to the house and wait there.”

Dan and Brad followed Mr. Holloway and the cubmaster to the fringe of woods, leaving the other Cubs to make their way up the hill. Mr. Hatfield took an optimistic view of the disappearance.

“Red has good sense,” he said. “Furthermore, unless he’s forgotten Cub training, he’ll eventually find his way back to camp or to the road. The worst is, if he doesn’t show up shortly, his parents will be scared.”

Ahead, the cool forest loomed dark and rather terrifying. By day, the trails wound pleasantly through the preserve, skirting ravines and crossing rustic bridges. But now, the entire area had a forbidding appearance.

“We all must stay close together,” Mr. Hatfield instructed. “Now Dan, show us where it was that you last saw Red.”

Dan already had identified the spot, a narrow gap through two tall birch trees. He had noted the place, for the white trunks had stood out distinctly in the starlight.

After he had pointed it out, Mr. Hatfield went ahead, flashing the bright beam of his flashlight on the ground.

“Red came this way, all right,” he declared, elated at having picked up the trail so easily. “See! Here’s a deep heel mark in the mud.”

“What could have induced him to wander off?” Mr. Holloway speculated. “I thought Red knew better. He evidently had no intention of gathering wood because he passed up plenty of it at the edge of the woods.”

In the dark forest, it became increasingly difficult to follow Red’s trail. After moving deeper into the trees, the party halted to listen for a moment and then to shout Red’s name.

“He’s wandered a long distance away, that’s sure,” the cubmaster said. “Perhaps to the ravine. Our voices might not carry to him there.”

“But why would Red go that far?” Brad asked himself aloud. “I can’t understand it. He only intended to play a little joke on the Cubs.”

Mr. Hatfield, in advance of the others, halted so abruptly that Brad bumped into him.

“Hello, here’s something!” the cubmaster exclaimed.

He stooped to pick up a paper sack lying in plain view on a log.

“That’s the one Red had!” Brad cried, instantly recognizing it.

Inside the sack, Mr. Hatfield found a neatly folded bearskin rug.

“Red intended to play a joke on the Cubs all right,” he commented. “But something caused him to change his mind.”

“For some reason he decided to go deeper into the woods,” Mr. Holloway added thoughtfully. “Evidently, he wanted to travel fast, so he pitched this bulky sack. He left it on the log, where he could find it easily on his way back.”

More than ever mystified by the boy’s strange disappearance, the four now hastened on. Soon however, Mr. Hatfield reported that he no longer could find any shoeprints on the trail.

“Red must have turned off somewhere,” he told the others. “That will make it a lot harder to find him.”

The four paused, discouraged by the realization that it might take hours to learn what had become of the missing boy. A cool wind whispered through the pines, causing Dan to pull his sweater more tightly about him. Red, he recalled, had worn no jacket. Unless they found him soon, he might actually suffer from cold.

“Listen!” commanded Brad suddenly. “I thought I heard something!”

The four stood perfectly still, listening. Overhead an owl hooted, but there was no other unusual sound.

“I was certain I heard something,” Brad muttered, ashamed to have aroused false hope. “It sounded like someone running. Guess I imagined it.”

“We’ll have to go back a ways and try to pick up Red’s trail again,” Mr. Hatfield said. “I only hope my flashlight holds out.”

The searchers turned around, but scarcely had they gone a dozen yards, than Brad exclaimed:

“There! I heard it again! Someone is running through the underbrush!”

The other three had halted to listen.

“You’re right, Brad!” exclaimed Mr. Hatfield. “It must be Red!”

Their hope revived, the four shouted the missing boy’s name repeatedly. To their intense relief, an answering shout came from the left of the trail.

“That’s Red!” cried Brad.

“He’s over by the ravine, just as I thought!” added Mr. Hatfield. “Keep shouting, so he can find us. We’ll wait here on the trail.”

Five minutes later, Red struggled through the bushes and brambles to confront his would-be rescuers with a sheepish grin.

He was breathing heavily, having hastened as fast as he could.

“Gosh, were you out looking for me?” he asked, sagging down on a log to rest.

“Were we looking for you!” Brad exclaimed furiously. “You and your crazy jokes!”

“I intended to come right back—honest I did. But gosh, I had the scare of my life! I’m still shakey from the shock of it.”

“You didn’t meet a live bear?” Dan asked.

Red shook his head and took a deep breath. “I—I saw a fire through the trees,” he informed his listeners.

“A fire?” Mr. Holloway repeated. “In the forest? That could be serious if it spread. So many cabins and cottages are situated near the park preserve. Fires aren’t permitted at night, and in daytime only with written permission of the warden.”

