“We know nothing about your sand painting,” Eagle Feather said distinctly.
“The work was done by an Indian—we know that from the skillful way the picture was put together,” Red rattled on. “It must have been you and White Nose.”
“We have no skill at sand painting,” said Eagle Feather. “We know one who does have cleverness in his hands—”
Red broke in, not giving the Indian an opportunity to finish.
“I’ll bet you’ve been living in the river cave on the park reservation,” he went on.
By this time Dan and Brad were thoroughly exasperated by the rash manner in which Red was revealing information. They were particularly annoyed because they could see that their den mate was supplying the Indians with facts of great interest to them.
“Where is this cave of which you speak?” Eagle Feather asked.
Dan stepped on Red’s foot so hard that he howled with pain.
“Button your flapping lips!” Dan hissed into his ear.
Belatedly, Red realized that he had talked too much. He lapsed into a crestfallen silence.