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.