“That’s why I started off to find out about it,” Red said quickly. “I thought if anyone had left a fire unwatched, the Cubs ought to know about it.”

“Where did you see the fires?” Mr. Hatfield cut in. “Near the ravine?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t unattended. When I got there—oh, gee!—it scared me half out of my wits. I was afraid to go very close.”

“Get to the point, Red,” Mr. Holloway urged impatiently. “What did you see?”

“A fire had been built on a shelf of the ravine. It was blazing up high against the rocks, making the whole cliff wall illuminated. A man, who was wrapped in a blanket, sat there. His back was to me so I didn’t see his face.”

“What’s so frightening about that?” Brad demanded. “Was that all you saw?”

“I’m

coming to the important part,” Red went on breathlessly. “Near the fire—on the clay wall—I saw another face—a huge one.”

“Sure you didn’t imagine it?” asked Mr. Hatfield dryly.

“It was real as anything,” Red insisted. “The face was as big as a house and it sort of leered out at me. Oh, it was weird with the firelight throwing crazy shadows over the cliff wall! I took one look and beat it back here!”

“You dreamed all that up!” Brad accused.

“I did not!” Red denied furiously. “I’ll show you if you want me to!”

“It’s late now,” Mr. Hatfield said. “The Cubs are waiting at the house.”

“I’d like to prove that I’m right. Honest, I didn’t imagine it!”

“You can show us the face tomorrow—by daylight,” the cubmaster replied.

“But it may be gone then.”

“It will be all right,” scoffed Brad. “And that man you saw by the fire too! I’ve explored every trail in the metropolitan park and never came upon any giants.”

“The face didn’t look human,” Red described it nervously. “It sort of loomed out of the wall—huge eyes.”

“As large as saucers?” teased Dan.

“Yes, they were, and you needn’t rub it in! I saw the face, and I’m willing to prove it if anyone will give me a chance!”

“You’ll have your chance tomorrow,” Mr. Hatfield soothed him. “Odd though, about that fire.”

“I seriously doubt the warden would grant anyone a permit in this section of the park,” added Mr. Holloway. “The danger of starting a forest fire is great at this time of year.”

Although Red insisted that his attention first had been attracted by a glimpse of a camp fire through the trees, the others could not now see the blaze. Despite the boy’s insistence that the sight he had viewed was very real, they were inclined to think his eyes had played him false.

Decidedly crestfallen, Red accompanied his would-be rescuers back to the Holloway cottage. Immediately, the other Cubs fell upon him, demanding to know where he had been so long.

Brad and Dan would have spared their chum the tale, but Red himself told it. In fact, he expanded upon his original story, building up the face he had seen as an awe-inspiring apparition.

At first the Cubs were impressed, but as Red added more and more to the tale, they began to scoff. Soon they flatly informed him that he was “talking through his hat.”

“You were scared, that’s what!” accused Midge. “You thought you’d play a joke on us with that bear skin. Instead, the joke’s on you!”

“Sure, Red got out there in the woods and began seeing things that weren’t so,” chuckled Mack.

The teasing so upset Red that he spilled a little of the hot chocolate in the mug Mrs. Holloway had served him.

“I’ll show you,” he retorted fiercely. “Just give me a chance! That’s all I ask.”

The Cubs, one and all, grinned provokingly. Red subsided into hurt silence.

Then unexpectedly, Mrs. Holloway, the Den Mother, sided with Red. As she passed a plate of chicken sandwiches, she remarked quietly;

“About a half hour ago, while I was working in the kitchen, I noticed a light somewhere back in the woods. It looked for all the world like a bonfire.”

“A fire!” cried Red triumphantly. “What’d I tell you?”

“It struck me as very strange,” continued Mrs. Holloway. “With so many cottages nearby, a fire in the park could be serious unless carefully tended.”

“Then you think Red may not have imagined that face on the cliff?” inquired Mr. Hatfield thoughtfully.

“I’m wondering if an investigation might not be advisable.”

Mrs. Holloway’s observation was sufficient to completely change the attitude of the Cubs. Instead of making fun of Red, they now began to ask Mr. Hatfield when they could visit the ravine.

“Tomorrow,” he promised as the meeting broke up. “If anyone is camping in the woods without permission, we ought to find out about it. We’ll gather here after school for canoe practice and a little trip of exploration. Who knows, we may run into something interesting!”

CHAPTER 3
RED PROVES HIS POINT

The next night after school, all the Cubs except Mack, who had a paper route, gathered at the Holloway beach for canoe practice.

