CHAPTER 11 FRIEND OR FOE?

“I’ll come right away,” Mr. Hatfield reassured Chips and Midge. “No reason to be alarmed though. Indians don’t carry tomahawks these days.”

“Maybe not,” Chips replied quickly, “but these boys both have knives!”

“They look fierce too,” added Midge, with a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Fred and Red are talking to ’em, trying to keep watch so they won’t take anything.”

“I’ll be very glad to meet the pair,” Mr. Hatfield said, starting up the path from the beach. “I’m sure though, that there’s no cause for uneasiness. They are probably only curious to learn what we’re doing here.”

“Curious isn’t a strong enough word,” Chips informed him. “They’ve snooped into everything—the hogan, the Wells Fargo station we’re building and they made a lot of remarks about the sand painting.”

“Complimentary ones, I hope,” grinned Dan.

“White Nose said something in his own Navajo language,” Midge informed him. “Then he spat on the ground.”

“Well, I like that!” Dan said indignantly. “I may not be an artist, but my picture isn’t that bad. I’m going to give that old Indian a chunk of my mind!”

“Let me handle this, boys,” Mr. Hatfield said.

He went ahead of the Cubs to the hogan where Fred, Mack and Red were talking to the two Indians. The pair did not appear unfriendly, but as Chips had said, their inspection of the camp had not been very polite.

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Hatfield introduced himself. He extended his hand, and gave his name. “I’m the Cub leader here. Anything we can do for you?”

Neither White Nose or Eagle Feather made reply. They looked Mr. Hatfield over and silently accepted his proffered hand.

“We’re a Cub Scout outfit,” Mr. Hatfield went on pleasantly enough. “Our camp may look rather odd to you, but we’re preparing for an Indian pow-wow. The boys chose the Navajo theme. Maybe you can help us with a few suggestions.”

“Cub Scouts!” Eagle Feather repeated. “A good organization.”

“The Navajos are starting their own dens now,” Mr. Hatfield went on, trying to act friendly. “In fact, our boys are gathering clothing to be sent out to New Mexico.”

“That is good,” Eagle Feather responded stiffly.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” Mr. Hatfield next inquired.

“Nothing,” Eagle Feather shrugged.

“You are searching for someone perhaps?”

“For one of our brothers.”

“You’ll not find him here,” said Mr. Hatfield. “However, someone has been making himself at home in our camp during our absence. We’ve lost food, and a valuable Navajo blanket.”

This information obviously was of great interest to the two Indians. But their only show of it was a sparkle of the eyes.

“Dan, get the blanket that was picked up near the ravine,” Mr. Hatfield instructed.

Dan ran to fetch it. As he brought it back, Eagle Feather quickly took it from his hand. He and White Nose both examined the tattered blanket intently, talking earnestly in their own language.

“They recognize that blanket, all right,” Red whispered to Midge.

“Either it’s theirs, or it belongs to that ‘brother’ they claim to be looking for,” Midge added.

The two Indians did not explain the reason for their interest in the blanket. After their brief but thorough examination, they lost all interest in the item.

Mr. Hatfield was rather annoyed by the visitors’ attitude. He did not like the cool manner in which they had made themselves at home in the camp. Nevertheless, he hesitated to order them away, feeling that it would be much better to try to make friends.

“You’re Navajos, I believe,” he remarked.

“Yes,” agreed Eagle Feather, “we are of the People.”

“The Cubs would appreciate a little first hand information. How about giving us a talk on the customs and traditions of your people? For instance, you might tell us about the origin of the Fire Dance. We’re trying to work one up for presentation at our pow-wow Saturday.”

The Cubs, especially Dan and Brad, expected Eagle Feather to refuse. But, to their surprise, he appeared flattered by the request.

Mr. Hatfield motioned for the Cubs to gather about in a semi-circle. Eagle Feather squatted in the center and began to talk, speaking formally, but in perfect English.

He told the Cubs that the Navajos had 27 major chants which they used on ceremonial occasions or for the cure of the sick.

The Fire Dance, or Mountain Chant as it sometimes was called, was the most showy of all the Navajos’ ceremonies, he went on.

“The medicine man’s whistle marks the start of the dance,” Eagle Feather described it. “Twelve dancers with their bodies sprayed white, come in bearing cedar bark torches. As they dance about the log fire, they sing the Fire Dance song about a Sleepy Owl.

“The leader throws a bundle of burning bark to the East. Three other bundles are lighted and hurled to the West, North and South. This, my people believe, will drive away colds and bad luck.

