“Come with us, Miquel, to our camp. We’re friends.”
“Friends,” the old fellow echoed in a child-like way.
But when Brad and Dan attempted to lead him away from the fire, he pulled away from them.
“He won’t leave here,” Red muttered. “What’s the use trying to help him?”
“We have to,” Brad said firmly. “You can see he’s half starved. If those two Indians should come upon him here, there’s no telling what might happen.”
“Brad’s right,” Dan agreed. “We ought to get him out of here. But how to do it?”
The Cubs took turns trying to make the old Indian understand. It was so much breath wasted.
“He acts like a sleep walker,” Brad remarked in perplexity. “Never ran into anything like it before in all my life.”
“Do you suppose he suffered an injury?” Dan speculated. “He doesn’t seem to have much of any memory of the past. He just keeps mumbling those chants.”
The Cubs did not know what to do. From Old Miquel’s appearance and actions, they were satisfied that he was the medicine man for whom White Nose and Eagle Feather searched so ruthlessly. They suspected too that he was the one who had carved the remarkable face on the wall of the ravine. Likewise, he was the one who had taken their Navajo blanket and possibly food from the camp.