Dan, Brad, Chips and Fred had passed their swimming tests with flying colors. Red, less skillful at water sports, was assigned to painting paddles.

Mr. Hatfield provided him with a number of interesting Navajo designs, telling him to make his own selection.

“If you do a good job of painting, Red, we’ll exhibit your paddle at the Indian pow-wow,” he promised. “An award is to be made to the Den that turns in the most artistic one.”

“I’ll come up with a prize winner!” Red grinned. A talented art student in the Webster City elementary school, he was confident of his ability. “Right now, though, I’ve got other things on my mind.”

“Weird faces on the cliff?” the cubmaster prompted.

“My honor’s at stake,” Red declared. “If you’ll just give me a chance to prove—”

“All in good time,” promised Mr. Hatfield. “First, canoe practice, and then we’ll hike to the ravine to satisfy our curiosity.”

While Red busied himself on the beach, painting paddles, the other Cubs, took turns using the canoe Mr. Halloway had provided for their use. Brad and Dan already had mastered the knack of guiding the craft skillfully and were developing strong arm muscles.

After a hard paddle against the current, the two Cubs returned to shore to give up their places to Chips and Fred.

As they stepped out on the sand, they saw a newcomer talking to Red.

“Why, that’s Ross Langdon!” Dan muttered under his breath. “What’s he doing here?”

“Scouting for Den 1, I’ll bet a cent,” Brad replied. “You know Ross! He’s already afraid we’ll get ahead of him somehow.”

“We usually do, too,” grinned Dan.

Ross and Dan long had been friendly rivals. Both were excellent swimmers, though in a Pack competition, Dan had proven himself to be the better. Ross, who prided himself upon excelling in all sports, never had forgotten.

“He’s here to see how we’re getting along in canoe practice,” Dan remarked. “Well, I hope he gets an eye full!”

Ross was tall and gangling, having grown so fast that his Cub uniform already was too small for him. He was strong for his age, inclined to be arrogant, and was the least liked of any boy in Den 1.

Aware that Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway were within hearing distance, Ross addressed the two Cubs respectfully enough.

“Working hard, I see.”

“Oh, just practicing a little,” Dan answered carelessly.

“You should,” Ross retorted boastfully. “Den 1 is all set to take you for a cleaning in the canoe race. We’ll win in a walk.”

If the Den 1 boy had hoped to get a retort from Brad or Dan, they disappointed him by remaining silent. Irked by his failure to start a spirited debate, Ross picked up the paddle upon which Red had been working.

“Hey, be careful!” Red protested. “You’ll make the paint run!”

“Couldn’t make it look much worse than it is,” Ross said contemptuously. “You should see some of the paddles Den 1 has painted.”

“Works of art, I suppose?” Brad asked dryly. “Going to exhibit ’em at the museum?”

“Maybe, after we’ve nailed

first prize at the Pack exhibition.”

“Put that paddle down before you wreck it!” Red ordered furiously. “You’re getting sand on the fresh paint.”

“Excuse me.” With an elaborate bow, Ross laid the paddle on the sand near the river’s edge. Glancing around, he next demanded: “Where’s your hogan?”

“Haven’t started it yet,” Brad replied. “We’ll probably get it up over the week-end.”

“Den 1 has a dandy all finished,” Ross continued boastfully. “We put it up in nothing flat.”

Dan could not resist saying cuttingly: “It probably looks like it too! We aim to take our time and do a good job.”

Ignoring the jibe, Ross glowingly described the accomplishments of the Den 1 Cubs. Not only had they completed a Navajo hogan, but they likewise had started to build a trading post and a Wells Fargo station, he informed his listeners.

“We’re building a loom too, for blanket weaving,” he went on grandly. “And we’ve already gathered six boxes of clothing to send out West to the Navajo reservation.”

“You’re ahead of us all right,” Dan conceded. “But we’ve only started on the program. You’ll see us put on steam.”

“I hope so. Otherwise, Den 1 will have absolutely no competition at the pow-wow.” Affecting a bored air, Ross sauntered away.

“That snoop!” Red snorted. “He came here to spy and for no other reason. I don’t believe half what he said.”

“It’s probably true Den 1 is ahead of us, but that doesn’t mean it will be that way in another week,” Dan declared. “They started in before we did, so naturally we’re behind.”

Red, who a few minutes before, had been very proud of the Indian design he had painted on the paddle, gazed at it with distaste.

“I guess it isn’t much of a job,” he admitted.