“The dance ends with the lighting of torches and a wild race about the fire. The dancers move faster and faster, fanning their torches into a long flame. The ceremony lasts until daybreak.”

“We’ll offer a simplified version of the Fire Dance at our pow-wow,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “The Cubs are using flashlights instead of torches.”

“Tell us about other dances,” urged Dan.

Now that his tongue had been loosened, Eagle Feather was willing enough to talk. He described other versions of the fire Dance, the Feather Dance and one which he called the Plumed Arrow.

He then told the Cubs a few Navajo words. Medicine man, he said, was Hah-tahnc, and sand painting, ee-kah.

“Your ee-kah very bad,” Eagle-Feather added, a suggestion of a smile lighting his grim countenance.

“I know that,” Dan admitted with a laugh. “But then, it’s the first sand painting I ever attempted. The second, to be exact. Our first one was ruined—by the wind I guess.”

“Tell us some Indian stories,” urged Mack. “One about medicine men.”

The request brought a strange reaction from the two Indians. Immediately they seemed to become less friendly and more grim. Even the tone of Eagle Feather’s voice changed as he said:

“I will relate a tale of truth, one that concerns a medicine man of our own people.”

“A traitor and a thief,” muttered White Nose.

“This medicine man once was highly respected by his followers,” related Eagle Feather. “He was trusted by the people who placed in his hands many valuable tribal treasures.”

“Ancient turquoise rings found in the old cliff dwellings,” murmured White Nose. “Sky blue and hard as glass. Silver necklaces and discs.”

“The greatest treasure of all was the turquoise toad,” went on Eagle Feather, his voice as flinty as stone. “It was a handsomely carved piece, worth a large sum.”

“What became of the turquoise toad?” Mr. Hatfield inquired as Eagle Feather became silent.

“One day the medicine man vanished. With him went the turquoise treasure. But the vengeance of the tribe will follow him! He will never escape!”

A fierce expression came over Eagle Feather’s leathery face. As the Indian straightened up from a crouched position, Chips instinctively backed away. Thrown off balance, he collapsed against Mack.

A strained silence had fallen upon the Cubs.

Eagle Feather’s story had produced an unpleasant effect on everyone. Even Mr. Hatfield felt strangely uneasy in the presence of the two Indians. He tried to hide his own misgiving by saying pleasantly:

“Thanks for telling us so much about the Navajos. I’m sure it’s been very interesting. Goodbye.”

Eagle Feather’s thin lips loosened into a hard smile.

“We may return,” he said. “White Nose and I have a mission.”

The two Indians turned and with dignity moved off into the woods. Not even the rustle of a dry leaf or the crackle of a stick marked their leave-taking.

For a long while after the pair had gone, no one spoke. Finally Brad broke the painful silence.

“Friendly chaps, eh?”

“I’ll bet a Lincoln penny they took Professor Sarazen’s blanket!” Chips burst out. “Or at least they know who did!”

“Not so loud, Chips,” Mr. Hatfield warned. “They may be within hearing.”

“What did you think of that tale they told about the medicine man?” Dan asked Mr. Hatfield, keeping his voice low.

“It gave me an uncomfortable feeling. I don’t know what those two Indians are doing in Webster City, but I’m afraid they’re here for no good purpose.”

“Shouldn’t we report ’em to the police?” suggested Midge.

“So far they’ve done nothing that would warrant a complaint,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “All the same, I dislike the way they’re apparently watching our camp.”

“Do they think we’re hiding someone?” demanded Dan.

“They’re after that guy who does the carving at the ravine!” Brad exclaimed. “Y’know we ought to tip him off. White Nose and Eagle Feather could be very bad medicine, if one met ’em on a dark night.”

Mr. Hatfield spoke firmly.

“The Cubs,” he said, “will concern themselves with organization affairs. We’re not getting mixed in any tribal feuds. Get that straight!”

“Yes, sir,” replied the Cubs, speaking as one. And Red added: “I wouldn’t have anything to do with ’em, even if you’d give me a prize turquoise toad!”

“From now on,” said Mr. Hatfield, issuing a further order, “no one is to remain in camp alone. Mr. Holloway or I always will try to be here. But, if for any reason, we’re called to the house, two Cubs always must stay to look after our stuff.”

The Cubs accepted the order soberly. With more than their usual care, they began gathering up their belongings for the night. Though Mr. Hatfield hadn’t said so in plain words, they knew that he distrusted the two Indians and was afraid that they might cause real trouble.