The stranger replied with a deep-throated grunt which the Cubs took for assent. He did not seem unfriendly, however, only guarded and a trifle dazed.
Oddly enough, the old Indian did not question the boys as to their unexpected presence in the cave. Apparently accepting them as friends, he motioned for them to share the warmth of his fire.
The Cubs squatted around it, watching the old fellow rotate the cooking rabbit on a crudely fashioned spit.
Without saying anything, Dan nudged Red to direct his attention toward the wall behind them. Not far from the pile of balsam boughs lay the Navajo blanket which had disappeared from the Cub camp a few days earlier!
Brad cleared his throat and after telling his name, tried to draw the old Indian into conversation. Aside from learning that the other’s name was Miquel and that he was a Navajo of the Beebitchni clan, he made little headway.
Paying scant heed to the Cubs, old Miquel carried on a sing-sing monologue in a tongue the boys could not understand.
At intervals he broke into English, but the words made no sense to the three listeners.
“Turquoise Mountain, king of mountains, everlastingly beautiful,” the old Indian muttered.
“So what?” Red mumbled into Dan’s ear. “What sort of jargon is this?”
Old Miquel did not appear to hear Red’s remark.