“It’s a swell design!” Brad reassured him. “Not that you won’t be able to do even better with a little more practice.”

“I’ll work on an original design—not one copied from a book!” Red announced grimly. “I’ll show that Ross Langdon!”

“That’s the spirit,” laughed Brad. “Maybe it’s a good thing he came prowling around here. It will spur us to greater effort.”

After Ross had gone, the Cubs kept on with their canoe practice until long shadows began to finger out across the water. Mr. Hatfield then called a halt.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “If we want to hike to the ravine, we’ll have to make a start.”

Dan and Chips pulled the canoe out of the water, taking care to drag it far up on shore beyond the reach of waves. There they overturned it so that it would be dry when they wanted to use it again.

“We’ll let Red lead the way,” Mr. Hatfield said as the boys started off through the woods. “Think you can find the ravine?”

“I’m sure I can, Mr. Hatfield. And I’ll prove—”

“Sure, we know,” cut in Chips wearily. “We’ll believe you when we see it. Just lead the way and don’t give with so many promises.”

Goaded by the knowledge that his fellow Cubs still believed his report of the previous night to be a brain fantasy, Red started doggedly off through the woods.

At first he followed the well-marked trail. After going a short distance, he hesitated briefly and then moved off in a diagonal direction.

“Everything looks different in the daytime,” he complained. “I think I came this way, but I’m not sure.”

“Give up already?” Fred teased.

“Not on your life.”

“The ravine is just ahead,” said Mr. Hatfield. “It extends for the entire distance of the park preserve though.”

Presently, the Cubs emerged from the trees to find themselves on a great limestone rock overlooking a deep gash in the earth.

In either direction, as far as they could see, stretched the shadowy ravine. At the bottom, a tiny stream of clear water rippled and foamed over the rocks.

Opposite the Cubs, the cliff walls rose somber but entirely blank.

“Where’s your big face, Red?” Brad demanded.

“I must have come out at the wrong place,” Red mumbled. “It should be here, or somewhere close.”

“Not even a trace of a bon-fire,” remarked Chips. “I guess this proves who was right, Red.”

“It does not!”

“Give him a chance, boys,” interposed Mr. Hatfield. “The place Red’s looking for may be up the ravine from here.”

“That’s right,” Red agreed quickly. “This doesn’t look like the place at all.”

“Well, lead us to it then,” urged Fred. “That’s all we’re waiting for.”

Considerably let-down, Red turned to the left, picking his way along the edge of the ravine. At intervals, he paused to scan the walls and shelf of rock.

“Hey, my feet hurt!” Chips presently complained. “How much farther do we walk?”

Red halted, gazing at Mr. Hatfield in despair.

“It’s no use, I guess. I never came this far last night.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to give up the search for this afternoon,” the cubmaster said regretfully. “We can try again sometime, Red.”

The Cub made no reply, but was sunk in gloom. Well he knew that the other boys would make life miserable for him, twitting him about his vivid imagination.

He was grateful that during the hike back along the ravine, they refrained from making remarks.

Reaching the turn-off by the granite boulder, Red again paused to survey the site.

“I think we went the wrong direction,” he said. “If we’d turned right instead of left, we’d have hit the place. Close by too.”

“No alibis,” chided Chips.

“Just give me five minutes more,” the boy pleaded. “That’s all I ask. Five minutes! If I can’t find the place by that time, then I’m willing to eat worms.”

“Five minutes?” repeated Mr. Hatfield, noting how rapidly darkness was falling upon the ravine. “I guess we can give you that much time, but no more.”

“Come on, then,” Red urged, leading off, almost at a dog trot. “We’re traveling fast this time.”

The Cubs were hard pressed to keep up. Sure of foot, Red skirted close to the edge of the steep cliffs.

“This is the right way, I’m certain!” he encouraged the others. “I think I remember that white birch!”

“You think!” Chips exploded as he caught his shoe on a sharp rock. “You better be sure.”

Abruptly, Red halted. So suddenly did he stop that those behind him bumped into one another.

“What did I tell you!” he fairly shouted. “I guess this proves whether or not I was dreaming!”

Through a gap in the bushes, the Cubs glimpsed the opposite wall of the ravine. One section of it had fallen away, leaving an expanse of rich clay.

From this surface loomed a grotesque carved face, that of a man with very severe features.

The Cubs were so taken aback that for a full minute they could only stand and stare. Then Dan exclaimed:

“It’s real enough. Gosh, what a face!”

“How did it get here?” Brad demanded. “Who carved it?”

“And what about that fire Red saw?” added Chips.

“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.”